When we translate something we’ve seen or experienced into words, it is necessary to pay more attention than we usually would. A few minutes of mindful attention (even once a day) helps us to engage with the world in all its beauty.
To find your own small stones:
1. Keep your eyes, nose, mouth, fingers, ears & your mind open.
2. Notice something.
3. Write it down.
What does a small stone look like?
As long as it’s shortish, anything goes. There are no strict rules as there are for forms such as haiku. small stones are often concrete, specific, and written about ordinary things – birdsong, or a dark grey cloud.
Do I have to be a writer to write small stones?
No. The process of finding small stones is more important than the finished product. Searching for them will encourage you to keep your eyes (and ears, nose, mouth, fingers, feelings and mind) open.Your short written piece (and learning to enjoy writing & the deliciousness of words) is simply a happy by-product of this process.
Where will I find small stones?
small stones are everywhere, all of the time. All you have to do is pause and let them appear. You’ll know when you see one, because it will set off a small burst of feeling inside you. It might be that you really notice the ugliness of a piece of chewed gum on the pavement, or the beauty of a pigeon, or vice versa. An overheard snippet of conversation might strike you as amusing, or strange. Whatever you notice, you will be noticing it with fresh eyes.
How do I pick up my small stones?
The best way is to catch them as they occur, by carrying a note-book around with you and jotting down what you’ve noticed or experienced straight away.”….
And so, on the 1st January 2014 – here is my first Small Stone:
On Silence…
I am bathing in the glorious, hushed caress of silence. It is dense, warm and comforting and spreads itself throughout my entire being like thick, soupy chocolate sauce. It lavishes me with relief and soothes my soul, stroking my life blood with its balmy spread of deeply attentive, invisible fingertips. It is pregnant, all but empty, and full of possibility. I am embraced by a silent whisper, a gentle, loving force, that is just as alive and as potent as sound itself. There would be no sound without silence. In fact, silence has a sound but not one that can be heard with my ears, only with my heart. My heart hears its potency, understands its call for renewal, for rest. It is the soft sandy shore upon which I can lay my bare feet before returning again to swim in the waves of life’s rhythmic heartbeat.
Sensing Life 