The Diamond Hunter

In the early hours of the day I made my way through the thick matted moss on the dune. Down one side of the hill toward a cove not far in the distance I carried my bag. On the high ridged cliffs near the jagged rocky fibers the cypress stood in numb silence as the early morning fog left a moist layer of dew on the trees and grass. I went down to the shore searching for pebbles-- but what I found was a diamond. Cold and distant as I made my way over the rocks down to the sand a figure in the distance some faint glow...toward this I went. Some source unlike the easy plentiful pebbles but one that would be harder to find. The figure in the distance--was it a woman? I could not tell. The fog made some allusion as I journeyed to get closer. I made my way to the water, as if to start again as if the water would clear my eye to wipe away this fog. A diamond in the distance? Or afterall, was it a woman? The waves crashed and would run upon the shore scattering pebbles to surround my feet. I stood once as I sunk in the sand and pebbles tried to swallow me. Pebbles are easy to find and are not nearly as valuable. So, I struggled for the distance, hoping to find my way hoping, hoping to cut through this fog hoping to find what I had come for. A diamond in the distance is like a woman who waits for the diamond to find a diamond. But along the way the pebbles kept shining glistening as the water would wash them. I have always been a diamond hunter and always has there been space and time and distance between my findings. Diamonds are so rare. I grew closer to the light I could tell, I am closer. I stood as if to hear, or feel, or sense some presence enveloped in the fog near me, so near. As if to hear some breathing, some warm breathing-- but only formless fog. Then, then...a still moment... a moment out of time exempt, a moment of some touch some dumb, innocent touch a time without time to remember. A moment lost, forgotten still remembered now, not then. In one foggy moment the diamond eyes, her eyes saw what my eyes saw what reflected through a mirrored self of some lost soul in a prism. There, my eyes met with her eyes met with more eyes met with our eyes. Then, a moment lost a moment found, but not remembered. Some wise moment just some wise and ancient moment-- a stupid little knowing of what has always been. A shared something reckoning kinda knowing and not knowing-- knowing we were knowing yet unable to say or remember how. Diamonds are this way. Half-way in and out, partly here, slightly there yes, but no, and by the way...I love you. Diamonds are this way. I put the diamond in my bag as I made my way across the cove accross the sand and the pebbles to a place I always go-- the place I remember best. A crystal in my pouch on a rare, distant day will not be hard to carry until it goes away. But when you've found your diamond somehow it will be known and though some diamonds get away another day, early, some brightness in the distance in the cold, foggy distance along your way-- yes, a diamond cannot be mistaken. --Uncle Greg Written October 24th, 2001 © on Oct 24 2001 10:50 AM PST    0 • 12 • 8