Some of the most precious things in my care are pebbles.
Encountered with delight over many years, sparingly gathered, they have become good companions, in a similar way that books, LPs and paintings touch my life.
Most days at some point I will hold a pebble, touch it to my face, roll it in a hand, give it attention, and re-place it in relation to its companions with care.
Just so…
The sculptor Barbara Hepworth [1903-1975] suggests that the weight and form and texture felt in our hands relates us to the past and gives us a sense of a universal force.
The generous pebble points beyond itself.
The stones indeed cry out.
Barbara goes on to say that the beautifully shaped stone washed up by the sea is a symbol of continuity, a silent image of our desire for survival, peace, and security.
I can attest to their calming effect, and I trust, to their shaping potential.
A poem in the haiku tradition from the Unfurling collection:
Brutality all
around; softening begins
here, pebbles rolled smooth.
Whenever I share this short poem I always place my hand on my heart as I say the here.
What weight, form and texture do I carry into the world?
I used to use pebbles as a sign of changing form yet consistent form sometimes when I talked to families who had lost a child ,I was a Chaplain at Great Ormond Street