Cherry stone

When a cherry stone is run over by a bus, it gets wedged into the tread of one of the tires, and so instead of being hurt, it is taken on a journey.

Sometimes it gets stuck in that tread way too long and can only see hot stinky rubber, gravel tossed at it creating pits in the stone, or pits in the pit. It’s not a pleasant ride, this journey. It’s dark and you have no idea you are going anywhere, only vague sense of motion.

Are you running in circles? Are you running at all or is something or someone else doing the running for you? And if you are being taken along for the ride, can you get off?


Miraculously it stops. You wriggle and squirm. The truck takes off, but you’ve loosened yourself enough that you can slide out of the tread…if you dare. You have a sense this is the only way for you to grow and change, yet you fear you are letting yourself out in the middle of a dessert or a dangerous street where peeps with knives are waiting…


But you are a stone– a Cherry Stone. A pitted pit, scarred, not so pretty as the cherry you might have been, had your flesh not been stripped clean off before ever having had a chance to ripen.

But here you are. A hard little pit. A survivor. You survived your past. The rest of your life will be a cakewalk. With cherries on top. You can borrow another skin, or maybe even grow a new one–science and spirit combine to make miracles only barely dreamed of.

But it’s not easy. A Cherry Stone is hard. That’s why it’s hard. It has to be. Or it had to be.


But you survived. Do you still need to be so damned hard?

Just started raining. Love the sound of rain. Universe applauding. I guess I’m on the right track.


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