The hiss that followed the sharp “pop” was unmistakable. Another tube punctured. Damn. I’m down to one spare. I’d better turn around and head home. That makes 5 in 5 days. I haven’t even worked up a sweat yet. Oh well. It figures.
I can feel my body going limp…giving in to wave after wave of psychic “why bothers” that are the Cylons attacking my psyche’s Battlestar Galactica. I am losing the battle today. Morale and ammo are low.
The sun is warm and penetrating today – the sort of warmth that sinks-in slowly, like stepping into a warm shower and letting my head hang – relaxed – my tangle of hair creating finely spaced streams of water that flow over my face and down my body – forming a translucent womb that envelops me in the simple happiness of warmth and moving water. Feeling the chill of a small exposed area on my shin, I tilt my head slightly to move the place where the water and I merge, sealing the break in my cocoon. It feels so good. So pure. So complete. No thoughts. Only a saturating connection to formlessness.
Excerpt from Diane Ackerman’s essay “The Moon by Whale Light” from the same-titled book (1992).
“Do whales have emotions like ours? I wondered. How intelligent are they? Do they have minds of the sort that would be familiar to us?
After all, mind is such an odd predicament for matter to get into. I often marvel how something like hydrogen, the simplest atom, forged in some early chaos of the universe, could lead to us and the gorgeous fever we call consciousness.