I am a collector of stones, building my labyrinth
Its intricate arrangement, a tableau of my own fate
Circling the center, then spiraling out about the edges
The weight of stone within my breast too immediate to ignore
The beautiful stones, the hideous stones, talismans of joys and sorrows
The aggregate of experience, each stone falling into place
Stones too large to carry and stones too small to grasp
Ancient lichen-covered ancestorstones, smooth rivestones, and holy hagstones
Precious gems and spiritstones shaped like birds
Mountain talus and boulders thundering downstream in spring
Wounded motherless stones, ambivalent fatherstones, lost stones
All seeing godstones and the stones of childhood’s end
Limestone glyphs of lost civilizations, birthstones and deathstones
Unspeakabkle, forbidden stones, known but hidden from view
Flintstones sparking fire, obsidian, coal and fossilized clams
Stones thrown, stones ignored, fearsome jagged rocks and broken heartstones, stones that cut to the bone
Stones mark my path
Luminous stones of wisdom and impossible stones of ignorance
Magic stones of inspiration, calcite rhombusstones refracting prismatic light
Irridescent flowerstones scattering my pebbles of trust, healing and growth
Stones of remembering and forgetting, stones I’ve swallowed and digested.
Washing, weathering, and polishing, with sand, grit and glass in my gizzard
I accept each stone’s weight as ballast, for a stone loves the ground
It becomes ground, holds me fast to the ground, finds stillness and equilibrium in gravity
Stony silhouettes guide me through the shadows
Teaching me to love my fate in its unfolding
That I may become a true stone at the very still center of a circle knowing no circumference. | IL
"...That I may become a true stone at the very still center of a circle knowing no circumference."
Thank you! We will share this with Ian when we return to Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution next month.