The fog drifted here and there. I moved through it without any real purpose. Why have a defined purpose on the beach at dawn? Why not wander? Why not wander into a metaphor?
I followed the curving wrack line. It was stacked with kelp, crabs, seaweed, wood, shells and feathers. I culled the detritus with a stick looking for treasures to decorate my home.
There it was, a light bulb, an old school incandescent model, 60 watts. It wasn’t burned out.
Previous to this discovery, I had never come across light bulbs in 20 years of rambling Oregon’s ocean beaches. But here they were.
I beach comb primarily for metaphors these days but never go out expressly looking for them. It’s not like I say: this morning I will find a metaphor to help guide my life. The metaphors just materialize and I always stand ready to contemplate their existence, juggle them in the air, and perhaps apply them to my life.
Two light bulbs! How could I ignore that find? Maybe it wasn’t even a coincidence but the ocean rolling in some trash that I could repurpose for abstract inspiration.
A light bulb went on in my mind (an energy efficient one, I might add). At long last, I had the one big idea I needed to transcend my present ordeal.
The idea was that I needed to invent one colossal creative idea to explode me out of marginalization. I feel like I’ve been crawling of late to escape. Forget crawling. Climb inside the barrel of a battleship’s big gun and fire away!
I diagrammed the colossal idea right there in the sand, committed it to memory, and then continued my wandering.
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