They are rising and falling in front of me now, a fluke occasionally emerging on the tail end of a barnacled back’s ridge radius, before the next dive.

I also dove, early this morning, into the thick, quiet peace below the surface. The ocean was already churning and confused by the trade winds, but the beneath was still. I floated in suspension until oxygen beckoned, then demanded, my return back to life above water.

Up here.

Up here, where we are tossed around like small boats in a tempest of clickbait media over which we have little influence, fed to us on devices we no longer use as tools, but as pacifiers.

It’s there, if we want to go.

The beneath.

But what about oxygen?

We can come to the surface for a breath, as they are rising and falling in front of me now, a fluke occasionally emerging on the tail end of a barnacled back’s ridge radius, before the next dive.