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Fishie fishie in a brook, daddy catch him with a hook, mommy fry him in a pan, baby eat him like a man. This fishie is not in a brook. Perhaps he is in the deep deep ocean itself, where you can swim like Galway Kinnell on the very top surface while beneath you are legions of unimaginable living things. Bright shiny fishies whose lives remain a mystery to us, swimming back and forth and back and forth.
What is the life of a fish in a tank? Is it at all different from the way we float through our own lives, looking for exits, looking for--ah, now we're at the heart of it! Looking for what? Some look for security, some for love, some for the deep sense of oneness that they know they're on the verge of finding if they could just get their heart/mind/soul around the feeling.
"I want to feel that oneness on a cellular level," a friend said to me. Sounds good to me. Now where do I start?
Okay, too hard. Another lifetime, perhaps, will give me whatever it is I need in order to find that oneness on a cellular level. In the meantime I'll just swim back and forth, back and forth, like these little fishies, in my bright-colored raiment, preening (do fishies preen?), being aware of my separateness and my difference and me, me, me.
What was I saying about oneness? But if I feel that oneness, then what happens to me, me, me? I've spent all this time and money trying to identify "me", and now I'd have to let it go (well, I'd have to, if experiencing oneness on a cellular level were actually my goal. It's my friend's goal. Doesn't make it mine. But admirable, isn't it?).
Let's just look at this pretty blue, green, purple water and be glad we can swim in these depths with the fishies. But, like Galway Kinnell, I'm frightened of being on top of that unknown water. It's so deep, so very deep . . .
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