The rock beneath us feels solid. But once you begin to read the stories it tells, things shift. You begin to see the stories written in stone. There are forces that can cause it to warp, flow, even change its identity. What was once horizontal becomes vertical. Or folds back on itself, upside down. In subduction zones, like Washington’s coast, the pressure transforms basalt into blueschist.
My birth certificate underwent a similar transformation, subducted under the societal pressures of the 1960s. Shame pushed down my identity, which resurfaced in a legal proceeding, was changed and I emerged with a new identity. Adopted. Over time I bent, folded back on myself. Then one day I learned to read the story written in my DNA, and saw myself in a new way, reflected in the faces of those who made me. Now I can see the history written on my face, even if much has changed. And that feels like bedrock.
(Icicle Creek and Kalaloch Beach 4 images.)
