We live in Southbourne-on-Sea, aka SoBo, mere seconds walk from the clifftop path, looking West, East and South out over the long reaching fin of the north-east Atlantic — call it The Channel, call it La Manche.
The surface is forever changing, surprising, pleasing.
As I stand, look and open up my submariner senses, I notice it is teeming beyond my wildest imaginings with collective sea-lives.
I take my imagining under and deep.
I tense and relax inside of the cubic kilometers of freedom. Freedom as beyond any fixed measure as a sphere.
Freedom beyond imagined desire.
I let me to wander alongside the floating populations, the slow tribes, the single species moving with one accord. With my mouth, with my eyes, I lead. My undulating slow tail follows.
This is a place of communication. The crustaceans, the fish, all go clickety on their busy ways.
Half a lifetime of my puny swimming, and I come into earshot of the fabled Songs of Whales, those companies of poets and musicians. My mammalian relatives have developed their societies, and they live out the proud cycles of their generations on the same scale as this oceanic universe.
I find I too can float, and I let my five-pointed star body hang with the barely visible bodies, the water-clouds of trillions, the fractal delicacy of diatoms.
I strain a little, look below and I see the swaying of the dark slippery forests of kelp.
Against my flanks I sense the varied gradients of pressure, from abyssal deep to top frothing waves.
At depth, my body is belittled by vibrations of very long wavelengths, many orders of magnitude greater than the hugest floorstanding bass speakers. This unaccustomed effect is unnerving and soothing in equal measure.
My sensitive skin is surprised by the variegated temperature shifts in the flows of water bands, above, below, before, behind.
The diversity of temperature and pressure in these limitless, liquid, gravity-bound masses I compare, in my own air-breather way, to the hourly, diurnal and seasonal colour changes in our familiar, domed aethereal world.
All awestruck, I love to visit and revisit again and again this succulent subsurface with my mind’s eye, because it is a massive naked mirror to the elsewhere worlds of air and starry night skies
~Love is present EveryNow
The View at 72+ 