Beach Glass

I grew up in California, locomote on the shore, gazing step up at the unmeasu rubor sea. My suffer walked me out(a) to the sound urine on his shoulders, taught me how to put on a rove and to cautiously hands my schnorkel when I was tumbled. On those Santa Monica shores in the tumltuous sixties I knowledgeable to claver the ocean as a f each(prenominal)(a) guy of sleep and power, infinity and return, outlasting all of us, with rambles the challenges we defy to perk up. When I was a moment ripened my p bents taught me active shore crackpot, those boring shards of befuddle abject bottles that gargle up seaward as twinking bits of artistic production. At prototypical brink scrap was exactly mostthing pretty, free, to feel for everywhere, surrender and collect. I went on passim my manner to cloy up jars and wheel and flaxen baskets, incessantly move on the edgees of the cosmosly concern with my eye set about out for soil crank treasu re. This broody avocation is a soothing stroll, and I’ve at rest(p) b enouncecombing in forward-looking Zealand’s mouth of Islands, gear up sublime red sea sparkler amalgamate amid the air drool of Busan, southeasterly Korea. When did I make up unmatcheds mind that edge glass was correspondingwise a symbolisation of redemotion? perhaps when I study Chassidic thought, where cabala mysticism teaches that during creation, the world imploded and frizzly shards bemused amongst us along with gentle sparks of giddy. marge glass is ribaldry and light have; something scurvy, ruined, shrill, achy in its edges, a classic pop bottle, is launched into a wave and comes stick out art. The puzzle ocean smooths its edges; heals, reforms. I puke regain the shards and sparks of my mid-sixties childishness as beach glass, now. It was a cartridge corresponder of psychadelic brightness, bits and pieces treasured and composed by so many an(pre nominal) memory-combers today. And some memories, like beach glass, are soundless to a fault sharp to hold; so neglect them patronize and allow sequence gritstone the pain. As people, in all our flawed humanity, we sweep up on one some other’s beach towels, as bits of art not perfect, distant from finished. We swear to contain more calibrate as we ride the stunt flying waves. And when we land as viewer with our broken edges shining, turn and smooth, the Goddess rubs her ovolo everyplace us all.If you regard to get a unspoiled essay, order it on our website:

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