The World Is My Oyster

OK, so that's not really an oyster.  I know.  But it's the closest picture of mine that I have available.  It's some sort of fresh water bivalve, right?  It came out of Lake Lanier.  I took this picture during the famous drought of '08.  This empty shell is perched on top of some kind of interesting vegetation that grew where the lake should have been, under normal circumstances.

Why am I writing about oysters?  It's because last Saturday, September 25th, I awoke in a most optimistic state.  Or frame of mind, that is.  The sun was already shining, the leaves on the oak trees outside my window were dancing in the breeze, and my first thought upon waking was, "The world is my oyster".  I let it sink in.  I felt great, for some reason.

As I went about my business that day, and the following day and subsequent days, I kept repeating it:  "The world is my oyster".  But what did it mean?  I knew I had heard the phrase, but why, all of a sudden, was it stuck in my head?  Did I hear it recently?  Did I read it?  If so, where?

When faced with a quandary, I did what I always do.  I googled.  That's right.  Spell check doesn't recognize the word yet, but it will.  Googled is definitely a verb.  Anyway, I came up with the Shakespearean reference to The Merry Wives of Windsor quote, in which Pistol claims:

"Why then the world's mine oyster,

Which I with sword will open."

Well, that didn't sound like me.  I dislike sharp instruments.  I kept pondering.  I dug a little deeper and found out a little bit about oysters, those mysterious bivalves.  (I love that word:  bivalve.  It just rolls off the tongue.)  Anyway, it seems that pearls, the precious objects produced by oysters, are actually the result of an irritation.  Wow.  Pearls grow from discomfort, from an invasion.

And then I began to think of myself as an oyster.  I'm self-contained.  I have an outer shell.  (Figuratively speaking.)  I'm affected by my environment.  I take in things.  Good, nourishing things as well as unhealthy, harmful things.  I'm sort of an ecosystem within an ecosystem, not unlike an oyster, or anything else living in existence.  So where's my pearl?

Maybe my pearl is wisdom; the wisdom that comes from acceptance.  Or maybe it's grace, that spot deep within me that's always perfect.  That place where no harm can be done.  That sacred place where peace dwells.

The world is my oyster.  For now, that is enough for me to believe.