The Deep

I had a dream.

Everyone I knew was at the beach, slashing around in the water by the shore. We all were having a good time and didn’t seem to have any place to go. Enjoying the waves, we talked, laughed, kissed, jumped, danced, cried, wrestled, loved, and every other verb imaginable. It was a cosmic party where nothing else mattered, and that was fine. We didn’t go on land or into the ocean—the land was barren and the ocean alien—we just expanded infinitely across the shore. It was our time, our lives, our beach.

I was happy. I could have lived the rest of my life and called myself fulfilled. But I had this defect, minor, but gnawing. I was oddly and innocently curious about the vast ocean. Its placid, infinite expanse juxtaposing our breaking waves, it seemed so boring and yet…inviting. What was out there? Why had no one ever gone? Would it be more fun? Terminal, dangerous, innocuous questions filled my breast. Yes, I thought, I will go out into the deep.

I broke from the pack and began swimming out to sea. Background noise filled my head; “Where are you going? There’s nothing out there! You’re wasting your time, come back here and play with us!” Indeed. But first I will quench my thirst and see what’s out there. Afterwards I will return and tell everyone all about it; they will be so glad to hear of it I’m sure. But after a few hours of swimming out into the ocean I realized there was nothing here, just desolate wasteland (and the unbroken silence of modest mystery). No people, no action, and no fun. Disappointed, but not overly so, I began to turn back when a strange thought came to me. I know not where it came, but it lingered there in my mind; intrusive, insisting. Go down, it said. Go into the deep.

So, down I swam.

And I could not handle what I saw. 

Under the surface lay an endless expanse of color and movement. Miles of coral reef littered the ocean floor, with the rainbow’s spectrum at its disposal. Blues, greens, oranges, reds, yellows, pinks; I was overwhelmed by the display. And all around swam fish of dazzling color—playing, talking, laughing, kissing, jumping, dancing, crying, wrestling, loving, and every other verb imaginable (as well as some unimaginable). There was life here, action, and fun. But the beauty was completely disproportionate to what I had experienced with my friends on the shore. It was as if my eyes had been fogged before and now they were clear. In this depth was an intensity which permeated my senses; it seemed to borrow into my very core and nestle there. Just watching I felt invigorated. I couldn’t wait to actually swim down and play among my new friends.

I began to go down and swim deeper and deeper, trying to reach this new haven. But after a few minutes I grew tired and I couldn’t breathe. I realized I wouldn’t be able to make it, and returned to the surface. I needed to be stronger, more tenacious, to reach this wonder. But how? How would I get to the deep? Dawning comprehension: I must make myself a better swimmer. And so, every day from then on, I pushed myself to improve myself. Staying out in the ocean to avoid distractions, I swam for miles to increase my stamina. I would dive persistently to increase my breathing capacity. I talked to myself to increase confidence (You can do it! I know you can!) I glimpsed that depth from time to time to remind me of what I stood to gain. Form, strength, breathing; I heighted them all. It was hard, painfully so, and the most difficult thing I had ever done. In fact, it was the only difficult thing I had ever done. But I was determined, and that held me through. Within months I was in the best shape of my life. And, strangely, I felt great. I had not even reached my prize but already I was content. Why? How could being miserable bring one happiness? I didn’t linger on this thought, but again attempted to reach the sea floor. As before, I was determined to succeed.

I swam down, faster and harder than I had ever swam before. Within minutes I reached the reefs. Up close, it was even more majestic, and the palette of vibrant life more profound. The fish, crowding around me, invited me among there people. They were in fact lonely, funny enough, and were glad to have some company. They taught me their ways (such as how to never need air or how to swim effortlessly) and showed me wonders beyond description. The reefs and ecosystems were, unbelievably, just the beginning. Beyond this expanse lay many more, all more awesome and empowering than the last.

Down in the deep I, at first, practiced all my verbs, but they soon took new forms. Laughing, or crying, or dancing, were different down here. They had meaning somehow; some lasting impact on my soul. While I was enjoying life more than I had ever thought possible, it wasn’t just euphoric, or fulfilling. It was actually changing who I was. This happiness was growing inside of me. Sometimes it was painful, sometimes it was fun, but always, it was powerful. I became self-conscious of this change. It was frightening and enticing at the same time.

Despite these wonders, I grew lonely too. I wanted to be back with my human friends (I was not, after all, a fish), and even bring them down here. With amiable regret, I parted from my new community, my new paradise, and returned to the surface. The endless, placid expanse was ironic to me now. The intriguing mystery was replaced with intriguing understanding, and it tasted sweeter.

I returned to the beach shore and met up with my old comrades. After a loving reunion, I explained to everyone where I had been. Their responses, however, baffled me. “You went where? What’s so special about that? It’s perfectly great here, why would we leave? Better? How can anything be better than this? We have to do what to get there?!? Exercise? That sounds terrible! No thanks man, I’ll just chill here on shore.” It was maddening. They would not believe my story, and when they did, they were disinterested (or entertained) rather than inspired by my tales. I tried to convince them, but to no avail. They did not understand. They needed to see what I saw. They needed to work like I worked. They needed to be curious, and adventures, and discontent. But they weren’t.

I also tried to return to life on the shore, but it was hopeless. The tedious playing, talking, laughing, kissing, jumping, dancing, crying, wrestling, loving, and every other restricted verb was done with a kind of droll, unpolished vigor that seemed just so empty, so barren, so…shallow. I was not happy here anymore. Unable to connect to others, unable to satisfy my lust, I was disconnected. I had isolated myself.

I spent the intervening time alternating between the deep and my beach shore. They were good breaks from each other. But make no mistake, my problem only intensified. I began to despise the shore for its ignorant contentment, while my love of the depth became obsessive. Unfortunately I woke from my dream before this dilemma was resolved, and I’ll never know how it ended. But, perhaps, this is for the best.