The Stone in the River

A Fable.

There was a stone at the bottom of a river, shining in moonlight. The stone didn’t know what it was for, or why the cold water rushed over in a loud thrumb, or why the spruce tree grew on the bank, or why the deer hooves clanked over head, or why the crayfish hid in the nooks of its body. The stone didn’t know why its shape and weight, why its cool smooth surface. 

Why any of this? 

Stone longed to find something of worth in this existence.

So the stone, so still, went into contemplation for thousands of years, as the water slowly wore down its body. Stone noticed how the trees, crayfish, and deer came and went. And came again. Insistent cycles of birth and death swirled in all directions. Stone noticed how the water cleansed it of un-needed layers, surrendering itself to the cold flow. It noticed the moon, the eternal light returning through cycles of empty and full. And finally, the year arrived when stone arrived at this: 

I am a home for the crayfish, seeking rest and protection.

I am a witness of the trees; their long spans of wisdom and passing. 

I am a step for the deer, hooves supported by my strength and solidity.

I am nourishment, releasing beneficial elements to the water.

I am a mirror for the moon, that it might gaze upon its own radiant light.

Stone’s heart cracked open. Abiding in this beauty was the answer to all its why’s.

It was enough to realize herself as an ancient part of this great making.