The Open Water in Open WaterBy: Devan Goldstein
I know: You’re scared. So am I. But there is value here, in this irreal but replicable place.
The threats of hypothermia, of sharks, of sun poisoning, of dehydration, of storms—these things strip from us all pretense and vanity, all phantasy, all distortion of You in the fun-house mirror of Me.
I finally see you for what you are—fleshy, frail, finished—because I feel myself, for the first time, in my own human totality. I am predator and prey; I am meat and consciousness; I am a delivery system and an assemblage.
And, likewise, you. We have become inconsequence embodied. In each universe that branches off from this one, I become aware, I will die in a different way. I may be saved in some but in none do I matter. Nor, likewise, you.
Here, in our smallness and our vulnerability, in this space which is not one, we see each other with open eyes. We shed our biological imperatives and know total compassion. If the heartbreak is not too great, we may even laugh.