Thursday, April 23, 2015
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
The Agate
Agate at the Lake Place
I find happiness in the act of searching for agates. I search furtively for objects resisting commodification.
I spot the red agate...she is authenticity, among millions of ordinary rocks. The agate is a tiny microcosm of history, presence, and pressure. Thousands of white, translucent lines circumnavigate her rough, pockmarked, outer shell. She is a Lake Superior Agate, formed in lava thousands of years ago, retaining her pulchritude, despite an oppressive past. I am taunted by her glowing lunar lines, and rough outer surface. I reach down to pick her up. The agate is deceiving, like an iceberg viewed from the ocean’s surface. She is solidly anchored to this spot, demanding its stable, planetary presence. Money can’t buy authentic agates, as they are the ones left uncut.
I leave the agate, to be alone, in our place.
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