Stones

I live in a place of stone. Stones many millions of years old lie close beneath the surface of the earth of my home and my village, some have been here forever, while others were imported as a result of the movement of great glaciers during different ice ages. All the fields of the hillside farms are littered with giant rocks, some so big they are impossible to move. It is extraordinary to me that the great River Wye, which forms the boundary here between Brecknock, my county, and Radnorshire and which flows around my house, is the divider also between a landscape founded on stones and one which, comparatively, is stone free. It is as if the movement of the rocks, tumbled down the mountains so long ago, was halted by a wall of water and they could go no further. [caption id="attachment_3209" align="alignright" width="400"] Stone waterfall[/caption] When my cedar house was built by a wealthy tea planter who loved fishing almost a hundred years ago, the construction of the house and gardens was impeded by the great quantity of stones found underneath the bare field which was being transformed into a property.  Something had to be done to clear the foundations and more, and so it was decided to use those that could be moved in a way that was both practical and visionary: the tea planter, who had been influenced by the spiritual traditions of the East and who was much interested in esotericism, decided to create stone paths and steps based on Buddhist traditions and replicating the movement of the river through winding waterfall walkways made out of great slabs and standing stones. Over time, many of the paths and steps have become overgrown with moss and grass, and the magnificence of the design and of each individual stone has been obscured. I decided recently to try to clear the stones, and what began as a routine act of garden maintenance became an act of honour for the stones. It was hard work cutting and digging and pulling in hot sunshine, but the more I worked with the stones the more my appreciation of their grandeur grew. I touched each one with my hands and knees often for more than hour per stone, and the work became a salutation and communication, a celebration of the life and wisdom innate within those hard surfaces. It was about the history of the stones, too. Some of them were “dressed” - carved to shape hundreds of years ago when a medieval house stood where my home stands now, and when my village was thriving farming, trading and religious community - while others once formed part of a druidic temple many years before that. Many of the stones have been rounded by the sea that covered these lands for thousands of years, and of which only the River Wye is left, and others still are etched with ancient runes.  Stones, like all the components of Earth, remember their every experience, and within them lies the essence of Spirit: working with them and for them as I did, proved this for me, and the project became a quest and a joy. Wherever you are, stones and the energy of spiritual reality are close to you. It is easy to take for granted a pebble or the ground you walk upon, but by so doing you are missing much: hold the pebble, touch a stone, and  feel all it has to say to you. The stones want to help, and to heal.     [byline]]]>