Tag Archives: treasure

Creating Encounter in Colour: Seaweed

sea-816740_1280

So many greens. The brownish tones of bladderwrack, whose name made me wince in imagined pain, little poppable polyps that we loved before bubblewrap was even thought of. The generic dark forest slime slathered across the rocks, coastal combovers, a slip hazard for flip flopped children, so we took ours off and risked gashes and jagged edges rather than not being able to feel our way with our soles. Sand caught on our feet gave us a tiny bit of traction, but we still slid off and flung our arms out to balance ourselves, rockpool tidal tightrope walkers.

Tiny crabs hid under fronds and someone, probably Monsieur Cousteau, had taught me that these were not leaves. Here were hidey holes for entirely new forms of life, creeping, like us, around the edges of ocean, wondering what was what. Even then, I knew my plastic bucket jarred against all nature’s magnificence, with its hard manufactured texture and artificial colour. The bullhead I caught in it, alien eyes bulging, was given a few strands of spinach green to hide itself in, until it was time to release it back into the sea. The capture of such treasure all on my own, in my smallness, fed my happiness all summer long, and taught me the beginnings of diving for pearls in mystic prayer, the joy of glimpsing life in salt water pools, and the realisation that all life is magical.

text © K Dibbens-Wyatt  Photo from Pixabay

Lent 24

homeless man pixabay graphite kdw

Treasure calls out from the most unlikely hiding places, “Ko ko, is anyone home?”  Here I am, sitting in the seeds of the pomegranate, new born beginnings covered in sweet blood. Here I am, shouting out from the veins of a butterfly’s wing, carrying life like sap beyond our sight and hearing. Here I am, in the cracked voice of a grubby stranger, trying to pour out their life story at a frozen bus stop, having chosen you as the recipient. Who are we to deny these glints of gold?

Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018

Lent 12

Bluebells from Craig Nobbs small

There are treasures hidden throughout the earth. The treasure hunters find the pearl and think that is it. But each pearl is part of a string of glories and everything is connected, a mycelium of jewels and precious stones all clamouring to be discovered, their songs rising up through loam and clay longing to reach your hearing and tell you the secrets of a whole universe of love and the glory of God’s name. This is what lies beneath the mulch, and why humankind were made to be tillers of soil and caretakers of the earth.

Art and text © Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2018

165: Mine

hotblack mine mf

Dark lines spreading from the centre, blacker than treacle and deeper than grief. Here glints gold that glisters truly, and without pretence, calling to the greedy glimmer in our eyes and the heart of the delver-digger-dwarf in all of us. How we long to gather the treasure in our weathered aprons, to hold it to ourselves and hoard its heaviness! You speak of brightness and purity, and the reality of wealth, such that we might have you in our palm to possess, without any danger of nuggets slipping through errant fingers. Softness clawed from the hard earth, unclogging veins and arteries that travel deep and mesmerisingly meander their glowing way.

Once seen, we shall not be able to help ourselves and follow that subcutaneous line until lost and utterly besotted, weighed down with more than our strength can bear, never to return to the fresh air, sat here in dark places, faces painted with reflected light.

© Keren Dibbens-Wyatt 2016

Photo from morguefile.com