Speaking to stones - it sounds insane

Oh come on Merry - you can't be serious! I'm not a raving lunatic you know.

Merry remains calmly silent, unperturbed by my outburst.

Normal people don't talk to stones.

More calmness. 

There's a good reason for this you know.

Still more.

Coz believe it or not - rocks, stones - they're just things. They're inanimate objects. They can't hear a word you say. It's like talking to the wind.

Ever so slightly Merry's eyebrows raise, questioningly. 

And don't tell me you think the wind's alive and can hear when you talk to it.

I decide to join Merry in his strong silence charade. After a minute's absolute stillness I hear Merry muttering something to the wind. Don't ask me how - I just know he's muttering to the wind - and at the very moment I'm aware of this - I know what's going to happen.

Ok Merry - you've proved your point - I interrupt him - hoping to forestall what's coming. But Merry plays all innocent and continues muttering under his breath. In the meantime I feel pressure building - an electrostatic pressure - I know what's about to happen even before I see the trees start to dance in the mounting breeze.

It's enough - you don't need to show off! - but Merry appears to be lost in concentration. Now  I feel the wind dancing, leaping around me in a way that shouts beyond all shadow of doubt - "alive"! This wind is probing, feeling, advancing, retreating, touching me in ways that are both disconcerting and exhilarating. I'm torn between the desire to scream with unbridled joy or panic. Never have I known fear and delight so closely entwined. It's like the life force within me has just leapt off the scale, amplifying everything I'm able to experience in the moment of Now.

Enough - I hear myself say in a quite different voice - a voice I never even suspected I had. No sooner have I said it than the wind is like a genie back in its bottle. Merry is beaming at me - delighted that I've found my voice of power, the voice of Is - for with this voice - whatever we say, whatever we state Is - immediately so. No thing can resist it. The entire universe bows to its command. It is the voice of creation that nestles within each of us, waiting to be invoked.

So, I'm  ready to work with stones you're saying...? and at this moment I'm absolutely clear in my head - I can see how Merry is guiding me in this magical process of self-discovery, of awakening.

But why now?

Your perception of reality has shifted. You've become more flexible. You're able to adjust to frequencies within the core of human perception. It will serve you well to spend some time with your brother sister stones. Their wisdom, their perspective will help ground you - help take you beyond what you've hitherto experienced, into stillness and perception that may at first seem alien, but which is nevertheless part of your one and all. You are learning to engage the world around you - the whole of creation - for all of creation is the template - and there is not one piece of the puzzle that is superfluous. Everything helps to open the allness up, to reveal the magic of what you truly are.

Ah! Just hearing it - hearing Merry speak I'm feeling it within. I'm feeling the depth, the solidness of the fundament. I'm feeling how I'm now ready to start engaging my allness - that the entire physical, material world, the entire universe exists for this very purpose - like a candle's wick - for me to engage, to draw me out of my cocoon, out of my compressed state, into my fullness, my allness, my isness.

Are you sure I'm not going to repeat the mistakes of past generations - and become an evil sorcerer - a stone worshipper or the likes?

Merry beams at me - and I feel such love, such candour, such playful gaiety that my sombre fears evaporate. I have absolute faith in the light I see in him.

Ok Merry, I'm ready... I say with a seriousness that causes us to erupt in laughter. The absurdity of the situation takes my breath away - and yet for all the laughter it's a solemn moment - a commitment to shatter the old paradigm - to engage once more the living field of Is - the entire universe - even the stones. No longer can I pretend that they're dead or irrelevant. How can I truly embrace myself, my allness, my isness if I refuse to interact with any aspect of all that is? So now I'm talking to stones and letting their silence speak...

and here's what they say...

A stone looks dead, it hardly moves,

And stones can’t talk, which only proves

That they are far from being like us.

They live their lives without a fuss,

Ten thousand years, or maybe more,

Patiently lying on the floor,

The thought’s enough to make you sore.

The world of stones may seem a bore

But they would say the same of yours,

Our lives are so fragile, our lives are so short,

All floating and frothy, a moment of thought,

Then our light is extinguished, before we have caught

A glimpse of the secrets which occupy stones,

And all that remains of us – fragments of bones.

In fact, they can talk, but not as we do,

And a stone thinks a stone is as lively as you,

Although they don’t move in this world, there’s another

Where stones dance and sing, which you can discover.

I know, I know, no need to moan,

There’s nothing exciting about a stone,

It sits there or lies there, with nothing to say,

It seems to be lifeless, does nothing all day,

And that’s why no human would knowingly choose

To converse with a stone. I always refused, 

But then something happened, I dreamt that a stone

Which stands on the side of a hill near my home

Was calling me…

The song of stone is easily sung

If you’re ten thousand years and still only young,

If you’re ten thousand years and you’ve barely begun,

Let the song of stone take you out of this world,

Like a boat on the sea when its sail is unfurled,

Let it carry you safely through time and space

To the land where a stone moves with ease and grace,

Let it carry you safely through space and time

Till you come to my home in the wink of an eye,

Where stone is supreme, where stone is sublime.

I knew it was madness. I went there alone.

I stood by the stone and recited a poem.

At first, nothing happened, I thought I’d been wrong

To do as my dream said, to sing it a song,

But then something stirred, I felt the ground shake,

I shut my eyes tight for they started to ache,

I could still see the stone, like I dreamed while awake.

The song of stone is easily sung

If you’re ten thousand years and still only young,

If you’re ten thousand years and you’ve barely begun,

Let the song of stone take you out of this world,

Like a boat on the sea when its sail is unfurled,

Let it carry you safely through time and space

To the land where a stone moves with ease and grace,

Let it carry you safely through space and time

Till you come to my home in the wink of an eye,

Where stone is supreme, where stone is sublime.

There I stood by the stone in the dead of the night,

I thought I could feel a strange glimmering light,

Like the stone shone within me, like I was a screen,

And the more that I felt this, the more that it seemed

That the stone and the hillside were passing right through me,

For I was a vapour, a sunbeam or moonbeam,

I could see how the stone’s world and ours move as one,

Like music and words that combine in a song.

The song of stone is easily sung

If you’re ten thousand years and still only young,

If you’re ten thousand years and you’ve barely begun,

Let the song of stone take you out of this world,

Like a boat on the sea when its sail is unfurled,

Let it carry you safely through time and space

To the land where a stone moves with ease and grace,

Let it carry you safely through space and time

Till you come to my home in the wink of an eye,

Where stone is supreme, where stone is sublime.

Yes, I know that it’s madness. I know it’s absurd

To talk to a stone, to believe that it heard,

But something deep down tells me stone likes to listen,

So I sing when I’m passing, and stone seems to glisten.

Ah, life is a mystery wrapped in a vision,

So go meet a stone, let it be your decision,

Though others may laugh, never fear their derision,

For who are we, what are we, all of us fools,

Just braying and neighing like donkeys and mules.