A
Chunk of Amethyst
Held
up to the window light the Amethyst has
elegant
corridors, that give and take light. The discipline
of
its many planes suggest that there is no use trying to live
forever.
Its exterior is jagged, but in the inner house all is
in
order. Its corridors become ledges, solidified thoughts that
pass
each other.
This
chunk of Amethyst is a cool thing, hard as a
dragon's
tongue. The sleeping times of the whole human race
lie
hidden there. When the fingers fold the chunk into the
palm,
the palm hears organ music, the low notes that makes the
sins
of the whole congregation resonate, and catches the
criminal
five miles away with a tinge of doubt.
With
all its planes, it turns four or five faces toward
us
at once, and four or five meanings enter the mind.
The
exhilaration we felt as children returns...We feel the
wind
on the face as we go down hill, the sled's speed
increasing.
-
Robert Bly