words from a mind that is only cracked.

real value

when i was 5, my grandpa gave me a shard of petrified wood.
it was smooth, slate colored, lined with sinew-like divots and ridges.
he told me stories about the wood i held in my hand.
he said that it was from a tree that stood while t-rexes stormed the earth and pterodactyls patrolled the skies.
he said insects the size of labradors chipped at the bark and burrowed inside.
he said the tree had watched as the comet fell and rippled across the earth, wiping out everything it knew until only this tree, this single, special tree stood there.
he told me that it was older than i'd ever understand, and it had seen every era of time.
i looked down at the little rectangle in my palm, wide-eyed.
i still remember holding it to my chest when i was alone in my room, imagining the great vessel that it used to be a part of, the dinosaurs that romped about all around it, the infinite shadows it cast along the youthful earth.
i remember the gentle weight and smooth grooves of it in my hand.

thus, you must realize that value is not the same as rarity. value is intellect, knowledge tucked deep in the oldest of souls. it is the wisdom of consciousness, the awareness that very few possess. the knowing. the remembering.

though sparkling gold and diamonds catch the eye, it is the dusty little slab of petrified wood that holds the most value.
and the best stories.