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Things Washed Upon The Shore

Running along the beach. Shells and carcasses of gulls and fish are spit up by the ocean. These are the thoughts and memories expulsed from our unconscious. The ocean gives them up for us to sift, looking for the beautiful relics and stepping over the ugly ones and the jellyfish. My son shouts, he’s found the wreckage of an old pirate ship. A piece of wood, no doubt torn loose from one of the nearby piers and floated to shore in the boisterous storm that blew through during the night. But we don’t tell him it is a useless piece of oak ripped off from a fishing pier. No. We tell him that when one of the canons blew into the side of the pirate’s ship this wood was scattered in the fight. It was a dreadful battle but the pirates finally lost their ship to the commanding officer of the good guys.  Is this not a picture of our religious imagination or mythologies? We thirst for wonder as we thirst for meaning. My only saving grace from falling away into a cynical, adult rationalism, is tha…

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