There are days where I think I am diving into the depths from the mundane seeking some form of sustenance, some form of meaning from an original thought that may be straying through the depths of this continuum. It’s as if I were a solitude whale, diving into the depths to find… something.
And every now and then whale song resonates, if only for a moment. A harrumph in the distance of someone doing something similar, an echo of an echo, and you wonder if it’s you’re own echo. In the depths, you are alone, the silence interrupted by your movements as you interact with the outside world.
It’s pleasant. Serene. Quiet. People go to classes for such things, twist their limbs into positions that someone else teaches them. That was forced on me as a teenager, and people pay for it now. But then, people pay to be spanked and have hot wax dripped on them, too. The world is strange among those that live in the air. They chatter among themselves about things that largely do not matter, only so that they don’t feel…
Alone scares people, the depths of who we are a scary place for those who believe that they are something that they are not. Validation. Existence. Emptiness does not give those things, the depths where the pressure is greatest force against the self, hardening what at the surface is so soft. Things flit around down there. Things about yourself. Things about the world, the detritus of above always finds the depths. The depths, the dark depths with the deep currents that run to and fro say more about what is important than the practicing karaoke choirs above – busy singing the songs of others, poorly.
And there it is. And there it went. A roll, a twist, a push toward the surface where the noise is… a glance backward.