Looking Through A Holey Stone
In a childhood photograph my Mother walks on a beach with her arms full of wind-dried sea grasses. With her gentle smile and her tousled blond curls peeking out from the hood of her coat, she exudes an aura of relaxed vitality. My brother and I, bundled in coats and hats, cheeks rosy pink from the wind, lead the way that day upon that wide, empty beach. I can still hear the seagulls screaming above the thundering surf of the Atlantic, feel the sharp wind slap, taste the salt on my lips. My pockets were assuredly filled with treasures; seashells, pebbles and bits of driftwood all polished smooth by the sea. And I remember how the ocean made me feel wide inside, open and wild, free and alive but also inextricably connected.
Mother loved to tell us stories of her childhood especially her early years growing up on the ocean; of being a mariner scout or when she and Grandpa were rescued by the Coast Guard one fateful fishing trip. She would look out to sea with a wistful look in her eyes and I’d look too, somehow understanding, as I slipped my hand into hers.
Shortly after her unexpected death I came upon a photograph snapped just six months earlier. For Mom’s birthday that year I had surprised her with a trip driving down the California coast. We had stopped to walk on a particularly lovely beach and before long our pockets were bulging. The wind off the Pacific was fierce that day. I turned to see Mom, broad smile on her face, standing with her arms extended wide looking as if she was about to take wing. “You can fly,” she shouted into the wind, “Never forget, you can fly.” And we laughed, clasped hands and walked on. Now wistfully I hold both photographs in my hands and whisper gratefully, “I’ll never forget Mom, I’ll never forget.”
One particular gift is a holey stone, a stone with a naturally occurring hole or holes caused by the force of water. Holey stones, also known as Hags stones or Odin Stones are rare to find so whenever we would come across one it was with great delight and excitement. Considered sacred they were worn around the neck or hung in your home for protection. If you looked through the holes at night it was believed you could see ethereal beings, or by day it would improve your eyesight. They were used for blessing water, healing and all sorts of magic. One favorite comes from the folklore of Papua, Indonesia where every year they would gather and feast in honor of the sacred holey stone;
"...those who are distant become close, those who are apart become intimate, those who forget will remember, affection increases, love grows stronger, helping each other with no discrimination, being good then becomes natural."
Mom and I used to find them on one particular beach in Carlsbad, CA. We always found holey stones and sand dollars there by the breakwater. This is one of the smaller holey stones we found on our last trip. I've been thinking about the ocean as late perhaps spurred by writing a submission for a book, (later graciously rejected and shared above instead) but the ocean is never far from my mind. She calls to me even here in Ohio but I have surrounded myself with images of the sea and with my shell and coral collection. She is never far from my heart. When I am missing her especially I take up a shell and hold it to my ear to hear her voice.
I hold a lifetime of memories in my heart and Her waters and salt are held in my body and released in my tears. Shedding them I taste the salt on my lips again and "those who are distant become close..."
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