I love the ocean – only up to my knees.
Now and then I get pulled into the sea further than I dare, be it the fault of the waves, my carelessness, or pleading niece.
My love of the ocean comes from so many things. The vast unknown. The sound of wave, crash, and wind. It’s easy to lose an entire afternoon in this environment. And watching people. I make up stories of their lives and conversations — simply by their aura and mannerisms. And when voyeurism gets dull and my head becomes too full of their stories, I get up and walk the shoreline. I search tide pools for treasure.
Treasure. Small shells, seaweed pods to pop, hermit crabs scurrying from a seagulls view. Driftwood, barnacles en masse, and sea glass hidden amongst the shoreline wash. In each of these things, I find myself – and it makes my mind poetic wander.
I am a small shell. Lost en masse. One of many. I had and will continue to have purpose. If you do not stop and look, you will walk by me, I will be unnoticed. Initially I look the same as those around me. But if you look close enough, I am different from the rest. I am a small unique shell.
I am a pile of seaweed with pods. I am a tangled mess, but often concealing treasure. Wherever I go, land or sea, I nourish and provide shelter. Sometimes you are mean and come by and pop my pod, but that is only one part of my whole. I am a tangled pile of seaweed.
I am a hermit crab; at times nervous and fearful. I scurry about avoiding danger. I like solitude and am watchful and skeptical. I will adapt to change when my current protective shell and home no longer suit my needs; it is my only means of survival. I am a hermit crab.
I am driftwood. Like the crab that adapts to change, I float along and allow the world to take me on journeys. I have many stories of the things I’ve been, the places I’ve seen, the life I’ve lived and will continue to live. I am driftwood.
I am a stubborn barnacle. My beliefs, faith, my core, I hold on to. Fiercely. I attach myself to what I believe and cannot be detached. Barnacles en masse, are like the church; together we are strength in numbers. Seasons will come and go, scenery changes; but I will always be attached to my beliefs like a stubborn barnacle.
I am sea glass. Of all these things, this best represents my season. Temperament. Everyone knows there’s risk and hazard with touching broken glass. But leave broken glass to sea, and amazing things happen. Time, wind, water, waves, salt, and sand change the glass. It softens the edges till it becomes touchable. I am still the same broken glass I was before, yet now – different, smaller, smoother, and one day will be someone’s found treasure. I am a constant work in progress, I am God’s sea glass.
In as short as ten years ago, while the outside of me didn’t always show it—the inside of me was edgy sharp glass. I had only begun my journey back to the Sea. At first the ride was easy, but eventually the waves pulled me town. And I’ve been tumbling undertow. And it’s all been for purpose. I look at things differently. Slowly I’m becoming sea glass.
The junk of life isn’t easy to take. Some moments the undertow lasts longer than others. But if in the process we learn to let go, we soften and become beautiful sea glass. My friend, from the depths of my heart, I hope we all get there. Tumbled, soft, and beautiful from the Sea.