Jellyfish and repetition…

Repetition seems to be my fate. Sonya, a Facebook friend of mine, posted this picture of a jellyfish over the weekend. Just look at how close she came to stepping on the gelatinous lump.

Yes, Jellyfish Encounters of the Third Kind. First – seeing one in the sea. Second – seeing one on the beach. Third – stepping on one.

There I was just about to launch into a blog about my jellyfish encounters when I realised that I might have done it before. I was going to write about how I once found a huge Lion’s Mane jellyfish; washed up on a Cornish beach, brought down from the arctic, an eight feet lump of fly covered yellowish jelly. And how a couple of years ago mingled with the bladder wrack on Whistling Sands, I blundered into thousand on thousand of tiny Saucers thrown up on the sandy shoreline, the sea full, the beach covered, their delicate pinkness turning to dull grey in the warm holiday sunshine. But when I checked back I found that, yes, I’d written about it before.

Just a couple of things - I think that I’ve dredged my experience and memories close to their apparently very shallow depths and that it might be time to stop. Secondly, it confirms my belief that everything is a loop, the same things happening over and over with only slight variances to distinguish them – well, that’s my belief anyway, my reality; probably a self-fulfilling prophecy.

So, no jellyfish stories of the past then… apparently I’ve already done them HERE (just click).

Repetition; the fruits of a life spent too safely, never stepping on the jellyfish for fear of getting stung.