Time throbs through the earth. Vibrations are its measure, movements from the center. Walking on its surface is like walking on water. Through the soles, the voices vibrate undulating into the soft flesh within the cranium, speaking to an ancient heart, tickling memory from the deep past, altering the consciousness of the prospector. Absorbent, the prospector breathes the dust of the past. Now the savannahs of Africa, the caves of Europe, the high deserts of the Americas influence her mind. The senses prevail over the logic of consciousness.
This past is in her memory. It stretches the muscles in her legs, surging up through her fingertips, penetrating the rods and cones of her eyes. Responding to these vibrations, she is a sensation guided by signals already within her: the time when language, words and logos mind did not exist.
She is a lioness hunting. Her strides are languid, her movement sinuous. Moving slowly, she slows time seduced by the pulse of the earth…An explanation isn’t necessary until later…
Her eyes see a rock. Distinctive, attractive features beckon, holding her gaze. She bends, touches it, picks it up, turns it in her hands, sniffs the surface, holds the lens to it. Then, with her hammer, she lays the rock back onto a hard surface and strikes it. From this point, she begins a relationship with this rock. She is an erosional force, like a carnivore, devouring the rock.
The rock evokes its time of formation. Crystallized, silicified, frozen in its structure is its story. In the prospector’s hands, the rock becomes an historical document.
NEXT WEEK: The Art of Prospecting: Breaking Rock