Some stage that when you reach the bottom of the ocean that a maze awaits you. They say if you enter, you will see wonderful things. But also terrible things. Things that should only have existed in the darkest corners of history. But who created it?
Your heart will stop in about two minutes, give or take. Your blood will clump and cool. Your flesh will twist and bloat and swell, you bones shift and shiver, your fingers uncurl, your eyelids drift open. They won’t belong to you anymore.
And with your body belonging to the ocean, you will be free to leave it behind.
Go on; you’ll have time. Everything moves slower in the water: sounds, souls, and, well, you’ll find out soon enough. It’ll take them a while to catch up to you; you’re a long way down, but then, you know that, don’t you?
Hush. That’s it. No need to keep worrying your lungs. They’ve been good to you all your life; might as well give them what they’re begging for before you leave them behind. You won’t need them in a moment.
Let the ocean in, it’s all right. You already belong to it; no need to put up a fuss. Hush. I never said it wouldn’t hurt, never said it wouldn’t burn like frostbite, like filling up with glass. I didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt, only that it wouldn’t matter.
And there we are, child. That’s the trick. When something comes in, something must come out, to make room. Physics, you know. Make room for the ocean, now. I never said it wouldn’t hurt, to die.
But now, we’ve had done with it. Blow a kiss to your body, child, if you wish. And keep drifting, down, down.
Of course you’re going down; what did you expect? A soul is heavier than a body, but perhaps you didn’t grow old enough to realize on your own. No matter. You know now.
Go on; you have time. Look around. It’s be nice to be able to see without eyes for the salt to sting, now, isn’t it?
You are so lucky. You’re down so deep. You have so much time.
You are so lucky. You belong to a good world, one with lots of excellent depths. And you here, sinking like the best of them.
Are you ready?
Here is what sinking will teach you: height and depth are the same thing, just like you learned in geometry. You cannot have up without down.
And so, this is a glorious world you have here, all full of depths, all full of heights. Whichever you prefer, whichever way you’re facing.
Aren’t you grateful to belong to such a deep world, one fit to accommodate all your bigness, one that will never squeeze you in like a shoe that doesn’t want your feet to grow?
Can’t you see what large hopes your creator had for you, to give you such a deep world to fill up, such a deep world to cradle you as you grow?
So come down, past shipwrecks and sharks and masses of purple sea stars, past tangles of crabs and long stretches of emptiness, and things you don’t have words for. Past moving things so large you don’t dare look at them straight, past the last dots of phosphorescence, and into the perfect black.
If you thought you knew what dark was before, you were wrong. But enough of this, I can see you’re impressed enough already. Welcome, child, to the true depths.
We’ve been waiting for you.
