Pop's Rock

from Buddha's Playhouse, Breitenbush

Two days before my birthday I received an envelope from Ecuador.

I shook my head in a giddy sort of awe- my father had managed to send a birthday remembrance... not only on-time, but early- and from another hemisphere even!

I've learned to poo-pooh my birthday- falling as it does in the dead of winter and almost always when some hefty work or study project demands my attention, it has typically failed to command the bells-and-whistles sort of regard that I suppose, on some level, I used to long for.

See, there's a little girl in me who can be spunky, dauntless, and almost alarmingly independent.  Perhaps unsurprisingly, she's got a flip-side... there are times when she desperately, achingly needs to feel special, valued, and even adored- and this is rarely more evident than when the occasion of her birth marks another circuit around the sun.

There are reasons that this can be hard on the people around me...

One,  as the date gets closer it's hard to know which little girl you're going to get at any given moment (I'm fine one minute, and the next inexplicably but profoundly melancholy over some long-ago birthday gone awry).

Two, there's precious little in terms of material things that I really need or want.  I have little patience for knick-knacks, don't own anything that matches, and my interests are fairly esoteric and close to the earth (my mom sent a check and I bought a wooden crate with drawers to store herbal tinctures and a solar oven- who could intuit stuff like that?!?).  The only thing I really want is a piece of healthy land to live on and cultivate food and medicine, and I don't expect that'll land in my lap as a birthday surprise.

Three, in years past I have wavered idealogically over whether I find used and regifted items fun, funky, and practical- or whether the wee little girl needs to feel valued and special with something picked out just for her.

In the past few years my dad has endeavored to satisfy/pacify/gratify my birthday needs, without benefit of explanation as to why I needed/wanted/demanded for him to be present with me in ways I could not articulate or even comprehend.


His offerings (which were peppered for several years with a continually expanding family of rubber lizards, frogs, and geckos) were made, I can only imagine, in a sort of vacuum of unknowing and uncertainty as to how they'd be received.


A little backstory:
My dad was the young single parent of a pre-teen girl in the late 1970's.  Add to this equation the fact that our story unfolded against the backdrop of The Theatre community, and you will not be surprised to discover a tale full of big-D Drama. The time and our situation provided an entire panoply of opportunities for stresses and misfortunes in our relationship.

In the past couple of years, we have worked hard- and bravely- to step out of the mire of yesteryear and meet each other in the present tense.  In the past twelve months especially, Dad has surprised and impressed me with a series of small but earnest gestures- each giving us more space to call common ground.  I have been heartened.

Here comes the foreshadowing...
part one
This past summer, during a conference of women herbalists, I experienced a profound awakening around the experience of tribal drumming.  It bears telling in a post all its own someday, but for now let it suffice to say that it heralded a time of rich inquiry and discovery into the tales and traditions of indigenous peoples the world over (many of which point to similar considerations regarding 2012... ok, ok, another post.  Soon.)

I've been deeply affected by the shared perspectives among a number of Earth's original people- for instance, that there are no insentient beings but just different earth tribes with different purposes... the plant tribe, the insect tribe, the tree tribe... all working together in harmony to carry out cycles of birth, eating, dying, decay... from which comes new growth... of particular interest recently has been the stone tribe.


I recently read a retelling of a story shared by many tribes.  It says that since the stone tribe has been with the earth since it formed, its members have been entrusted with recording the history of everything that's ever taken place on the earth.  They are further charged with sharing the ancient wisdom with other beings (some of them human) who can benefit from (or better yet, serve the world community through) the knowledge thus shared.


foreshadowing part two
As an extension of the herbal conference mentioned above, I have undertaken a 10-part training in the Art and Science of Herbalism with Rosemary Gladstar (a celebrated grand-ma-ma of the herbal community).  In my present lesson I am focused on herbs that are described as "alteratives", which have among their actions a tendency to "purify the blood" through support of the liver and kidneys over an extended time.  One of the questions I've been wrapping myself around with relish has to do with why it seems to be that most alteratives are roots, that grow deep within the earth.  

As homework, I began devising a story in alignment with the indigenous traditions- that deep within the earth are the stone beings that live closest to the core of Mother Earth, and it is through the wisdom of those stones that the roots receive their instructions as to what healing benefits to offer those humans earnest enough to harvest, prepare, and consume the medicine.

scenic interlude... 
In the past eight months I have received postcards from my father in Mongolia, Helsinki, Jerusalem, Capetown and Galapagos.   He and his Long-Term Lady have embarked on a 13-month excursion with a backpack each, to experience an astonishing array of what this great blue globe has to offer by way of hostels, WoOFing (Work on Organic Farms- in exchange for room and board), and couch surfing.  

It was a matter of great good fortune that they both humored me in my desire to show them how to blog, mere hours before they left, because their recounting of their unfolding journey has been a source of immense delight, appreciation, and gratitude.  Through their generous sharing I have had a taste of amazing places from a very authentic perspective... South Africa, Sweden, Russia, France, Mongolia, the Dead Sea, Belgium, Spain, Jerusalem, Greece, the Andes... 

On the actual Day of my birthday the two intrepid travelers got on a raft at the headwaters of the Amazon, and off they went... I am eagerly awaiting that particular blogpost!  

"she'll be comin' round full circle..."
So.  I got this envelope from Ecuador.  It said not to open it until my birthday, and I reluctantly complied.  What could it be?  I poked, prodded, and pressed around the edges.  In deference to a tradition Dad and I made up when I was a kid, I hazarded a guess based on its size (about the size of a quarter, three-dimensional, irregular, and hard)... "it's a record!"  Nope.

The blessed morning finally dawned, and before I bustled out the door to a profusely demanding day I paused to tear open my little parcel.  Drum roll...

in my hands and in my heart

Out tumbled this little rock.  With one flat side, one concave and one convex, of slightly porous quality and a sense of deep saltiness (I can't describe why it feels that way, it just does), and sand-and-honey hue, it came with a little square of notebook paper explaining that it had approached him while he was in the Dead Sea- the lowest point on earth (Read: Closest to the Core of Earth Mother).  In one of the most celebrated healing places known to man, this rock had stood out to him... and he had felt compelled to ferry it on to me.

I paused.  I felt it.  Smelled it.  Held it to my heart.  Listened.


I felt a stirring inside as the salt in me rushed to meet the salt in the stone.  I wept sweet, sloppy tears for a moment- the tears of a girl who just got exactly what she wanted for her birthday, without ever having known she wanted it. 


Best. Birthday Tears. Ever.