Tuesday, July 5, 2011

Oysters and Pearls

  • My eyes spot a giant pearl, nesting in white gold.  It beams like an all knowing lunar orb,
  • looking back as if it sees me. Am I an oyster or a pearl?  I wonder.  Advertised from an online
  • jeweler, I choose the right size, 5.5. I’m really bad about jewelry, losing it, breaking it. I picture
  •  wearing it at tradeshows, with French tips, when the appearance of my hands matters. Price
  • differentiates between natural pearls and cultured pearls. Of three tons of harvested oysters,
  •  maybe three or four contain this rarity. A string of natural pearls costs hundreds of thousands.
  • Cultivated pearls require  help from a farmer by insertion of an irritating nucleus into the
  • oyster—to replicate the  precious symbol of sacrifice. I hadn’t given it much thought
  • before. Aren’t all pearls cultivated?  Fresh water, or salt—natural or cultured?  Doesn’t any
  • oyster work to rid itself of a parasite that doesn’t belong? A deeper thinker may even accept
  • that the foreign body is one to be embraced and reckoned. To not be afraid of the pain, face it
  • head on—look it in the eye. So, natural oysters go along, skirted by the tides, doing their jobs,
  •  and only a few are chosen to endure a special process—that of crafting a jewel.  How are these
  • oysters the lucky ones?  Is there some chemistry in the ocean that decides—this one can handle
  • it—some marine biology dictating a capability that other oysters don’t have? An oyster is a
  • small lapidary, churning and yearning for the end—resulting in peace, solace… resolution. The
  •  oyster itself polishes a pearl, because it’s worthy of courage. Fearlessness that turns sorrow to
  • joy—pain to relief—fear to love.
  • I read on to find that there is a second natural oyster that doesn’t receive such glory. Its’
  • vocation is of a lower calling.  It exists to serve the environment outside of itself, cleansing
  • marshland, purifying ocean water, never producing a pearl. It doesn’t lap in a Neptune palisade
  •  laboring royal in carved ivory splendor. A bottom feeder, it compares to guys on the lower
  • deck of a luxury liner, sweating beside boilers, working the oars. I’m impressed by both types,
  • like people in a caste system.  Synchronism orders a world where facades of kings and queens
  • belie agonizing burdens and impoverished folks seemingly never get a break…a morsel, a
  • crumb.

1 comment:

  1. what a gift you have with words. how blessed i am to call you friend. i believe you were chosen to endure a special process-that of crafting a jewel. you are a pearl to everyone God has chosen to be on your path. i love you!!!