I came out of my shell when I turned 80. I was a shy girl for so many unhappy and unfulfilled years. Things changed when I learned how to write and when I adopted a pack of miniature, Italian greyhounds. I struggled with the writing, joined a couple of writing workshops, and soon found my afternoons filled with joy and new adventures. I designed costumes for my dogs, and matching outfits for myself.
Last Saturday, while at a local farm supply store, I made some new friends. Today, I am joining them in their commune at the edge of town.
The Shell, as described by The Master, is opaque film we surround ourselves with when our state of mind is disturbed by words and actions of the lesser species. The shell ultimately shields us from the doltish words and thoughts of those that are primarily occupied with their own, imagined greatness.
Many of these beings have hypnotized themselves, and they believe they are skilled, imaginative, and far beyond their adopted minions. Under this haze of delusion, they find their way to lead many by sheer persistence and intimidation. I find this a common trait of office managers and popular bloggers.
At the beach a few years ago, I held a large, pink, conch shell to my ear. I was surprised by the grand sound that emanated from the conch. It was the London Symphony, I’m sure. It was O Fortuna by Carmina Burana. I was stricken. I was dizzy. I stumbled and lost my balance. I called out to my friend, nearby, to come and listen to the shell. I put the shell to her ear, and her face lit up. She laughed. She was listening to Chelsea Clinton describe the correlation of diabetes and childhood marriage with climate change.