It’s possible you’re going to think that I took too much sun this particular morning. It’s possible you’re going to think I may have drank too much the night before. It’s all possible. What’s fun about writing your own blog is that (hopefully) you don’t care what people may think, you’re just sharing your writing online, and in my case in particular, hoping that people either see themselves in similar situations, see that they aren’t alone with their thoughts, or perhaps just perhaps, see a little light somewhere where it seemed dark beforehand. And sometimes, I write just for the pleasure that the process brings me.
This past week, while I was away for a few days, I took myself on a long fast walk early morning. The sun was shining brightly and it was just hot enough where you knew it was going to be a scorcher later on, and yet at that early hour, it was still enjoyable enough to get your cardio in without melting!
I walked quickly along the sidewalk, when a rock caught my eye. I gave it a long look, as my feet kept walking. Then I looked back at the rock, but my feet were still walking forwards. Something drew me to this rock. To the point where I told me feet to stop, turn around, and walk back towards the rock (pictured above).
There was something about this rock. It was imperfectly perfect. It had a strange shape; the top of it looked like the waves in the ocean with different peaks. Its colour wasn’t even, parts of it were lighter while others were darker. Parts of it were smooth, parts were bumpy. Part of the rock looked like it may have been fresh and “new” (as new as a rock can be) and yet part of the rock seemed old and tired looking. There was a big hole in the rock. The hole was off-center, and yet it was almost a perfect circle. This large imperfect rock was surrounded and almost overwhelmed by lush vegetation, making its beige/yellow/brown identity even stronger.
(If this is the point where you think the sun has hit me a little too hard, you ain’t heard nothing yet!)
Immediately, as I was “stuck” in my spot, unable to move away from this rock, I remembered my time at Yandara Yoga Institute in the summer of 2015. Specifically I remembered one early morning silent meditation, where we were sent outdoors and instructed to find something in nature, anything, and ask it “what lessons do you have to teach me?”
That day, I had gone out and had a long conversation on the beach with some very tiny ants that were coming in and out of their ant hills…
But back to this past week and my rock. Standing on the sidewalk, stuck, I looked at this rock and instantly felt like this rock – it was me. It was you and I. I noticed every inconsistency, and every irregularity in this rock, every variance in colour and texture. It was imperfectly perfect, and unique.
Still stuck in my tracks, I asked this rock the same question I had been instructed to ask while I was away in Baja, Mexico: “what lessons do you have to teach me?”
(If this is the point where you think the sun has hit me a little too hard, you ain’t heard nothing yet!)
The rock spoke to me. Metaphorically.
It said, and I quote 
“I may not be someone else’s definition of perfect, but I’ve been around for a long time so I’m solid. There’s a big hole on the side of me, but it adds character. Just like Leonard Cohen’s lyrics, that’s how the light gets in. If I was smooth and even all over, you probably wouldn’t have noticed me. I’m surrounded by greenery, by life; which in turn makes me come alive. Most people don’t notice me, and I’m great with that. I’ve been here doing my own thing for a long time, and will hopefully continue being me for many years to come. Time will only make me appear more interesting, as more imperfections surface. I rock!”
Smart rock.
That rock; it’s you and I ♥