Last night I lay beside Jeb in the darkness. He had crawled up into my arms, his seven year old head resting on my shoulder, a leg thrown across mine.
He felt heavy like a stone – at least 60 pounds – and I wondered how long it had been since I’d held him in my arms like this. I recalled the early months of his life when I could lay on my side and and hold him within the crook of one arm. How his toes would brush my belly button. Now, they dangled around my ankles.
I thought about how one day – not so far away – he may no longer want to be this close. His body too big and long to curl up and rest within my limbs. His mind may be elsewhere, no need to cuddle with his mom.
I could see the stars through the screen of his bedroom. Feel his solid head near my chest. Listen to his breath. I soaked in the weight of the moment, as if his heaviness would leave an imprint on my body to always remember.
Once he fell asleep I moved myself out from under his floppy arms. The thought of the ever-elusive jade stone from Big Sur came to mind. Prompted by some quiet whisper I felt moved to look in my backpack one more time for the stone. My pack has about ten zippered pockets and I reached my hand inside each one, feeling my way into every crease and crevice.
That pocket’s empty.
Mmm, an umbrella. Ok.
Oh, Jeb’s old shirt is in this one. Laundry. Alright.
This pocket’s empty.
And then, I went to a very small inner pocket and felt something. Sure enough, I pulled out the little bag that held the jade given to me at the Heart Beat of Big Sur. There it was.
photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved
So here it is. Did the stone actually slip through the portals of time and space? I had searched my backpack repeatedly a few days ago to no avail.
Or had it been with me all along and I simply needed to experience a lesson of letting go? As promised, I had sent the sunrise shell to Big Sur on New Year’s eve, even though the jade had gone missing. Was the reemergence of the jade my reward for non-attachment and promises kept?
Or was it just that I was a scattered mother who couldn’t remember where I’d stashed my rock?
Funny thing about this stone, it’s full of mystery.
I’m sitting, eyes closed, on a cushion on the floor with nine of my fellow seminarians as we are in the final half hour of a five day exploration of our livelihood and place in the world. This workshop has taken place in one of my favorite locales and by now I am softened, open and happy.
Our skilled facilitator (Susan Bernstein, Work from Within) is guiding us through a meditation where we imagine ourselves launching into space and traveling through time. When we land it is five years in the future and we are greeted by our future selves.
There I am, forty-two years old, smiling and welcoming me with a warm hug. This woman understands me like no one else. No words need be exchanged, she knows my journey and she’s here to show me that all is well in the future.
We find ourselves on a cliffside vantage overlooking the Big Sur coastline. The view is grand, Future Me’s connection to the land is strong. Jeb is there, too. Now twelve, he is happy, quiet and present.
We walk to a bench and I sit in the middle with pre-teen Jeb and Future Me on either side. Future Me puts her arm around my shoulder and I feel her deep understanding and encouragement. Real-time tears move down my cheeks in the full experience of this meeting.
Our group is guided through this exchange and we come to a point in the meditation when we ask our future selves if they have anything to give us. Future Me presents a piece of Big Sur jade in the shape of a heart. She reminds me that anything is possible.
Our facilitator eventually guides the group back through time and space to land on our cushions in 2010. The workshop is over and we share our goodbyes, each traveling in our separate ways. I’ve arranged to spend a night in Big Sur, where my little room has everything folded in an accordion-like fan style: the toilet paper, the tissue, the washcloths and hand towels.
It’s early evening and I’m across the street from my hotel room, browsing through a shop full of gemstones. There is a case that features jade but most of it seems to be from other places. The woman at the register speaks limited English and is in the process of closing the store. I ask if she can help me find the jewelry made from Big Sur jade and then debate on purchasing the pair of earrings that she shows me. I decide to get them and as she wraps them up, I notice a bowl full of raw chunks of jade at the counter. I begin to sort through the rocks thinking I’d like to have a few small pieces to give as gifts.
As I’m sorting I hear her speak in a thick accent, “I think this is for you.”
I look up to see that she has reached into her pocket and is holding a smooth dark green stone in her hand. Though it is hard to understand her words entirely, I gather the following: she was walking on the road that day, looked down and saw the rock. She realized it was a piece of jade and picked it up.
“You found this stone today?” I ask.
“Yes,” she nods, smiling.
“Just on the side of the road?”
“Yes. I think it is for you.”
“For me? You want me to have it?”
“Yes. You like jade. Is for you.”
I take the stone. It is soft, the shape of a diamond with rounded edges. I am amazed.
I thank her profusely and ask for her address so that I can send her a Kauai jade equivalent – the sunrise shell.
Maybe it was a coincidence that on the same day that Future Me handed over a heart-shaped piece of Big Sur jade in some guided meditation, I was gifted that stone from a stranger at the shop called “Heart Beat of Big Sur“.
Heart Beat Gallery, Big Sur
But I like to think it was the ultimate cosmic wink. That somehow forty-two year old me slipped jade through the wrinkles of time and space, offering that stone as a reminder. That anything is possible. Magic comes in simple moments. All is well and will be well. Trust.
As I conclude this last day of 2010, I think about the future and what I want to cultivate in the coming years. I hope to catch up to Future Me and share a laugh. Though one never knows how long they get, I hope I have 5 more years and then another happy fifty more.
This little tale of jade in Big Sur is already in my past. And Future Me resides somewhere in a time I haven’t met yet. Life is a series of present moments and this day is what’s alive. Today I’ll be packaging up a little sunrise shell and mailing it to a PO Box in Big Sur.
photo by Jessica Dofflemyer - all rights reserved
Happy New Year!
Note: After writing the above words, I went to my suitcase to find the jade and take a photo to accompany this post. After searching every pocket of every travel bag I simply cannot find it. Was it all just a dream? Or, like the chrysoprase stone will it turn up in some random moment? Gotta love these mysteries.
For a special Saturday morning treat my son, Jeb, and I buy donuts and eat them in the park. I buy him his first surfing magazine at the check out counter and we look at big waves – “oh…look, he’s in the tube!” – while eating maple glazed pastries. Sugared up, Jeb wants to run the training course and swing really high.
Back home, we try playing Neil Young‘s “Razor Love” together. I’m strumming the guitar his dad brought back from India and Jeb sounds great with the harmonica and shaker.
jade and garnet on waxed linen - photo by Jessica Dofflemyer
I’m still obsessing on jade and spent part of the morning stringing beads on to waxed linen. I ponder over the coincidence that we saw a toddler named Jade at the playground on the swing set.
There is no point to me making a necklace but it feels good and I don’t want to stop. A line from what I think is a poem by Rumi comes to mind – something about following a thread. But after searching through old journal entries and online queries, I realize that I’m thinking of William Stafford‘s poetry.
The Way it Is
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among things that change. But it doesn’t change. People wonder about what you are pursuing. You have to explain about the thread. But it is hard for others to see. While you hold it you can’t get lost. Tragedies happen; people get hurt or die; and you suffer and get old. Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding. You don’t ever let go of the thread.
Something’s changing. I don’t know exactly where I’m going but I’m following the thread.
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