Obsidian

The Connections...

It has been a bit too long since I posted. I have a couple of substacks I am working on, but they’ll have to wait, lots of projects going.

I hope you are doing well with the new year and all, and heavens, isn’t it just moving along?

Still awaiting publication of the book, soonish I hope.

Two beautiful people in my life have crossed over to the Western Lands in the last month. No matter how often that it happens, it never gets easier. I have spent many hours meditating on their lives, contributions to the world and more. We are all coming and going. Out of the stardust, back to stardust.

I hope you enjoy this entry. It is short and to the point.

G

This is a tale about a piece of obsidian...

In the week preceding the birth of our son Rowan, Mary and I went wandering in the backwoods near our home in far Northern California. The area had once been part of the Great Flyway for birds coming up from Mexico, Central America, and maybe perhaps points further south up to Canada and Alaska. The white settlers in all their wisdom had drained the local ponds, small lakes, for pastureland. Because of this the land were in the process of desertification.

We loved the land, and as the birth of our son was growing imminent, we wandered out along the side of an old lakebed deep in the woods, about 3 acres across. We were ambling along holding hands, talking joyfully of the birth to come.

I don't remember who saw it first whether it was Mary, or I… but there it was, sitting exposed in the soil a worked piece of obsidian, glinting black, in the sun of an early August afternoon. I reached down and picked it up... and when I grasped it, I got chills running up the back of my neck and my arms. This piece of obsidian which was 50 miles from where a volcano had coughed up its mother piece, and then shaped into a tool by one of the peoples who had lived on this land for time out of mind.

It was a wonderfully shaped, fitting perfectly into the hand, and from what I could deduce it had been made for scaling a fish and/or scraping a hide and cutting.

We took finding this piece a great omen. Mary was excited as I about finding this piece of obsidian that tied us to the land and the peoples who came before us.

In a week our son was born. Years past, and when he was old enough to understand the idea of getting cut, we let him handle and hold it. He learned the tale of how we found it before his birth, a part of the family mythology.

It's place of honor was on our bookshelf along with other items that we had found or cherished over the years. We took great joy and showing it to people and sharing the story of its discovery and everyone who picked it up exclaimed at the magic of it all.

It was a cherished memento…

This past year I was cleaning off the bookshelf that it resided on and found that it was missing. We looked all over the house for it. I looked at our Stone collection on the table in the library, behind the books on our shelves, underneath the table, but it was gone.

How did it vanish? I have a couple of theories, none that I want to trot out though.

A simple piece of obsidian… and now simply vanished.

Similar to this, with an extended narrow bit….

Thinking of Robbie.

Bless You All!

Gwyllm