....shell stories

Yogis,
A father and young daughter walk by at the beach. She is clutching a pile of shells scooped up in her tiny little arms. She needs a bag, we all decide, so I quickly grab the newspaper wrapper I have tied to Phoebe’s leash and offer it up. We watch as she carefully drops them in one by one. ‘Now you can get more’ her father tells her.

‘You can never have enough shells!’ I remark. You can never have enough shells.

I have a lot of shells. Bowls of shells in my studio. Shells scattered around the beach house. Shells on my kitchen counter and near my jewelry box. I have shells from the Virgin Islands and shells from Greece. I find them whenever I clean out the beach bag and occasionally in my jean shorts pockets.

Yet every time I walk the beach my eyes instinctively drop to scan for shells. Oh, there’s a different color! Look, a scallop shell! By the time I am heading home at least a couple are making the trip back with me. How can I resist when they are all so different?

Like a fingerprint, every shell is unique. Whether it’s the way the grooves spiral through, the light brushstrokes of color, or that broken edge, each different from any other. Some tiny and others, like Caribbean conch shells, almost hard to carry. Like us, each drawn from a new mold.

Every shell also has a story. I run my thumb down an edge smoothed by waves. I hold the conch shell to my ear and listen while it whispers of the ocean’s secrets. I visualize the clam shell in my hand being carried by a creature who called it home and wonder where her other half lies now. Each shell having been created, lived in, bearing a loss, broken down, washed ashore and finally becoming the sand between our toes (unless they come home with me). Like us, each one on its own life journey.

                     

Imagine the millions of shells which fill our oceans and beaches, and you can begin to sense the immensity of the creative power of the Universe. That every day, not only shells, but unique leaves, clouds, shadows and flowers are formed. Gifts that pour down on us in an ever-changing landscape that we, the lucky recipients, get to bask within. The Universe’s infinite ability to express herself in all of these glorious forms is nothing short of astounding.

People have always been drawn to gathering shells. I read that the earliest recorded shell collection dates from 74 AD in Pompeii.  Over the years they have been used as currency and formed into jewelry and musical instruments. There is even a recent discovery that perhaps the first artwork created on shells dates back to our Homo Erectus ancestors. I wonder if they found them in their pockets.

When I see shells, I see beauty. When I hold shells, I feel connection. When I smell shells, I am brought right back to my beach chair with the wind on my face and sand between my toes. I am awed by shells…….

What will I find today,
SARAH