The Innermost Chamber

One of my very earliest memories is holding a big conch shell up to my ear and listening to the “sound of the ocean” in it. Studying the shell I intuited that the external scrolling shape must continue to wind inward and that deep inside there must be an ultimate place of refuge. That innermost chamber, I imagined, must be a cozy and safe place indeed. I remember experiencing a powerful desire to shrink myself down to a tiny size and make my way into that protected chamber, into a place so snug and secure that they couldn’t get me. I was no more than five at the time. I don’t recall asking myself who “they” were. Maybe I didn’t have to. Maybe “they” were everybody.