I do believe that crystals and rocks have certain properties, but when I circled them under my computer monitor, I didn’t think any more deeply than: here are my rocks.
However, these rocks wouldn’t be circled under my computer screen if they didn’t mean something.
Allow me to introduce my Chunk of rose quartz.
(Okay, this isn’t parked under my monitor, but it is legitimate just the same.)
We flew this rock home only a few years ago, probably stashed in the luggage of a child.
However, the point of the rock is that when I was small, I spent part of every summer in the Black Hills. My grandparents owned a real log cabin (3,000 square feet, three floors) and my brother and I roamed around the forest at will. My brother was the actual rock collector, I was more a dilettante. I liked peeling off sheets of mica from granite stones and collecting rose and white colored chucks, I liked shiny stuff. I never found gold.
I remember my dad scratching his head as he tried to figure out how to fit in my brother’s rocks in between the hard case Haliburton suitcases and gifts from my grandparents. But the rocks made it home. And we entered into our second part of rock collecting – polishing the rocks.