Holes in Rocks

The water goes in through holes in rocks. Recharge features. The water comes out through holes in rocks. Springs. As a Walker Between Worlds, the hole in the rock, the Faery Stone, the Friendship Rock, has held a fascination for me as it does for many people who seek to see through the apparant into the underlying, the alternative realities, the Other Sides of the issue, of the world.

This weekend I made a trip several counties over to a sacred Spring, a hole in the rock which happens to be on private land where the "owners" choose to use their land for the benefit of the people, a privately run park and swimming hole with attendant camping grounds. They could have built a hotel, a cement staircase to the springfed pool, or any number of sacrileges in typical texan tack-headery, but they are satisfied with with what they have, a regular income that pays the taxes and the help and keeps the place well maintained.

And in spite of the fact that there are no Parks Police to inspect your fireplace, and in spite of the fact that a number of regulars are beer-drinkin YaY-Hoos the place is at least as respected and harmonious as any State Park in comparible situation.

It was in this sacred spring that I lost my Rock. This Rock, with a Hole through it, which I have worn on my neck as a talisman for seven or nine years, I would have to check records that do not exist.

The Rock came from a Recharge Feature. The water goes through the Hole, then re-emerges at Barton Springs. We have done what we could, also known as not nearly enough, to make sure that the water that goes through the Hole is clean enough to become clean water that comes from the Hole at Barton Springs.

On our trip out to this sacred swimming hole, we passed by the Gallerias at Bee Caves, which is one of the examples of how we did what we could but not nearly enough, to make sure that the water at Barton Springs emerges cool and clean. I knew that it was a battle fought, but I didn't know that it was another one lost, and I wept and wept, seeing that land on Little Barton Creek razed clear, where I once learned the names of frogs in zoology class.

So further away from the grip of Overpopulation and attendant Sprawl Development, we were able to remember without regret, how this Hill Country with its Springs and Holes in Rocks once attended to our joy.

And then, I lost my Rock. My skin's acids had for years been wearing at the limestone, and with one tug, the rock crumbled away from the ribbon that held it to my neck for seven years, as a reminder. What I drink, the water from the rock. What my bones are made of, the limestone in the water from the Rock, which I drink. Where my Other Side and Self walks and lives, the Faery realms underground and in the Aquifers. And what I did that was not enough, to save the limestone hills with the Bugs and Birds and Wild Lands, which has now fallen to sprawl overdevelopment like the Shops at the Galleria on Little Barton Creek behind the Backyard.

Weeping with the Rock in my hands (it still has the big hole that is not broken), at that beautiful fern-laced cliff under the waterfall of clean water from that Hole in the Rock, what was I to do. Seven years of it's protection and guidance and company?

I threw it into the Springs.