Magical Rock Experience

Up in northern California on the Russian River at Guernville, I like to walk on the river shores collecting this amazingly beautiful rock. Every summer we spend a couple of weeks on the river and inevitably end up on a gravel beach across the river from the cabin, and the kids search for the perfect 'skippin' rock while I collect a pile of my own rocks that are big smooth green stones - not flat round gray skipping stones. My rock looks a lot like bloodstone: kind of mossy green with burgundy and brown veins running through it. And you don't find a lot on the beach - they are mainly just in the river bed.

I don't understand my attraction to this stone. I suppose it could be self-centered because the stone is the same color of my eyes. But it's not just the color. It's the smooth feel, the weight, the density, the coolness; all of it puts me in a trance. I look at each rock and imagine them all coming from the same mother source: all related yet scattered now after a millenea of freezing, thawing, cracking and washing down a river...polished smooth by the fresh water washing over it. I can't help but appreciate the millions of years it took for the mother rock to form. It appears igneous...like it could have started out as a type of granite and just got pressed over time into something denser and more colorful. It's glassy but not clear. It's thick and heavy, not porous...so it had to have extreme pressure and water, and stillness in order to end up so solid yet veined. I look at this rock and feel like I am dipping into a personal relationship with earth's beginnings. It's an amazing feeling. Peaceful.

Last summer we set out with the same old pattern. First thing we do when we arrive at the cabin is to drop our bags, jump in the river and swim across to the beach and immediately skip rocks, and me reuniting with green stones, and once again starting my collection for the week. One afternoon while I was searching for the perfect stone to add to my collection (which ends up on the ledge of my tub at home), I kept thinking quietly: "I wish I could see what this rock looked like in its original state. I wish I could see the massive rock formation that these once were." The feeling was overwhelming. I wanted to go back in time and see where these rocks came from. See the layer in the ground...see it as a big mountain...just see where it started.

We ended our vacation uneventfully, but with a pit stop in San Francisco at my sister's city house (we call her river house 'the river house' - that's the cabin where we stay on the Russian River). This trip was a little different because we usually don't stop to sight see in the city, and we usually wouldn't have a dog with us. But it had been years since the boys had seen the sites, and we had recently rescued a dog - so we had her with us because we didn't have the heart to kennel her so soon after being rescued from a kennel.

Anyway, because we had the dog with us, I went running every morning while we were in the city to give her (and me) a good little work out. One morning the dog and I set out. Super cold but beautiful morning. The wind was really strong in my sister's neighborhood, but the dog and I were troopers. Since I didn't know a lot of good running routes, I decided to just keep running up hill on random streets until it was time to turn around and go back. That way I was certain the whole second half of the run would be downhill and hence, easy. Well, we found this really great neighborhood that ran along the side of a mountain - which I later found out is an area called Twin Peaks (because there are 2 small little mountains), and Tank Hill (because it houses a huge water tank). So there's like 4 little mountains with neighborhoods clustered in between them all - in the Castro and Cole Valley areas of the city. But at the time I was running it, I had no idea where I was.

We ran up a super long winding hill on a mountain road, and the wind was blowing all this really thick fog over us. The higher we got in elevation, the less we could see. It was more like clouds rather than fog. Soon we could only see the ground at our feet. We came to this big intersection and I noticed a park sign pointing to the left, revealing there was a park or preserve. But ahead of me, behind the sign, was a hill that went straight up. It was just a hilly area with dirt paths leading to the top, so I brought the dog up there to explore. The fog / clouds were so thick we couldn't even see the top of the hill we were climbing. We followed the path up to the top. Couldn't see a thing. All I could do was to feel was the wind. It seemed to be coming in from the East cause when I turned so it would blow on my face, the sky was bright and glowing like the sun was trying to break through. And since it was morning, and the sun rises in the East...well I figured I was facing East by all accounts.

The clouds started to thin and there was a little more visibility. I looked down and noticed this amazing thing. I noticed I was right next to this rocky formation on the top of the hill. And on the formation there was laying the most beautiful cuts of lamb I had ever seen. It was surreal, like someone was leaving an offering. In my head, I figured, "only in San Francisco". Then I noticed the rock that the meat was sitting on. It was one big rock jetting up out of the ground all jagged at an angle from the rest of the ground. It was massive, and I could see layers in it. And it was green and smooth...just like my river rock. It was the mother rock! Or part of it or something. Some version of what my river rock looked like before it was millions of little river rocks. I was seeing exactly what I was wishing for just a few days earlier. I was speechless.

I turned back to the East where the sun was still filtered but blinding. Like it was God Himself giving me what would be a little wink for Him - - but was an over powering brilliant light for me. I just stood there numb. I started crying. It was too much. Just then the sun began to break through and I turned back around to see the rock again. See if I could chip a little piece and take it. At once I was so shocked to see towering 900 feet above me - this massive radio tower. I stumbled backpedalling so fast. The dog came over as if to help me. My heart was beating super hard. The tower was such a startling site after being enveloped in the solitude of the fog with just the rock, the offering, and the brilliant but filtered sun. I ran down that hill so fast. When I got to the bottom, the fog had lifted from that point and I could see the whole immensity of the entire tower.

It was actually on another hill across a little valley from me. But is was so immense in it's presence, that while I was on top of the rock hill, I thought the tower was right next to me. I was so thankful that I hadn't seen the tower before climbing the hill. I realized that the immense structure would have prevented me from even going up that hill had I seen it before hand. I don't know why I found it to be so frightening. It just was. The fear of the man-made thing would have prevented me from seeing God's gift...unfolding as though a response to my earlier desire to see the origin rock.

The whole experience still seems to totally unreal, surreal, tangible, spiritual, historical, and hysterical. I will never forget that run, that experience, as long as I live. I later found out the tower is Sutro Tower - a famous landmark in San Francisco. I feel embarrassed for feeling so intimidated by it's size. But I guess you had to be there.