What Are You Seeking?

I want the tiny seashells. The ones I find when my face is plastered, unflinching, to the ground beneath me. My body frozen as my fingers calmly comb through pretty beach detritus- pebbles, driftwood, dried seaweed, seaglass, until buried beneath the random bits I notice the perfectly spiraled miniature shell.

I pick it up carefully and cup it in the palm of my hand. This was once a home. A place of protection and solace, an elaborate cover to the smallest creature.

I have a thing for tiny seashells. They are my sign. And until today, I didn’t understand why.

Against the backdrop of our ever-expanding Universe, I can sink into despair almost unconsciously. Do I really matter? Will anyone care if I disappear? Does my miniscule art make any amount of difference in this world? Or am I a just shell of a person, tossed in with all the other rubble, useless and forgotten?

But when I spot a tiny seashell, the boisterous world and my banal thoughts stop their spin. I feel scooped up- seen, loved, and sought after. I settle into my place, the home within myself. Silence fills my lungs. I catch my breath and take in a long slow gulp of clean air.

All the panting and striving for status and acclaim, my silly notions of arrival, they are the useless thing. When I gawk at this teeny treasure in my hand, I marvel at the detail, the symmetry, the delicately crafted beauty.

This microscopic, seemingly insignificant shell. This cozy, coveted home. This valuable treasure.

I might be a shell of a person some days- empty, hardened and resentful toward life. But I won’t stop the search.

I fiddle through the debris and rough edges to find my elaborate, intricate self and then I sit back in sheer wonder. I stare too long and a smile creeps across my face. This is home. I am home. I am the treasure I seek.

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