If we were glass, blown into shape and told by our creator we were FRAGILE, HANDLE WITH CARE — would we obey? Make each movement with grace; walk softly between places; watch our organs with pride from the outside as we see them being worked to the bone.
If we were sand — would we want to become molten and moulded anew, even though our original self would disappear? Or is that the lure. The idea of change too tempting to resist. Abandoning the safety of what you know to become an exquisite You 2.0
If we were rock — would we notice our selves smalling? Carried by currents, knocked off course by an otter... Bundled in pondweed, then flushed out to sea by a burst dam. Each moment chipping away at our size, but adding to our story.
Too often Bodies hold the belief they are indestructible. Because Minds are told to keep going, just a little more, not much longer... it won’t get any worse, right?
But — catch the rim of a glass bottle wrong, and it’s gone.
Anything nearby likely studded by its tiny, diamond splinters, and they too are made unsalvageable. Away with the shards! To the bin! To the rubbish tip! To become small again, to become something like sand, and eventually something else. Though, never the exact bottle it so recently stood so solid and tall as.
Cullet is crushed glass destined to be reborn by great metal hands of machines with engines, carted along pipes wide enough to get lost in.
In and of itself, there’s a charm to recycling:
Here. Here are some split pieces of glass, crumpled tins, torn paper, clear plastic, I’ve brought what you asked.
I’ll take it, say the serrated jaws. I’ll pick it, say the moon-sized magnets dangling from above. I’ll make it into card or trays, whatever is desired, say the conveyor belts leading to furnaces, or ceiling-high bowls with enormous stirring paddles.
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There’s a bottle in a bag on the porch that’s in pieces. I’ve left it there a few hours now. I won’t see what it becomes, once it’s been whisked away by the clattering lorry on Thursday.
My own body feels tender, not like it’ll break soon, as the glass did. Just wary to take care. Because, I don’t think they have cullet and pipes and paddles for flesh and bones and souls.
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