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TALKING TO THE BARNACLES
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This probably will sound wacky. At best, mystical. At worst, poor science. |
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It happened that I was walking alone on the beach during one of our fall
trips to the cabin. You need some times when sound of waves drowns out
the sound of your voice as you talk to yourself. |
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Anyway, tide was low enough that I could count how many oysters remained
after our summer of indulgence. Oysters need a mid-tide environment where
they can come up for air periodically. They share the same part of the
tidelands as the barnacles. |
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So I am crunching along on the barnacle-covered rocks, looking for oysters.
At first appearance, compared to barnacles, oysters are a high form of
life. My suspicion is that PhD’s in barnacology will dispute my observation. |
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Barnacles have not been my most favorite kind of beach life. You have to
watch out for them when swimming. An early season barnacle cut in your
feet can ruin a whole summer. They are the bane of boat bottoms as well
as kid bottoms. I’ve spent nearly 50 years yelling at my kids and grandkids
not to drag the boats on the barnacles. I’ve replaced bottoms of several
dinghies that couldn’t survive such dragging. And anyone who has been picked
up off the shore in the big sailboat knows my warning to keep the boat
off the barnacles. |
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I have no affection for barnacles. |
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On this fall day, however, I have a revelation. Not quite a burning bush,
but a broken barnacle. I realized that I had treated them like sharp, rough,
lifeless, cutting rocks. In truth, they are very much alive. You can see
them reaching out for nutrients as the water comes in over them. They no
doubt contribute to the life-chain of my beach. Maybe they are friends
with my oysters at a level I can’t recognize. |
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So I talked to them. I said, “I apologize for walking on you and crushing
your shell, but how else can I get along my beach?” I wondered, “What do
you feel? What do you ‘know?’” |
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As we talked (typically, as a preacher, I tend to do most of the talking),
I was led to realize that if these guys (are these things sexual?) were
discovered on Mars, or anywhere else in the outer reaches of space, headlines
would proclaim the discovery of life on another planet. They are
living creatures, just like me. |
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Well, not quite just like me. For reasons beyond my control and understanding,
I happen to be part of a species that has more programs built in than does
the barnacle. I have the ability to think consciously, although I recognize
that most activities in the cells of my body are as subconscious as are
those of the barnacles. Through my conscious thought I can have a much
larger vision of life than the barnacle. At least I think I do. I can see
and hear and use my senses and the expanded science that allows me to consider
the moon and the stars and all of creation in ways that barnacles can’t. |
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That’s when I made a promise to the barnacles. I said, “I realize that
we’re both part of the same creation. It’s not your fault that you are
a barnacle and I am a human. Another million years or so and that could
all change. But right now I can lift up my eyes and see mountains. I can
view the Milky Way and be aware of a great beyond. I can experience and
think and wonder and appreciate. So, I’ll do that for both of us while
I have life.” |
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Wacky, what? No matter. It made me feel better to talk to the barnacles.
We’re both part of the big picture. I suspect that my comprehension of
it all is as limited as those barnacles’ comprehension of me. All life
is degraded when we dare to think that one of us counts more than another.
I was going to add my suspicion that the God of this place is as much God
of the barnacles as of me. But like most theology, that’s speculation.
In terms of comprehending “God,” I’m a barnacle too.
— Art Morgan,
November 2000
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