Assorted seashells. What do these various shells say about me? The ones acquired from the wide waters and held hostage since. Fished four, five years ago. Now, aged over twenty years, I realize how silly we can be searching only in the shallows of the sea; we skim the shore, eye out those of peculiar interest, take with to adore. Perhaps this is a mirror: nature’s uniqueness. I want to live deeper in my being— like the hermit crab, shedding one skin to acquire another, all so the spirit may use the senses. If I was back there at the sea’s mouth I’d offer myself to it, I would wade through the white waves of its tossing teeth, I would willing swim into its blue throat. But I’m not there, I am here. (My pen floods paper with the darkness of ink). Breath is held hostage as a feeling waters through me, a sense of something I cannot explain— pure wonder. And I come to see myself through writing.
Submitted on August 4th, 2010