The Stillness of Rocks
When I was young, I loved playing outside in nature. In hindsight, rocks seemed to feature often in my recreation. Whether it was skimming stones across a pond, climbing boulders in the woods, or marveling at the strange spherical shapes of pebbles tumbled in a river, I always had a fascination for these quiet, heavy objects resting in the forest.
There was a time when I viewed them mostly as stationary lumps of background matter. Ordinary. Sedentary. Bland. Sure, the forms that they took were interesting: cavernous caves, steep cliffs, handheld nodules whose outlines faintly resembled faces of monsters or other creatures. But in essence, outside of my imagination they were not alive.
After learning a tiny bit about geology as an adult, I see rocks differently now. They do have their own lives, it’s just that their timelines are much longer than ours. Even though they are not organic like you and me (and the rest of biological life on Earth), they have a birth and a story. They grow. They change. They interact with other rocks similar and different to them. They are pushed by circumstance through valleys of uncertainty. Some have already met their end, and some will remain intact for unfathomable years into the future. They were here before us, and they will be here after us. They don’t ask for anything, and they don’t need anything other than a patch of grass to sit on.
The more you study geology, the more fascinating history becomes. The next time you’re walking in a patch of wilderness, take a look around. Take a moment to really see the rocks. Some were created from magma deep underground. Some formed as the result of lava spewing out onto the surface long ago. Some formed as the result of mud, clay, sand, and other sediments hardening over many years. Some formed from other rocks as the result of enormous heat and pressure, changing their entire structure. Some are mostly homogeneous, and some are a mix of many different elements and minerals. They come in all sizes and colors. They appear in all nooks and crannies of the globe. Individually they are vastly different, and yet together they are one single world. They are the foundation on which we, as humans, rely. We cannot survive without them. They make up our home, this giant ball floating through the cosmos.
I tried my hand at amateur rockhounding, visiting old mine piles, beaches, outcrops, and other sites, sifting through piles of earthen rubble for any interesting specimens I could uncover. As time went by, I began to find an appreciation for what rocks can teach us: STILLNESS. It’s a recurring theme in numerous meditation and mindfulness practices. There’s a tranquil quality to geologic features. Their stance is calm. I’m starting to understand why Japanese Zen gardens incorporate them so much.
I recently visited a quite unique formation of rock, said to have originated roughly 300 million years ago. It’s not like anything I’ve seen before. Its huge slabs soar some 80 feet into the air. Winding along the crest of a wooded ridgeline, its neatly stacked blocks resemble a megalithic structure from a faraway fantasy. Even its terminus looks something like a carved whale's head. It’s not thought to be man-made, but it sure makes you feel a sense of wonder and awe standing close to it.
On the smaller side of this topic, I like to hunt for little
samples of jasper in a running stream or brook. If it cannot be scratched by a pocket
knife, that’s usually a sign that your specimen is higher on the Mohs hardness scale, and
can possibly indicate something in the quartz family (I must say though, quartz is not
known as a rock – it’s a classified as a mineral). There are seemingly endless varieties of rocks and minerals out there waiting to be found. One of my favorites is petrified wood (essentially wood that has had its material slowly replaced by a hard silicon dioxide).
I’m grateful that as I get older, I’m able to learn about the
world from so many wonderful teachers that I’ve met. Even a brief imparting of knowledge is interesting to me. Whether a professor in a classroom, or
a stranger walking down a dirt path, patient and caring teachers are some of humanity’s
greatest assets.
So if you ever feel overwhelmed, or maybe you’d just like to rest your mind for a moment, consider the rocks. They can offer us an inspiring example of the deep beauty and serenity that can come from stillness.
Take care.
