While I was hiking in Breckenridge, Colorado, I came upon an almost heart-shaped rock.
When held like this, the heart in the rock reveals itself.
The rock itself was quite unremarkable.
It had a fairly typical rock styling and coloration - some sandy yet pinkish, peachy tones that you might associate with a rock. But it was not truly and entirely “heart-shaped.”
David Lynch told us what we need to do.
With my current line of sight coupled with a healthy dose of curiosity and admiration for my surroundings, I was able to see the conditional heart shape at just the right angle. From that skewed view, the heart within the rock presented itself. And I was able to pick it up in the appropriate hand-held configuration to see the classic, traditional “Valentine” heart shape.
I was marveled by this discovery.
I found the rock on my second day of hiking, and I hiked all seven days I was in Breckenridge, Colorado.
I felt gratitude that I was able to see it in this precise way when I picked it up and held it in my hand, away from my body, as if I was offering it to the very forest I was standing in.
I wondered if I should take it with me…? On the rest of this hike…? Back to New York…? Its shape was awkward enough that it wouldn’t keep well in my pocket. There was also worry: What if I return to this spot and the rock is not there? I put it off to the side of the path, between two trees, near where I found it.
In that moment, something didn’t feel exactly right about taking it with me. It belonged here, where it had been for probably a very, very long time. That is something we don’t realize about many rocks.
On my third day of hiking, I came back to visit the heart-shaped rock, initially panicked. I couldn’t seem to find exactly where I left it - until I did. Relief washed over me, and I decided it was best to move the special heart rock to a place where it was easier to find/see, where it wouldn’t be kicked or misplaced.
What a view.
Up ahead on the path was a wise old tree stump, kept company by some pretty flowers - the perfect mesa plateau for a colony of ants that seemed to be living somewhere beneath the surface, inside the stump. The sun seemed to favor this stump, and it felt like the perfect shelf for the heart rock to live. And so, I left it there, on the stump, amongst the ants, flowers, and sun.
On the fourth and fifth day, when I passed by the heart rock, it seemed elegant and majestic, resting from its new elevated vantage point.
Dare I say it was even a bit regal?
I was glad it was there.
On my sixth day of hiking, alarm came to me when I reached the heart rock’s tree stump. It was gone!
Of course it was gone!
Obviously, some other hiker had taken the rock with them, because they too saw the heart in the rock and, “DUH,” they brought it with them… Why wouldn’t they?
By putting it on the sunshine terrace that was the tree stump, it was easy to spot the novelty of its heart-like splendor. And so, because of my decision to move it, it was now gone. And I felt my own heart sink like a stone to the bottom of a lake at the notion. But it wasn’t just my heart that sank; my head did as well. And with it, my line of sight came to the base of the tree stump…
…Where the heart rock had fallen. I was so relieved. And now that it was back, I picked it up again and held it in my hand to gaze and admire its wonderful heart shape.
Something had changed. I felt worthy of taking it with me.
Somehow, this felt like the permission I needed, even though I still wasn’t completely certain.
One thing I was certain of: Never again was I going to leave it to fall to the ground. Despite it being heavier than I would want to carry, despite that awkward shape, I put it in my vest pocket and then in my luggage to take home, back to New York.
And it is here where the synchronicity occurred.
You cannot fly directly from Breckenridge to New York City. You need to drive down from Summit County (sitting at 10,000 feet elevation) to Denver International Airport in the Mile High City.
Driving around Lake Dillon in Summit Country, heading down the mountains on I-70 to Denver.
The sky before the Denver International Airport.
There was an older woman at our terminal gate as we waited to board the plane. I did not speak to her, but in my penchant for people-watching, she seemed to be some kind of eccentric, contentedly playing some kind of solitaire game on her phone while it charged. No judgement value placed, just merely observation. I didn’t have another thought about her other than she was seated a row or two behind me on the flight. When landed, with the seatbelt sign turned off, we all collectively went through the motions and rituals of waiting, stretching, and making sure nothing was left behind in our seats.
The senior woman is somehow now behind me. She has short grey hair, dangly earrings, necklaces, rings, wrapped in a hunter green hoodie and maybe some kind of funky vest. If I were a woman her age, I might be her myself.
She makes polite small talk that I see leading to the “ask,” which I am always happy to oblige, and so I offer before she can ask it, “Would you like me to get this down for you?” Referring to luggage in the overhead compartment. She smiles and nods in agreement. I gladly and effortlessly lower her carry-on to the floor. She thanks me and shows how friendly she is as she makes conversation with my son and daughter as we wait to deplane.
In an effort to impress, as if she were conducting a magic show, she pulls out a polished wooden case and asks them both what they think might be inside.
I don’t remember any of the kids' guesses. She shakes her head at every one of them. And then she opens the box, and I will never forget what is inside:
“A heart-shaped stone.” She says proudly.
And it is indeed a heart-shaped stone that is far more heart-shaped than my own; it rests inside the box, in a perfect heart-shaped crevice wrapped and lined with crushed red velvet. Even though the box and presentation now resemble a coffin built for a stone, it still felt like it was the most special and valuable stone in the world.
What are the changes of this?
Of course, my jaw drops. The excitement is palpable before I can take the breath I need to expel the words, “ No way, me too! I have a heart-shaped rock in my luggage. Right now. Here, under the plane.”
It took a moment for this information to register, but once it did, she also lit up and laughed. I scrambled on my phone to show her photos, as my rock was under the plane. She marveled at the heart shape (when held in my hand).
I asked her if it would be ok to take a picture of her heart stone, and she obliged. I regret not getting a selfie with her and the heart stone together. Before the line of people in the aisle starts to move, we revel in the coincidence. Even as I write this, I marvel at all of the events that led to this commonality between myself and this woman who was on a connecting flight from Santa Fe.
I am still meditating on what it all means to me, or how it plugs into my life - past, present, or future. I may never come up with an answer - And that’s ok.
The universe is as bright and beautiful as it is cold, dark, indifferent, and meaningless, full of collisions and separations. And yet, things happen on very big scales and very small scales that demonstrate the existence of forces that I can only comprehend from my limited human experience.
Can you imagine all the things that are happening outside of our sight and understanding?
Synchronicity is real, and if you temper your senses, your mind, your heart, and your soul, sometimes you can see them when they appear, between the lines, even if you don’t know what they mean in the moment.
They could be read as omens, or signs, or smatterings of intuition - the macro and micro vibrations guiding the rudder of life. I am still meditating on what it all means to me, or how it plugs into my life - past, present, or future. I may never come up with an answer - And that’s ok.
More than anything, there is enrichment to be found in learning to recognize them when they cross your path, in small ways and big.
