They say that an object’s life is inherited from the materials used. That the soul of a thing is in the shadowed remnants of the life of that which goes into it.
Wood and Stone.
Rock and Bone.
Feather and Oil.
I wonder about their stories when I find them. When I collect their parts. When I look over what I’ve found, often ordered in lines and square faces; such a logical human way of sorting the world.
These stones are older than I am. Indeed, older than most things that are measured in years. And the wood had a life of its own as well, literally.
I have to believe that the passion within me to make beautiful, meaningful objects from once-living materials is a good one. That by transmuting the inert into sacred and the raw into refined, I can participate in channeling that once-life into a new life-giving entity in the world.
An object that when observed brings intentionality or focus; that brings a sense of calm and a desire to refine as I have refined these materials. Small shrines and altars to something that is threaded through everything in this universe: a deep and unspoken knowing that we are all interwoven. That as the intellectually capable free-choice entities of the universe we have an opportunity to do something in the world worth doing.
Maybe this wood becomes a little table top shrine that looks lovely and sits somewhere out of the way and that’s the end of the story.
Or maybe it will inspire greatness as I inspire greatness in it, so that together we might become more.