FC: Geodes by Carrie Newcomer | compiled by LeeAnn Reindl
1: Geodes My home in Southern Indiana is a rolling green land abundant in limestone and the mysterious rocks called geodes. Geodes are so copious in this part of the state that we pile them in our gardens and think of them as commonplace. I am fascinated with these unassuming brown and grey stones that contain inside them a sparkling center of quartz crystals. They are surprising beautiful and a wonderful metaphor. They remind me to look deeper, because often within what may appear quite ordinary is a core of beauty and mystery. Sometimes I will take visiting friends on muddy walks along the hills and hollows of my home pointing out the creek beds full of geodes. Often they confess that if I hadn’t pointed out these unadorned stones their presence would have been missed entirely. But once familiar with the signature lumpy look of geodes, these friends begin to see the stones everywhere. This is how paying attention works. At first I have to look quite deliberately to find the sparkling center of things, but eventually I begin to notice the patterns and come to expect the unexpected. Carrie Newcomer
2: You can't always tell one from another. And it's best not to judge a book by its tattered cover. I have found when I tried or looked deeper inside,
4: What appears unadorned might be wondrously formed. You can't always tell, but sometimes you just know.
6: Around here we throw geodes in our gardens. They're as common as the rain or corn silk in July. Unpretentious browns and grays, the stain of Indiana clay.
8: They're what's left of shallow seas, glacial rock and mystery, and inside there shines a secret bright as promise.
10: All these things that we call familiar, are just miracles clothed in the common place. You’ll see it if you try in the next stranger's eyes,
12: God walks around in muddy boots, Sometimes rags and that's the truth. You can't always tell, but sometimes you just know.
14: Some say geodes were made from pockets of tears, trapped away in small places for years upon years. Pressed down and transformed, until the true self was born, and the whole world moved on like the last notes of a song, a love letter sent without return address.
16: You can't always tell one from another, and it's best not to judge a book by it's tattered cover. Now I don't open them to see, folks 'round here just like me.
18: We have come to believe there's hidden good in common things. You can't always tell, but sometimes you just know. You can't always tell, but sometimes you just know.
19: By Carrie Newcomer © Carrie Newcomer Music, BM1 Bug Publishing.