Reach into the pool; this is where the stories are all held. There is meaning to be had in the stones you pick up with haste while your eyes are closed and the water swallows seeking fingers. Starving fingers spit back out just as fast. You pull a potent stone forthright, and listen to what they have to say. There it is, the purpose you crave—in the imprints on the mind, playing out in dreams, in waking life as well through whispers and blinks, through heartbeats and wind on leaves. Take care, for the stone-in-palm is cold and wet with knowledge of the past, as it is known to be a slick, slipping thing. If you hold it tenderly enough, if you whisper promises in earnest, there is a chance it will reveal its history. If you daydream of what the stone has to say, is it not true? What must be understood is that everything is speaking to you. You really ought to write it down if you hope to reveal a sort not yet discovered in this precise way. Much is to be learned here, in the marks interpreted. It all says such valuable things—murmurs of connections, of strange conversations in lilting dialects, of the bygone creature’s song, of long lost time, of passing time. You see now, how much there is for you. The stone is returned before reaching for another. You are eager and hungry and aching to hear more of what came before and what will arrive after. 〰️