It was a beach I had not visited in a while so I was surprised to see it under construction, not realizing that of course until after I was parked. As far as could be seen in either direction was a large pipe and heavy equipment operating even on this Sunday afternoon. Well, I thought, I have a good parking spot right across from a beach entrance and I am not going to be run off easily. Some doubts nagged as to how great an experience this particular beach outing could be, what with this unsightly monstrosity of a pipe running its length.
To create in me even more doubt for the beach outing’s success, a stiff sea-wind threatened my up-do as soon as I stepped out of the car. I hope my dress doesn’t fly up I thought, followed by, well if it does I will still be clothed more than the majority of others here.
I persisted, knowing full well that it is an almost unheard of occurrence that a day at the beach might be anything but enjoyable.
The sand was dotted with shells, and people. The ocean rushed, white tipped waves each hastily chased the one before. The wind was noisy and blew stinging sand against my legs. Not to be defeated, I just accepted it as a natural exfoliant.
The shoreline was completely void of shells and sea glass, what I most like to search as I beach, but further back from the edge previous waves had left some chunks and broken bits that I couldn’t help but wish were whole. Considering the size of the unusually large fragments I was finding, they must have once been some very impressive shells. I quickly decided they would be my collection for the day since they seemed to be plentiful, and would most likely be passed over by typical collectors preferring the unbroken, unblemished specimens.
These were the beach underdogs and I made it my mission to credit them for the beauty they possessed, just as they were. Sure, they were not as they started out, and no longer as they were intended to be. Somehow they had been tossed, tumbled, crashed and broken in the surf-life of the sea, yet they possessed a beauty all their own. I decided they were the broken beautiful.
Breaking bared their inner construction, perfectly formed secret spirals revealed through jagged windows of bits missing from their sides. Some appeared as though they had been sliced in half, and some were only the innermost spirals having every bit of their outer shell beaten away.
Perfectly flawless shells not battered by tides, retain their secrets. We can only imagine what they are like inside. These broken ones however, are tattle tales spilling out all the secrets of shell life. See, come see, there is so much more to us. They silently beckon, come look. I do.
True, the battering breaks, but without the breaking inner beauty remains concealed, even wasted. It does seem a shame, because the broken cannot be unbroken. Ah, but even though noticeably broken, and only by it, does the shell’s inner beauty get to be appreciated and valued.
Without the tumbling turbulence there would be only those that look good on the outside, never letting on to the secrets of the equally lovely inside.The outside is good, but why settle for only what is on the surface? There is more, much more, dig a little deeper. Some beauty must be excavated and mined. That it is not at first visible, does not mean it is not there, and because what is first visible is beautiful, does not mean that is all there is to it. The best may yet need to be found. If you stop there, on the surface, you cannot know what you are missing. And missing it, well that is just not a good option.
Never believe that breaking strips away all of the beauty, and
never quit searching for surprises that can only be found in the broken
beautiful.
P.J.
Polished
as can be
the
outermost layer, me
Distinguishing,
each feature
creates
a unique picture
Yet
disguising the within
lest
delving deeper begins
Discovering
more to me
than
what is initially seen
I
am rather like the shells
though
few will ever tell
that
in breaking it’s revealed
what
the surface would conceal
This
then the challenge for you,
to chisel a window’s view
of
where the secrets lead
introducing
the truest me
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