the White Stone - Page 109



the White Stone
page 109
When I was a young, about 14 years old I went down to the beach from my
Uncles house. It was probably summertime, bright and clear.
This is where my cousin lives now, on Uist, looking over to Vallay Island with
the tall mountains of Harris in the far distance.
The water is absolutely clear and the sand soft and bright. There are a number
of large black rocks there by the shoreline. The great storms of winter, which
in these islands can be elemental, have worn them down to be smooth like
marble. Of course they are still there now.
It was these big black rocks that I was taken by. I saw, I understood, I became
aware of this raw and rare sense. That contrary to what is normally believed,
these rocks were alive. Absolutely animate. Neither inert nor dead. Charged
with Spirit. Intelligent and in the breath of God. They were like lizards
absorbing the heat of the sun. Warm to the touch.
Head West from here, around the point where the seals are, along past the
steadings beach, then all along these shores, past the Caisteal Odair, the
Guardian and fairy place, as far as Hosta. These are the places where we find
the little white quartz stones that are the seed and inspiration of this book.

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