Sticks and Stones

Hail and Greetings, Folks.

I went on a road trip today. My Uncle and I drove out to Independence Park, in Gonzales, Tx., and participated in an Oath Keepers Reaffirmation.

I was able to meet a few fellow bloggers. One in particular-- we'll call him Ye Old Furt (because, well, so is the sobriquet he adheres to! :D), bestowed Blessing and Honor upon me: he gifted me with a Native American Mother Earth Drum Baton:


This is a hand-crafted, Consecrated, Ceremonial baton, used by the Bestower while drumming with The People in California.

Earlier in the week, when rsvp's for the O.K.R. were sifted through, I was asked to bring my Bodhran.

Upon arrival, Ye Furt inquires... then quips

"Good! I have something for you..."

He tucked into the door of his vehicle, and came out with the story and lineage behind the Sacred Stick (my words, caps and all). He then presented it to me. He put this seemingly-innocuous but magically-imbued Baton in my Trust and Care.

Speechless...

Despite its apparently-incongruent-with-my-bodhran size, the two got on like a Satyr and a Nymph... I used the Striker the rest of the ceremony.

After the Reaffirmation Ceremony, a few of us were standing around chatting.That's when I saw the rock. Right there at my feet.
I collect stones-- pretty, unusual... special or 'calling' ones. Always introspectively glancing down as I walk, many have thence begged transport or possession. I've gathered several from the Texas Hill Country where I lived for most of my adult life. (A landscaper tends to see a rock or two in the limestone hills of Central Tejas...)

This one... if you look closely, you can see what appear to be two dun-colored inclusions in the ebony globule. Upon closer inspection, however, I discover that these aren't inclusions at all, but two places where the outer casing of obsidian-- maybe 1/32"-- has worn to reveal an interior of solid sandstone.

That the (black) rock was obsidian was not apparent: no shine, not so much as even a spot of the smoothness that igneous form is known for. When I retrieve it and attempt to rub the 'dirt' off the exterior, I realize...

The thing doesn't "look" special, pretty, or in any other way possess a beauty that would appeal to most. It's magic-- Magic-- to me, is it's movie of the geological process of it's own creation. Here's a rock; solid. Immobile. Inflexible.

Yet it offers me a glimpse of a world constantly in flux; of magnanimous spewings of lava over a sanded beach; of hot molten fluid balling silica in it's fist in the heat of the moment, then rolling on, then cooling-- forever locking in it's history, it's tale of the way.

It is a gift. A window. A screen.

Hmm. Maybe I'll compose the Obsidiansandstone's venture on Bodhran...

Seems an erstwhile thanks...

Hale and Farewell, folks...

Cygnus