Karen Rivers

oh man is a giddy thing.

Karen Rivers

I fell asleep last night dreaming a blog post.   It was so so soooo good.   It was a perfect blog post.  Yes!   You'll have to trust me on that.   I felt so smug when I drifted off.    As though I'd written it already.   The pinnacle of all blog posts had been achieved.


Yay, me!


Of course, when I woke up, it was mostly gone, leaving just a few shards and images.   I know it contained a clever metaphor about love, and that metaphor had to do with a moon snail's trail.   Have you ever seen those?   They are these big ribbons of sandy whatnot that moon snails leave in their wake.   When you pick these ribbony things up, they feel almost like rubber but if you let them dry out, they just disintegrate and fall away.   Like sand.  


Because that is what they are.   (Brilliant, right?)


In my dream, this said everything there was to be said about love, perfectly and concisely, in that sort of way that makes you nod and smile as though, yes, it's all come clear now.   I finally get it.   Love is a moon snail's trail.   Ah, YES.   Why didn't I think of that before?


Of course, now it makes no sense to me whatsoever.    


Neither does the title of this blog post.   But that was the title in the dream.   There must have been some other bits in the post that tied that title together with the moon snail's trail, but if there were, they are lost to the night.


Let me know if you can find a way to make that all work.  



We were at the beach the other day and I found a moon snail half-buried in the sand.   As it turns out, moon snails -- when alive -- are huge and alarming blobs of formed slime, with amazingly powerful suction and a strange tingling poison.   


Does that help the metaphor at all?

The shells are really pretty when they're empty, when no one is home.