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The Thinking Stone
SUELLA WALSH
I can’t remember a time in my childhood when the stone wasn’t there. It stood
proudly in the northwest corner of my grandmother’s yard, standing nearly four
feet tall with a width to match. It gave off a grayish hue.
When I was a preschooler, relatives often placed me on the stone when they
talked to me. Doing so put us more at eye level. Even at that young age, I was
drawn to the warm vibes that enveloped me while on the cool, smooth surface.
Even more importantly, the stone made me taller, empowering me by lifting me up.
When I was big enough to climb onto its welcoming expanse, it became my special
place — my place to think. Since I was an introspective child, this rock
afforded me the perfect environment to contemplate, to analyze, and to make
important life decisions. The stone also became a symbol of my dear, Irish
grandmother. She was a true light in my life—someone who encouraged me, someone
who believed in me
It was only a natural progression that by the time I was old enough to sit on
the stone (without having to climb up) it became the place where I spent many
circumspect hours. I felt safe there, wrapped in the serenity of the stone,
feeling wrapped in the cocoon of my grandmother’s love.
On clear spring or summer days, when the sky was so blue I could see right
through it and the sun warmed my back, I would sit on my polished gray throne
and contemplate life’s choices with all their shades of gray, all their subtle
innuendo. Ultimately I would pull out the path that I believed would work best
for me.
On dark fall or winter days, the sky heavy with promise and meaning, a crisp
breeze stinging my cheeks, I felt alive to the core and thoughts sprang to mind
with great clarity. On such days, I could make the hard choices.
On my thinking stone, I saw the wisdom of breaking up with my high school
boyfriend of three years, of going away to college when money was scarce, of
pursuing my goals of teaching and writing when family members were dead set
against it. I chose my life’s partner on that stone. I decided when to bring my
children into the world on that stone. These are a few of the more significant
decisions that came to me in that special place.
Of course, people have told me that it wasn’t the stone at all, that an
inanimate rock couldn’t possibly have anything to do with my considered
conclusions, my method of selection. But I know better.
My beloved grandmother is gone now, her property sold, the stone removed - I
know not where. Yet it is still with me, just as she is still with me. When I
need to think something through, even now, I can close my eyes, feel the stone
beneath me, and feel my grandmother’s love around me. I know that I am empowered
by both, know that I can still find my way.
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