I didn’t see it the first time I passed. There is a giant stone marking the gravel path that I walk on every day. (And I must add, I pay attention to the stone because it reminds me of the one that marked the driveway to my grandfather’s house.) 

It’s close to an hour by the time I make my way out and back, searching for asparagus. Instead of walking past the large stone a second time, I cut through the field, usually rich with asparagus, and then wind my way up the large hill. As I started back down something caught my eye. I wasn’t sure what it was. A woman sitting on the stone? An animal? I couldn’t quite make it out. When I got to the bottom of the hill, I saw it. Four rocks placed perfectly in order to balance on the large one. No glue. No cement. Nothing to hold them, but balance.

Voices carry easily on this path. But I never heard anyone. Never saw anyone. Had they brought the stones with them? How did they manage to find them? Place them? In such a short time. 

I hadn’t seen the art of balancing stones until I moved to France. With mountains and rivers so near, the options are plentiful. With mild research, I found that it was all a meditation in balance. Finding the core strength to stand tall, no matter what nature throws at you. 

I suppose I’ve felt off balance for a few months now. Losing my mother was like losing one of the rocks that held me upright. I hope it’s not arrogant to think this is a sign for me. I don’t think so. Maybe we’re all here to give each other signs. To pick up the stones, when others are weary. To give each other hope. Through words. Paintings. Gestures. Even rocks. And if we can do that for each other, then I think we can create a world of balance that we all long for.

My grandfather gave me this. My mother did too. Maybe they still are. Or maybe the duty has been passed along the path. I find comfort in it all. 

A few days ago a friend of mine sent an email and signed it, Mystery and Peace. I guess that says it all. I hope you find both on your path today.