In My Shell by Christine Marie Mason

In my shell (said the Abalone)

In my shell (said the Abalone)

In my shell (said the Abalone)

“He’s such a shark.”
Even the Apex predators garner only vague respect.

Mostly it’s:
“Such a Shrimp”
“Slow as a Turtle”
“Such a Crab”
“Red as a Lobster”
“Such a Whale”

There is NO single sea creature that you can call someone and have it be considered a compliment.

You know the power of the oceans, of course, but even the human gods you have given dominion to, Poseidon and Neptune with their tridents and seaweed beards, are no longer summoned by you. They are the ghetto gods, even Hades does better. You call your daughters Artemis and Venus and Diana, or your sons Zeus. But Neptune? He’s been demoted – an old dive bar in some third rate resort town playing Margaritaville. Poseidon? a rickety roller coaster in Kansas.
When you are a-sail or a-surf, you taste triumphantly the temporary harmony, like the riding of a mechanical bull; but whoa to he who is man-overboard, she who is caught in the undertow, the undertoad, the vast unpredictability, the sea of Grendel, what lurks there but us dumb creatures who, despite our stupidity, know a trick you will never master: we can breathe the water. You think of the hammerhead and the spearfish and the swordfish, of the bite of the sea. In your fear and shock and awe you leave us 5/6ths of the earth’s surface, and all of her vast underbellies and deep currents, while you are moored in u-boats tugs steamships clinging to the shorelines, poaching us and dredging us in breadcrumbs and butter and frying us up and thinking somehow you understand the sea. Sea food. See food.
Yet every time you are flippers-up hunting for abalone some part of you knows

it could be your last breath. A twist in the line maybe. A rogue wave. Never turn your back on the ocean.
When you think of suicide, you think of surrendering to the sea. Of jumping off bridges or cruise ships or cliffs. Of wading just far enough out, chest deep, until the current is in charge and you can lay your head back in the mother pool and let it take you home, the body fish food, the soul swimming again in the ocean of love.
There is a theory among those of us who live close to the edge, in the liminal places and the tide pools, we hear stories come in on the waves. There, the dozen men who come each day in the magic light of sunrise with their trash bags to pick up the plastic debris scuttering on the tide – a Siamese cat piggy bank or some old flip flops or a Fiji Water bottle, all now in bits on the beaches. You KNOW where it comes from: the great gyre in the horse lattitudes, the horseshit lassitudes, the hypocrite platitudes.  No one fixes it. It’s because you love / hate the ocean.

In the meanwhile, I am only a mute creature, here in my shell, clinging to a rock. The sea comes in and out of my house, I am nourished and provided for all the day long, filtering in nutrients and being sung the song of the currents, which you will never hear. I listen all day to Radio W-A-V-E, Ocean City. It may seem humble, my camouflage, my stone exterior, my immoveable life, but inside this shelter the tender softness of me is surrounded by only beauty: infinite pearlescent, iridescent, luminescent aquas blues and pinks and greens and yellows.

The sea provides for me, I love her, and I am happy.

Share:

Share on facebook
Facebook
Share on twitter
Twitter
Share on pinterest
Pinterest
Share on linkedin
LinkedIn
On Key

More Posts

Effort, or evanesce?

We can do the same actions with completely different energies: whistle while we wash the car or grit our teeth the whole time. Our no can be soft or rigid- both are “no”, but they leave different imprints inside of us. As we become more aware of the always-present humming center of our being, the indwelling perfection, the big battery of life, pulsing with light….we

Being Naked, At Long Last Free

When I was a little thing my parents would release us naked onto the beach like most European children and we would clamber over rocks and play in the shore waters for hours. There was no self-consciousness about it at all. After being sexualized and shamed about my body in adolescence and adulthood, I stopped being naked in public. It seemed then a no-win situation:

Tropical Flowers at New Earth Mandala

Endemic

There’s no exemption from loss or heartache if you have a human body, unless you steel yourself to such a degree as to not feel—or choose to live like an astronaut out in spiritual space, disconnected from the earth of you. The Buddhists say the First Noble Truth is that “Life is suffering.” I think that’s more of a partial truth, with a distinct negativity

Christine at Verishop (4/20)

As part of her work with Rosebud Woman, Christine was interviewed for the Verishop blog. ” Shame around sexuality impacts women’s physical health.” “When Mason began practicing yoga in her mid-30s, she was introduced to a different process that incorporated dance, fluidity and feminine yin energy, and one that called for touching every part of your body using oils. “It really worked in creating a