I AM THE ROCK
I am the rock. I sit outside in my yard, and I am the rock. I came from the mystery of the beginning of time. I have names, like pebbles, boulders, moon and volcanic rock. Some of me are fragments from the universe that broke off from distant galaxies and hurtled through space, lighting up the night sky and landing with a thud on the earth and I am celestial. Some of me crunched under Hitler’s feet as he marched forward into eternity, leaving death and destruction in his wake. Some of me lay at the cradle of Jesus Christ saving all people. With me, angels sang on high and I am holy. Bits and pieces of me make up the stupa of Buddha in stillness and quiet and I am nothing. I am the rock. From earth’s core, melted, I spewed out of ancient volcanoes, darkening the sky, covering the earth, snuffing out life, until it began anew. Ancient chariots with wooden wheels rode over me as they charged forward, taking humans onward toward their destiny. I, rock, crumbled at the feet of Mohammed, held open the pages of the Talmud, supported the Bible. Water cascades over me in sparkling ripples, water covers me in creeks and in ponds as cow graze around me. Earth is my home, heaven is my home, and darkness and light both contain me. I am rock, I am nothing and I am everything all at once. I am eternity,
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