Saints

Eight stones, worn close.

A story of moons, memory, and the quiet weight of faith.

I have been asked many a time, why I wear so many bracelets. Made from different stones and of different hues, they sit snug on my wrist.

And now, with all the hullabaloo about Artemis II and the ongoing voyage to the moon, I find myself looking at the perfectly rounded, smooth stones I wear and thinking about the many moons I carry.

I have always liked the moon. There is a word for it. Like the many philes we attach to the things we love, you are branded a selenophile, one who is drawn to the moon, to its quiet pull, its distant familiarity.

I am a dreamer. I would love to collect moonbeams in a jar.

Perhaps that is why I reach for these stones. Small, quiet moons I can hold.

The stones are varied, ranging from tiger’s eye to citrine to agate to pink quartz, and of course, the sea green emerald, like softly shimmering sunlight. The emerald is an aberration, the odd one out. It was gifted to me by my sister on my recent sojourn to Mumbai.

The rest were acquired over time, some in India, some during my travels overseas. In many ways, I wear passages through time, space, and memories made with loved ones on my wrist. A little slice of history, really.

I feel ensconced in their warmth, a quiet ring of protection around me. A sense of calm, courage, and intuition settles in when I have the eight saints with me.

There is something about them, a magnetic pull that could be dismissed as mystical, difficult to explain.

But that is what faith is all about, isn’t it.

An intangible force, stronger than anything we can measure, holding us steady even when hope begins to thin.

So I wear them, through many seasons, many moons, aware of how ridiculously tiny I am in the larger scheme of things. Not even a speck.

Yet I dare to dream of magnificent things, as wondrous as the universe, and at the audacity of it, I sometimes pause in quiet surprise.

And courage comes in many forms. Sometimes, it is simply stones strung around your wrist, carrying you through fear and doubt, until even the futile begins to feel possible.

Faith and hope bind me to the very core of my existence, even with the dark side of the moon in view. Molecularly Yours,

Sanjana

Curiously Irrepressible  

First dreamer. Accidental chemist @ Green Molecule - Clean Confidently

A Personal Note

P.S.: This is simply my personal experience and not a prescription for anyone else. We all find our spark in different ways—to each his, her, or their own. This is not a roadmap at all, just something that worked for me.

https://www.molecularlyme.blog/post/150-km-h-to-finding-myself

https://greenmolecule.asia/

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