Under the influence with Bernard O'Shea: can crystals change my life?

Bernard O'Shea tried out various gemstone, rock and crystal products this week, with varying results. Picture: Moya Nolan

I’ve only written two articles for the Irish Examiner and already I was in trouble with deadlines. It wasn’t lack of words or ideas that was the rock I was perishing on. It was a large amber rock stuck in Calais that was the problem. I promised myself when I started writing this article that I would honestly review and live the influences that I picked. 

This week was crystals and rocks. However, I could have done with a crystal ball that told me that the large amber crystal lamp that I bought on Amazon wouldn’t arrive on time and leave me a muse down. I thought I was going to have to ring my editor, Esther, and say: “There's an issue with my article this week and it's all Brexit’s fault!” 

Ironically what was supposed to give me anxiety relief was giving it to me. I don’t recall anyone on Sky News roaring down the camera lens: “What about all those people waiting on amber crystal lamps?” 

Luckily I had ordered a shungite necklace and a gemstone water bottle from an Irish retailer called the Rock Shop, which I found online. 

They are based in Liscannor, Co Clare so I got them a few days later. I chose shungite because I remembered it from my Inter Cert being one of the only few rocks that’s 98% carbon. It has been scientifically proven to purify water but, worn around the neck, it's supposed to be good for sore throats — something that I constantly suffer from. My wife also suggests a cure; “maybe you could stop talking for a few minutes”. 

I also bought a Passion Tritan garnet water bottle. In other words, a water bottle with an obelisk going through the middle of it filled with garnet rock crystals. The idea being the crystals imbue the water with healing properties like “will power” and “good circulation”. 

The first morning I wore the shungite around my neck, the kids were obsessed with it. This is more to do with lockdown life as opposed to their fascination with gemstones. The smallest new thing that creeps into our lives is noticed instantly. Curiosity born out of monotony. 

“What is it Daddy?" my five-year-old Tadhg asked. 

“It's shungite.” 

“What's it for?” he wanted to know. 

Bernard O'Shea. Picture: Moya Nolan

Olivia, our six-year-old matriarch, replied: “It's jewellery Tadhg. It doesn’t do anything, it's just pretty.” 

If they were obsessed with the necklace, they nearly came to blows over the water bottle. Even our two-year-old, Sean, tried to get in on the act of supping what they now thought was magical water of my new vessel.

Here’s a small bit of petty honesty. I would normally look at men my age who wore new-age-style jewellery and think: “Are they trying to look cool?” It was only when I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror did I realise I was now one of those men. I effectively had the signifier of a new-aged mid-life crisis hanging around my neck, but I liked it. 

My wife's reaction to it was slightly different: “What is that?” To which I could hear Tadhg roar in the distance: “It's shugshite, Mammy.” 

It only took a week for me to develop a bizarre attachment to it. It didn’t inject me with wondrous medicinal properties, but it became a symbol for the new 2021 me.

Every time I got stressed, I’d rub its smooth edges. I found I'd fiddle with it instead of eroding my life away by giving myself carpal tunnel syndrome on the phone. 

Taking it off every night and putting it somewhere safe became an analogy of what I should be doing with myself. If I can take care of a black carbon rock, surely I could take more care of myself? 

Most of all, I understood why people are into them. It’s not some hippy-dippy, life-emitting crystal; it's a personal embodiment. 

Like a birthstone or engagement rings, they are a symbol of who you are. 

I’m not a patient person. “It's the red hair,” my mother used to say. So every time I see the red mist now, I touch the black carbon rock on my neck and breath. I’m beginning to use it as a positive crutch.

I wish I could say the same for my fancy water bottle. I used it for four days and definitely drank more water. However, its current whereabouts are unknown. It's a case I’ve yet to crack. 

If its disappearance was on Crimecall, the garda would read: “Three days ago a garnet gemstone water bottle went missing from a three-bed, semi-detached house in west Dublin. The gardaí are looking to speak to these three people in connection with the crime.” And pictures of Sean, Olivia and Tadhg would pop up on the screen.

After weeks, my amber lamp arrived. As I tore through the black and blue sinewy tape on the cardboard, I knew it was too late to access its qualities for the article. 

My wife looked at it: “You are kidding me? Whatever about that yoke hanging around your neck, you're not bringing that into the bedroom. You never even used the water bottle.” 

“That's not true.” I had to defend myself: “The kids have hidden it somewhere.” 

She looked at me and pointed to the couch. There it was, stuffed with crayons, Twistables and colouring pencils. “Well, they are using it as a pencil case now.” 

I could feel the red mist. It was expensive and, for once, something I bought for genuine research purposes. 

I closed my eyes, pinched the shungite and took a deep breath. I knew, like most of the minor catastrophes in our life that occur right now, it wouldn’t be a magical rock or crystal that would fix it, but the dishwasher. 

“BERNARD,” Lorna shouted. “Are you sending that lamp back?” 

“Yeah definitely,” I replied. “Well, Sean’s gone into the toilet with it.”