Fable of the Clam Who Opened

author’s note:

Planning a vacation?


FABLE OF THE CLAM WHO OPENED

She left a note
for the old woman upstairs
saying:
don’t worry—
just wanted to realize the dream
of escaping to
a tropical island.

But as often happens to human clams
as she lay on the beach
the tide crept up and pulled her down—
down through the shallows
until she fell from the shelf
into that roiling murky bay bottom.

Frightened by the depth
she closed even more
which only increased the pressure—
the pressure that comes
when a clam clamps down on itself
and tries not to feel what it’s feeling.

No longer able to ignore the pressure
she realized she’d soon explode
if she didn’t let go.
And so she finally opened:

an action that brought her back to the beach—
she awoke shaken but stronger.

Many have shared their own version of this fable:
when we try to escape change
the better one within
may pull us down into an ordeal
that will only end when we end
our resistance.

Good to remember that moral.
But let’s also inscribe on our minds
the second part of the story:

In the following years
many in distress
crossed the path of our heroine
and when they sensed her openness
often responded
by opening to her

and as they gave themselves up
they released the pressure building within
and so, did not explode
but defused with a peaceful song:

wave upon wave of notes—
high and low, low and high.

mythsteps · Fable of the Clam Who Opened

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© 2024, Michael R. Patton

Opening the Chest

author’s note:

Still pulling.


OPENING THE CHEST

At first, the wooden chest
seemed to be just another
lifeless museum piece--

antique, but cheapened by wear:
a big chip out of one stout leg;
a crack in the pediment;
the wood finish faded.

But those closed doors
piqued my curiosity…

So when the room cleared
the little boy in me
stepped over the cord
and tried to swing open
those two doors--

feeling the tightness
of the creaking hinges
in my own chest.

But despite the tension building within
I kept opening:
obeying my spirit
by fighting that resistance.

I pulled, I pulled
until
a sudden piercing pain
brought the relief of release:

a welling glow spread
out from my center
as I stood, transfixed--
witnessing
that goblet on the top shelf--

its silver plating tarnished
and diminished with dust--

so plain!
but also so open
as if to say:
here I am--
ready to be filled
so I can give
what I’ve received.

I felt the humility
of naked exposure--
I felt the tears
and bold strength
of willing sacrifice
(the victorious surrender).

But at that point
I stopped myself
because
I dared not go too deep
in such a proper public place.

Ironic:
I rarely find meaning
in those spaces and things
that’re supposed to be meaningful.
More often I find meaning
by glorious accident.

I can’t seem to manufacture
such experience
but I can return
to that greater response
by remembering
the blessed chance event.

Return again and again.

© 2019, Michael R. Patton
What I Learned While Alone: poetry ebook