I always wondered what it would be like to sit at the bottom of a coral reef. So I purchase a wetsuit, flippers, and an oxygen tank. All suited up, I dive down to the bottom of the ocean floor and find a vacant spot. A small area where I fasten a towel alongside an umbrella and look up without risking Sun’s blindness. I watch a myriad of prosperous sealife intently lead their lives. Grounds of red, yellow, and purple coral with coarse and sandy textures. Bedrock of crevices filled with vibrant fish eggs protected under a forest of silky and slimey kelp, a mucosal site of hidden secrets. These parts are home to unique creatures, exclusive to any who can quickly adapt.
For example;
The surface of an ordinary rock moves. Little rubbery noodles of leg sprout against the current. An adolescent squid hungry for his next meal, adequately timing his retreats and attacks. Crustaceans beware! He slowly moves closer to me. Our eyes lock in a moment of tension. Fortunately, he decides to show me tricks he’s learned up his sleeve and releases ink into my periphery, palette-cleansing my canvas. The black ink spreads smears against ripples; washing, whistling, waving against time.
I turn my gaze to a hilly coral reef. Many clownfish aggregate a fort across the bearing, determined to find their next mate. A small group of Hammerheads circle twenty feet above. The clownfish must move meticulously in their line of shadow. It is rare to witness such intense focus; a privilege to be in the presence of communal involvement. Some succeed to pass on their genes. Some brace mercy for sophisticated jawlines. While the collective learn from others mistakes. Survival of the fittest looks exuberant of color and culture. A tear falls just below my cheek. I am gently reminded of how misunderstood we all are. That behind scenes of generational miscommunication is an obligation to survive. The coral reefs echo a hymn to not forget the basics. Regardless of the drama, everyone must continue to play their part. Observing streets of whisps and shimmering scales lies Ocean’s hypnosis. Tied to my towel and umbrella, I don’t move. I harper myself to stay still. I can’t help but feel that I have merged to become part of it all.
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