I have been climbing rocks, photographing rocks and thinking about rocks for several decades. When I was about twenty, I went rock climbing with a philosopher. He said it gave you a good sense of the value of life. He was right, but for me the climbing was much harder than it was for anyone else that day, simply because I was shorter. Every move I made had to be creative because I could not reach the holds. I found my way up the vertical face and then came the petrifying part. To get around the hump at the edge I had to do a kind of pirouette: starting facing outwards, then turning to face the rock and a final outwards move at which point I reached a solid base. I overcame my fear and launched into the move. I have rarely been so scared. This all occurred at a place called Hanging Rock a few hours outside of Melbourne and the location of the film, Picnic at Hanging Rock.
In my novel, Dark Matters, I write about rocks.
Of all the sacred places, which has had the most effect on me? It’s usually associated with rocks. The rocks in the Flinders Ranges, the scented rock in the Temple of the Rock in East Jerusalem, the rock in the Church of the Holy Sepulchre down another road in Jerusalem, the rock at New Grange in Ireland or the standing stones of Lewis, the hypogeum on Malta, Maes Howe on the Orkneys, the rock at Kata Tjuta, the tears of Pele on Hawai’i, the baetyl stones of Sardinia, the rock on the southern shore of Crete near Agia Galini, and an almost identical rock near Mahabalipuram in southern India. So many rocks in so many places. What is it about rocks?
And the body? Is it a kind of rock?
Rock manifesto
All that is solid is solid. We should know. We rocks. We have seen it all. From the first hurtlings through space to this relatively settled time when all that’s happening is just a bit of heat.
We are the ground on which you stand. Your artworks were pecked and painted into our flesh well before anything else. We are a peaceful lot, but sometimes we have been dragged into the fray and hurled against the enemy.
We are quiet. Come sit with us on a sunny day and feel the warmth we give off. We like to spread out on the ground, sunbake. But you’ll also find us there on days of icy wind with small plants sheltering in our soft parts, trees taking root and reaching for the sun. And when the rivers break their banks you can watch as some of us jump from bank to bank.
In the old days, people had more quiet time, more time to listen. It was then we shared our secrets. If you look, you might find them. Make a journey to rocky places, you’ll find that we guard all the sacred sites whether it’s Kata Tjuta or Jerusalem, New Grange or Ankhor Wat. Put your hand on our surface, smell the scent we leave. Curl into our embrace. We don’t mind. We like to hold you, shelter you, even feed you.
Come dance the slow time jig.
(Meet Mago Contributor) Susan Hawthorne.