Over the Summer I have been collecting shells.
Not intentionally, but almost addictively and yet I can honestly say that I don’t have addictive tendencies.
But I am drawn to shiny jewels. Colours, shapes, textures, patterns and the way these things interact with light.
So much so, that in the past my fascination led me to study and qualify as a Gemmologist. And this took me on a discovery of worlds within worlds. Scientific and magical. Gemstones tells stories of the earth, miraculous journeys, and about us.
Looking into worlds within worlds, and more worlds became too much. My body spoke up, imploring me to get back on track. Movement is my path, but for a while I was sidetracked into a beautiful kaleidoscope of sparkle.
My shells and the beach. I wonder if this collecting is part of my personal processing. A creative process. I feel compelled to find order, sorting, organising, categorising, if not by action then certainly in my head. I then feel pleasure when I see them collectively arranged.
There is a feeling of completion, of something processed, something emergent.
It has also occurred to me that maybe this has something to do with making new memories around the beach, where I live. Something unspeakable happened on that beach a few years ago, not to me, but something intentional that caused a shockwave of injury, suffering, heartbreak and trauma. It crushed my interest in, and positive spirit for this meeting of sun, sand and sea around the corner, that was supposed to always connect me to joy, and never pain.
I avoided the beach virtually in my backyard, because I was debilitated by the knowing of what happened there. I still do not look in that exact direction, but I am observing my process and inviting new experiences.
When there are so many shells close to shore, there is a distinct collection of sounds that can be heard as waves wash over them. High pitched and tinkling. Delicate and tantalising to skin, sweet to taste, and the colour of these sounds is every pink.
Listening and noticing feels good. I feel lightness.
Then there is my sensory experience of gathering, and I ponder about this particular inclination and if it is somehow intertwined with the berry-gathering of our ancestors. It’s a curious thought.