Marang Travel Blog› entry 29 of 47 › view all entries
"The divers will all get together for a collectively choreographed vomit" predicted Neal after tonight's meal. & Andrew, it seems, has a fantasy about being wrapped in a plastic bag and having a whole group of people throw up on him.
We swam into a shower as fresh as a spring rainfall on the prairies: hundreds of thousands of tiny green fish raining down upon us, scales capturing the refracted rays of the tropical sun
under the sea
& I am breathing (tho the fish have more convenient gills).
& I am swimming with the little electric blue fish
...the ones with the brilliant yellow tails
...the ones from the pet stores when i was a child
...like the one I took home one day in a thin plastic bag
...to set free in my nine gallon aquarium freedom is relative
...these fish have a whole world
...even if I can't see their world
...except with mechanical effort
& it took an effort to sink
i am possessive of the oxygen in my lungs, and it keeps me floating
to the surface
to the bottom of the sea
& I have finally bottomed out. A level plane is a matter of perspective too. A perspective easily enhanced by an environment that magnifies.
Those fish swam free
I do not want to have.
(except maybe the oxygen in my tank at any given moment)
& while I have been sick--violently rejecting the food I consumed--there was no choreography to my performance. & perhaps the loss of one meal is worth it, because this afternoon I did not open my mouth to consume those raindrop fish...
we were exchanging stories
the sea and i
& my words were bubbles of compressed air
theophilosophically speaking, I believe the soul inside each one of us speaks a story; in the end, the two--story and soul--are indistinguishable.
...& with its tiny island campong and its beaches, its corals and its fishing boats, this island is like a strong deceptively simple fable. Quietly hinting at the prospect of other worlds and other meanings...