Make a coffee
Hold an Agate in the palm of your hand
Remark how this tiny, seemingly insignificant and ugly little nodule has existed for millions… billions of years, has outlived civilizations, hierarchies, doctrines, wars, spiritual spheres beyond our comprehension, knowledges of the highest and the lowest regards, personalities, egos the size of mountains and molehills have come and gone, fading in comparison to this small miracle that I here strain to posses… possess, not the right word. Love, adore… the adoration for something so incomprehensible, such a magic that even the vast roots of science cannot encompass, cannot fully explain
I have witnessed a single drop of rain falling in my life, this small nodule has seen the greatest oceans form, touched the deepest centers of the earth, volcanic, intense, subtle witness to the volatile havoc that is creation itself.
To this stone I hold in the palm of my hand, I myself, become nothing.
Myself and my coffee cup, small, smaller, enraptured and enamored with this idea that I will not outlive this tiny wonderland that begs its simplicity and its shyness in such an unassuming skin.
Silent revelations, building and building in the skin, in the mind, in the rhythm and the beating of the heart, the impatience to draw that next breath of comprehension, small moments that become the most monumental in some deep and yearning part of the soul
I fucking love what I do