The Wisdom of the Moonstone

 
 
Wisdom of the Moonstone

The best way to find a moonstone
is not to look for one.
No one ever finds a moonstone;
it finds you.

A moonstone is never
found first on the beach.
Collect and examine others
to become worthy.

Only when mindful
of everything on the beach,
will a moonstone 
reveal itself to you.

Many footprints pass
a moonstone
Only true eyes
see its glow.

Digging for moonstones
is pointless
That which is rare and excellent
always rises to the surface.

A moonstone is never flawed
nor abnormal
but exactly  as  nature
intended  it  to  be.

The luck of the moonstone
lies not 
in finding one
but knowing what you've found.

Shadow

(Requiem for an old dog)
 

I was as ill prepared to send you off

As the hard-pan was to receive you.

Preparing your space 
was the hardest three feet I ever dug.

Throwing down the last shovel of earth
I thought about cultures that sent 
their loved ones onward with a gift:
something large or small, an aid for the journey.

I had nothing...
but I wrapped you
in the only gift I could find—
A worn sheet from afternoon naps.

Use it and sleep well, Shadow
And if dozing is not an option there
Throw off that rag and fly
across fields as in days 

of your puppy youth.

9/14/09

Murder on the Beach

John and Stewart Almost Commit Murder at the Beach

Squatting, sorting through some pebbles, the earth moves and a shadow falls over me.  What is the likelihood of a solar eclipse coinciding with an earthquake?
Cute dog!
I am now face to mug with the world's Iargest coffee cup, bright saffron in color.  Holding this cup is an arm consistent in scale and--worse yet--leading to a huge blouse identical in its shade of saffron.  If there’s a term for this sad psychological disorder, I have no idea what it is.
“What are you doing?”
(her tone happily suggesting that I've been caught doing something nasty, throwing me a bit off guard)
“Well, uh, just looking for moonstones--though I haven’t found any for a week…”
(Regaining composure, I fabricate a last second lie at the end of this sentence, hoping to deflect her attention from the contents of my bag.  I now prepare for a lengthy pause and further hope that the ensuing awkwardness will put an end to our conversation)
“What do they look like?”
 (No such luck, the conversation continues...)
“They’re dull on the outside but bright on the inside.“
(AND I want to add  “Just the opposite of some people I meet on the beach!” but no doubt, my Saffron Superfriend’s mighty IQ barrier would shield her from such insinuations)
“You mean they glow on the inside?”
“Yes, you might put it that way. There’s an inner luminescence or “shatoiance”.
(I surprise myself by recalling the lapidary term for this
phenomena, and now realize that it rhymes with the word “annoyance”)
“Uh, huh…  Are they valuable?
(Obviously, rhyme sucks as a subliminal device.)
“Not really, the mineral known in the San Simeon area as a "moonstone" is just an amalgam of quartzite and agate, the local samples additionally noted for their distinctive calciferous swirls. The real moonstones, actual gemstones of interest to jewelers, require geological conditions found quite far from here.”
(I ramble on in my most pedantic tone.  Dear Jesus, what is required to make this woman go away?)
“You mean they can only be found in another country?”
(Here abandoning strategy for a tactical approach)
“Well, maybe not so far as that…  You see the next section of this beach, the one parallel to that distant sailboat?  Just continue in the direction you were originally heading and you might find the perfect conditions...”
(This woman wouldn’t get my drift if I shoved it down her throat!)
“Really?  Well, I just think nothing's prettier than being here and--OH MY GAWD--you are so interesting!
(So this then, is Hell, or at least a slice of purgatory reserved for the perpetually rude.  Before me is the instrument of my eternal suffering--blathering on unaware that Stewart has merrily wrapped his leash around her legs.  I suppose, even in Hades, polite warnings are in order)
“Careful, he’s VERY good at tripping people.  Preventing his throat-lunge afterwards is a real hassle.  And he hates the color yellow, especially orangish-yellow.  Wow, then you’re talking some serious misbehavior…"
“Oh!” (she says and edges out of sight)

Stewie and I look at each other.

The beach is once again, ours alone. 
Note to self: TWO doggie bones when we get home.