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 Just a Rock by Fogaban As I look over to my own Home Stone . . . It is just a rock. What makes this particular piece of rock special from any other? Is it more valuable in and of itself, is it some form of gem? No. Is it beautiful in some way? No. Is it unique? No, not really. It is a stone that has been here for millennia and will continue here for millennia. It is just a rock. Countless other people have walked by this rock in their lives. They perhaps kicked it out of their way or picked it up and threw it. Countless other rocks lay in the field from where I picked it up one day many, many years ago. Nearly any other person who would see it would say, it's just a rock. It is just a rock. Could I have picked up any of the other rocks that lay in that field or any other place I've been? Yes. What makes this rock so special, so different? Why place such value on what is otherwise a worthless piece of stone? It is just a rock. But, as I stand here, literally, pacing back and forth pondering these thoughts, I know the true value is that, to me, this rock is a symbol. It symbolizes that which I cannot hold in my hand, that which I cannot touch. It symbolizes my heart. It is the tangible form of all I hold to be sacred and true. I can see this stone, I can touch it I and I can, by holding it, 'feel' that which otherwise is only thought and emotion. No, in no way is it just a rock. However, is it the stone, in and of itself, which gives me this 'center'? Or is it instead a thing through which I may visualize my convictions? As long as I am able to keep this rock, it is not just a rock, it is my Home Stone. But should it, through some action outside of my control, become lost, my convictions would remain. And I would again seek out . . . just a rock. |       
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