Octopus Pots …From North Africa, staying with my daughter’s family… My grandson had just begun babbling in his crib, sunrise was imminent, the pink glows of predawn skies hurried me along the walk to the marina. By now I had navigated this pathway alone several times … turn right at the first corner, continue past the car wash, the louage/taxi station, past the school that has a child to toilet ratio of one hundred to one, straight ahead at the first roundabout, slightly right at the second one. Sidewalks present their own obstacle course challenges of ‘men’s only’ cafe chairs, cars, motorbikes, or stacks of building bricks; and the curbs vary in height from nine to eighteen inches—an added challenge when pushing a stroller.
Past the police station on the left, where the latest crunched Peugeot waits inspection. Papagallo’s Italian-ish restaurant lets me know I am still on track, past the final Fruit Secs stand and the Marina is in view. I breathe in deep, the fresh sea air has a cleansing effect despite the shores being overrun with litter. Two herons swoop down, as fishermen ready their boats for the morning catch, I arrive just in time to see the sun rise above the clear blue waters.
Thousands of octopus pots line the rocky port walls—the small clay pot trap has not changed for centuries. Apparently the tiny octopus and squid love to crawl into cozy spaces, and then become trapped due to their inability to either back up or turn around. I am reminded how easy it has been to feel stuck in a tight spot, unable to reshape my attitude. I climb over the rocks reaching the light house, and feast on the rich deep colours … the blue of the Mediterranean sea—the boats traveling out to sea, a feast for the eyes, therapy for the soul. My heart craves for beauty, and recently John Eldredge put it into words for me…. in that as much as we have felt pains in our lives, proportionately we seek the beauty … this has become clear to me in my journey of grief.
This morning the pages of my travel NT open at 1 Corinthians 4:7 … I laugh at God’s sense of humour as I read: “Yet we who have this spiritual treasure are like common clay pots, in order to show that the supreme power belongs to God, not to us ….” (Good News NT) I text my daughter to let her know that I will meet her on the path to her son’s school. What a great start to the day for just one of a million clay pots!