Rubbing away the black
1 September 13
Last year I was given a lump of heavy black rock in exchange for my husband and our son.
Each day I handle the sooty mass, and the darkness rubs off onto me as I turn it over and look for glimmers in the sunlight. When I take the black that is now on my own hands and wash it away, it means that’s a little less to rub off onto me in the future. The more that I seek the tiny glimmers, the easier they are to find.
Often I have to show this rock to someone else. “Here,” I say, rubbing it fiercely, uncovering the glints. “Look at the way the light shines off it!
“I know there’s more diamond underneath,” I insist. “I can’t see it right now, but I know there’s got to be more hidden under the black.”
The rock weighs a tonne. No one else can carry it for me, but I’ve gotten used to the added load. Sometimes I see others carrying a similar rock. “Hey,” I call, “I’ve found some goodness! Maybe yours contains hidden beauty too.”
You see, this rock that I was given is a jewel. Tiny facets are beginning to show, and I know that I can share my treasure with whomever I meet. But first I have to find the energy to rub away some more black.
(Image taken from here.)