Maia Toll - The Illustrated Crystallary

The mission of Storey Publishing is to serve our customers by publishing practical information that encourages personal independence in harmony with the environment.

Edited by Liz Bevilacqua

Art direction and book design by Jessica Armstrong

Text production by Erin Dawson

Illustrations by Kate OHara

Author photo by Emily Nichols Photography

Text 2020 by Maia Toll

Ebook production by Kristy L. MacWilliams

Ebook version 1.0

September 1, 2020

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages or reproduce illustrations in a review with appropriate credits; nor may any part of this book be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or other without written permission from the publisher.

The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. All recommendations are made without guarantee on the part of the author or Storey Publishing. The author and publisher disclaim any liability in connection with the use of this information.

Storey books are available at special .

Storey Publishing
210 MASS MoCA Way
North Adams, MA 01247
storey.com

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data on file

This publication is intended to provide educational information on the covered subject. It is not intended to take the place of personalized medical counseling, diagnosis, and treatment from a trained health professional.

To the stones, who seem quiet, but in silence truly sing.

And to my parents for applying the heat and pressure that taught me how to shine.

Blame it or praise it, there is no denying the wild horse in us. To gallop intemperately; fall on the sand tired out; to feel the earth spin; to have positively a rush of friendship for stones and grasses, as if humanity were over.

Virginia Woolf,
Jacobs Room

A leaf, a drop, a crystal, a moment of time, is related to the whole, and partakes of the perfection of the whole. Each particle is a microcosm, and faithfully renders the likeness of the world.

Ralph Waldo Emerson,
The Complete Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson: Nature Addresses and Lectures

Preface

The parking area was unremarkable, a simple pull over next to the ubiquitous Irish combo of hedgerow, gate, and cow stile. Each time we visited this particular stone circle I wondered whether Id be able to find it again if I came here alone. It felt like my teachers presence was a key to the magic that seeped into my skin as soon as I opened the car door and began hiking up the hawthorn-edged dirt track. The cows had been here before us, leaving the ground lightly churned. Mindful of droppings, we made our way to the eastern side of the circle, pausing on the threshold to let the quiet of this place ease into our breath and bones. It was a mute moment, an intentional stepping out of the space of our individual lives and into the timelessness that permeates Neolithic sites. This pause, this in-breath, was the beginning of our ritual of greeting. We then walked clockwise, our fingers trailing over the stones granite faces as if to say, Wake up! Were here to visit with you. Once this courtesy was complete, my teacher and I went our separate ways, communing with the trees and rocks until the sun lowered in the sky or a shower drove us back to the car.

During those long afternoons, I would find a sun-warmed stone and nestle my back into its heat. Resting there, Id have the strangest daydreams: soliloquies on the movements of the stars or conversations about the nature of time. Waking as new shadows crossed my face, Id write it all down for future contemplation.

Going over these notes later, Id wonder how my thoughts had meandered across galaxies and through portals that quantum physics was only beginning to discover. The stuff of these daydreams felt different to me than the way I usually saw the world, the voice of these thoughts much more resonant than my own. It felt as if the standing stones were dreaming through me or guiding my visions, and I began to see stones (and rocks and crystals) differently. I began to think of them as teachers whose whispers got louder when I got quieter. This realization eased my yearning for human mentors; I began to take my lessons from the natural world around me.

Stones are easy to come by. Take a walk outside and scour the ground, fish a stone out of a creek bed, or visit a local rock shop and buy a crystal that seems to be shining just a little bit brighter than the stones around it. This is the beginning... and its also the ending if you place your stone on a shelf and forget about it. But if you instead treat this moment as the start of a new relationship, if you get quiet and listen, not just with your ears, but with your whole being, a different kind of knowing begins to unfold.

Wishing you deep connection.

Introduction

Like many people who decide to road-trip cross-country, I was traveling with baggage of the emotional sort. Id quite intentionally left someone behind, a married someone who flirted and promised but remained steadfastly married to someone else. During weeks alone on the road, Id peeled back layer upon layer of hurts and betrayals. On this particular desert afternoon, I suddenly knew Id walked myself through the worst of it: it was time to move on and be done.

In Santa Fe, Id picked up a tumbled piece of Snowflake Obsidian. Its shiny black surface with a dusting of white snowflakes had sparkled in a way that, crow-like, caught my eye. Driving north toward the New Mexico border, I rolled the stone through my fingers, enjoying its cool smoothness. The road was languid before me, lazy in the summer heat. I was on my own schedule with nowhere to be but, still, I couldnt relax. My breath, I noticed, was coming harder. As the miles rolled by, my breathing picked up force, as if something within me was seeking a way out, pushing upward with each exhalation. The snowflake obsidian felt glued to my palm and I had the weirdest sensation that