From Below: Perspectives
Even as it rains above, pelting the surface with rhythm and a fierce anger, ripping the surface into glass circles, from our place deep below in our lake, in our river, in our ocean, we hear it, we see it, but we can't feel it.
The water grass sways to that invisible wind. The wide ripples above open up and thunder on and any brightness from above still paints our view a forest blue.
We are exactly what you think we are. And we're aware of you and your hunts and your metal sheets raking our neighbor's floors and the unnatural brightness you bring even when the sun has disappeared.
You would be powerless here, from where we see you.
Because from where we are, you could hunt for us, dig for us, scrape for us, but you'd find us for what?
And if our mysteries are uncovered, you'd return to hunt, dig, and scrape with your fake big fish. We'd lose more neighbors, more friends. We'd meet your curiosity with anger, as fierce as the rains above and our hunts below.
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Even as it rains above, pelting the surface with rhythm and a fierce anger, ripping the surface into glass circles, from my place deep below in my lake, in my river, in my ocean, I hear it, I see it, but I can't feel it.
When the storm slams the surface harder and it does become a roar, I swim deeper. Deeper and deeper into the crevice of rock that fits me. I spin and gaze up, at the ripples of water, mesmerized. The roar is much quieter from here, and I can't feel a thing, except for the little currents that push against me, feeling like nothing.
This is what I imagine when I close my eyes, whenever my fears and doubts are bigger than I can swallow. I swim deeper into my mind's crevice and find my place to hide and dare to stare right back at the storm for what it is. Judge it not by how it makes me feel, but what I hear and what I see.
From my new vantage point now, as I hold my breath for this dive, the beauty and softness all around me almost makes me forget what led me here. All around me, the river grass sways and lightly grazes my arms and legs. Little fish swim by my nose, and they too, stop and stare above but swim on deeper into the grass.
I forget how loud the world is, how needy I am. How needy I am.
How loud the world is. How needy it is. How loud I am to myself, always to myself and only to myself. How the world needs me to be right, wait no, how I've been feeling like I need to be, to exist. Oh, how cooling, how abundant here is. The blue hues swing and spin above me and all around me and the long, swaying river grass is petting my head now. I'm not as hungry as I thought, but an insight emerges in the depths of all this: I feed what I believe.
The storm continues above. I hear it, I see it, but I can't feel it.
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Inspired by the little things and written after affording a $9.87 Blackberry Pie Matcha Latte. Dang.
