2.20.16 Exploring Red Skywalker
The young man was furious. Incredibly enraged. Anger growled hungrily in his belly. He pushed the door open roughly, stormed through, and kicked the first thing he saw. It was a rock. He kicked it once, twice, thrice; it wouldn’t budge. He picked it up and hurled it to the ground. Once, twice, thrice, crack! He smashed it with all his might and the cracks exploded into chunks, bits, and pieces that went flying in many directions. The man stopped and took a breath, took in the broken fragments of the rock scattered about. He bent down and picked up a piece, held it, looked at it closely, and burst into tears.
“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, cradling the piece in his hand, “I’ve broken you when you did nothing to me, I’m sorry I’m sorry.”
He kept repeating this, weeping over the shard in his hand until it was drenched.
“I am not broken,” said a voice unexpectedly.
The man looked around, but there was no one there, yet he had heard a voice speaking quite clearly.
“You have not broken me,” said the same voice.
The man regarded the rock he held through blurry eyes. He squinted at it and was startled when it spoke a third time.
“I am Rock, I am unbreakable.”
“But look at what I did!” The man exclaimed, “In my anger I shattered you! This is unforgivable!”
Rock chuckled. “Yes, look at me, I’ve gone from big to many, long ago I was even bigger than I was when you came along, I was as big as a boulder. Before that I was as big as a mountain, eroded by wind and rain, yet here I am and I here I remain Rock, and I say you have not broken me, for I am as I’ve always been: Rock, and Rock I shall remain until I turn to dust and return to the biggest rock of all rocks, where I shall settle and rise again.”
The man shook his head, “I can’t believe you’re talking with me!”
“Really?” asked Rock, “That’s odd considering you began the conversation.”
The man shook his head wonderingly, “I did didn’t I? I can’t imagine what possessed me to do such a thing, but I felt so awful after what I did, like I’d murdered something innocent out of meanness and fury and the words came out, now here I am talking with, with a . . . Rock!”
“Ah, never done this before have you,” stated Rock, “Humans often find it strange at first, you’ll get used to it.”
“You’ve spoken with others? People? I mean human’s . . . .” The man trailed off, feeling stupid and at a loss for words.
“As I said earlier, I’ve been around a long time, though who’s counting. Long enough to have spoken with many of your kind, about many a thing or three, in many a different shape and size. They each had their own name for me; I’ve kept Rock for myself. What do you fancy calling me?”
“Quinka,” the man blurted out, “If you don’t mind that is.”
“Quinka eh, well I’ve been called worse.”
“I’m Peter,” the man said.
“Well Peter, keep me with you and we may have many an adventure to share. In this shape and size I am what is called portable and indeed can act as a portal amongst other things.”
“A portal? How? Where?”
“I am Rock, Peter, remember this well. The ground beneath your feet is Rock, everywhere you walk is Rock, under Ocean: Rock, you cannot get away from Rock. Even if you were to fly, you would be Rock bound after a time, for you would find yourself pulled back to the Great Mother of All Rocks:: Earth, whether you want to be or not. Know this, we Rocks are all Rock regardless of place, shape, size, color, and variety. Our essence, our core is Rock, and as such one Rock leads to another, hence we make terrific portals between places for those who know how to listen, learn, and aren’t afraid to explore new territory. Are you afraid Peter?”
Peter thought about this then said, “No, I have anger but I am not fearful.”
“Anger is energy, it has power. Though you felt sorry when you thought you had murdered me, your anger transformed both you and I through which we are engaged in this conversation.
Peter was surprised by what he heard. “This is true,” he agreed, “Yet I feel like acting from anger is a bad way to be, like it’s wrong of me to be angry.”
“Hmm,” came a rumbly response, “Anger is energy. How you choose to use it and apply it, when and where and under what circumstances are all choices you must make to wield the energy in ways that are neither wrong nor right nor good nor bad but effective, efficient, and purposeful. Perhaps then you will know it for what it is, as you now know me for what I am.”
Peter was surprised yet again. “Well it seems like you have a lot of experiences with humans, and I have much to learn from you!”
“Just don’t put me in your pocket or a dark corner and forget all about me and we’ll get along fine!”
Peter laughed. He carried Quinka back through the open door with himself and fetched leather cordage.
“If this suits you,” he asked, showing the cord to Quinka, “I’d like to wrap you and wear you around my neck?”
“Yes, that’ll suit,” came the reply, “That’ll suit quite well.”
So Peter and Quinka spent their days together. With the passage of time, Peter found himself drawn toward iron, fire, and ultimately the forge. He poured his energy into hammering and pounding iron, setting sparks flying that once would have been the sparks of anger igniting destruction he wrought these into creation instead. His body took on the properties of Rock, hardened and resilient, patient, enduring and powerful. As he sweated and worked with iron, fire, hammer, and anvil, smelting and bending and chiseling, he was worked and shaped by Quinka, growing more masterful at his craft and mastering himself as well, until the day came when he could forge his hearts desire with ease, expertise, and grace wherever he chose to direct the flames that he kept tenderly kindled, which kindled him in turn. He is an old man now and his weathered craggy face bears the crevices and creases of Rock, his flinty eyes bright pools where water caches collect in indentations offering nourishment to the beings who find their way there. Quinka has eroded and developed curves around his edges, where he rests against Peter’s breast; an honored and beloved kinsman.
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