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I love this story!

I’d written it back in 2000, when I was still scuba diving (my last dive was January 27, 2001, in Blue Hole New Mexico, for a High Altitude dive cert, which I never completed; don’t recall why, just that things kept getting delayed and life got in the way…blah x 3…though I had essentially, done plenty of High Altitude dives in the area prior to the cert, since I live over a mile in altitude and dove in Pueblo Reservoir and Twin Lakes, in Leadville, Colorado; Twin Lakes was also my Ice Dive cert, which I did complete—inhaaale!). It was so cool reliving the imagery of ocean diving (which I have done)! Talking about and remembering all the really beautiful species of fish I’d seen! Scuba diving is truly a whole new world! Most people see life above the waterline, but not everyone sees life below that line.

I’ve not done wreck diving—just never got around to it, but had been studying it—my ice diving was an “overhead environment” (diving under ice). Now, a curiously odd feeling I’m having as I write this is that I actually feel as if I’ve done some kind of wreck diving…though my dive log does not reflect that.  Very odd feeling. A probably self, most likely!

For the record, my very first scuba dive was a resort course in Cozumel, Mexico, on March 9, 1990. It was a cool 40-foot drift dive along what the Paraiso (“Paradise”) Reef,”from the dive record I still have.

This story has never been published.

The Wreck

© F. P. Dorchak, 2000

There was nothing but the comforting sound of our breathing—and the bubbles it made as the air exited our regulators and entered the 100-foot column of crystal-clear water above us, shooting for the surface like deserting rats. I watched our bubbles as they left us…and smiled as blue-striped grunts, silvery permit, and creole wrasse playfully darted among them.

This was paradise, baby, pure and simple.

Visibility was at least a hundred feet in these waters off Bimini. We’d just begun paying out our guideline and were preparing to enter the Bimini wreck Her Majesty, when I’d had the oddest feeling compelling me to look up and off to our right. Carl, my friend and dive buddy, was tying off our guideline to a heavily used post just outside Her Majesty, which still held bits and pieces of spent guidelines past, when I noticed this new shadowy structure shimmering in the distance. This had not been there when we first came down. At first glance it looked just like any other piece of distant coral reef set against the crystal blue of Bahamian waters—or perhaps another wreck—but there was something more to this shadow…something unnerving. We hadn’t spotted it on our previous dive, and there were not supposed to be any other wrecks manifested in these waters. I directed Carl to it, who turned and did a double take. We both looked at it for a few moments…perplexed…then he looked back to me and shook his head and hands before him, indicating “no.” Tapping his slate, he reinforced the need to press on with our planned dive. We’d check it out later. Then he looked back to the odd structure, again to me, and shrugged his shoulders and hands in an “I dunno” gesture.

We entered Her Majesty….

But let me start from the beginning. My life had been like any other basic, hum-drum existence…at least as hum-drum as anyone’s life could be at twenty-two. Nothing really stood out from my life that ever pointed to where I’d end up—or where I’d been. I was your basic kid, in your basic home, living your basic life. Growing up, school, girls, jobs, and finding life quietly unfulfilling. Looking for excitement, I craved it. There was something I was meant to do…I just knew it…but hadn’t yet found, though I remained ever confident it was out there. I’d skydived, Bungee jumped, hang glided, but nothing so filled my existence and soul as sailing and diving. Being out around water and onboard ships…and when I first discovered I could breathe underwater (with scuba gear, of course)—it opened up whole new worlds to me! Such wondrous life was hidden beneath the waves! I simply loved the water and was utterly at one with it. Found I could hold my breath for a solid five minutes within it. The possibility of drowning never crossed my mind—indeed, I thought, what a beautiful way to go, being totally filled with and at one with the sea!

I wasted no time in signing on with dive operations along Florida’s east coast, mostly hanging around Miami. Within the world of the open ocean, I found I was particularly drawn to wreck diving and took in every wreck possible, ranging from the Atlantic’s graveyard off North Carolina, down through the Bahamas and the Caribbean, and ranged as far as Truk Island, the Mediterranean, and northern Scotland—anywhere and everywhere I could get to and think of, and always—always—the thrill of another wreck excited me…until I began to notice a disturbing trend, something that quite upset me. Once down there, inside or around whatever wreck I was enjoying…well, there was no other way to describe it…but I still felt something missing. Something was lacking…anticlimactic…and I could never put my finger on it. What the hell? What had happened to all my initial excitement?

So I soldiered on, like everybody does in life.

I took in all manner of wrecks, no matter how contradictorily excited and hollow I ended up feeling. If I was doing what I was meant to do…why was I constantly unfulfilled?

Eventually, I ended up on Andros Island in the Bahamas, and it was there I felt the strongest magic, felt closest to whatever called me…drove me. I was only there a couple of months before hopping over to Bimini, where I took up with yet another dive operation, one that specialized in wrecks. It was also here where I’d found myself a hundred feet down and a quarter mile off Bimini, ready to penetrate the wreck of Her Majesty while spotting this new, odd structure, no doubt also encrusted with colorful coral and sponges and all manner of Atlantic life swarming around us.

It was magical, there was no other word for it.

But what was it?

The more glances I stole back toward that shadowy structure, the more confused I grew. It had to be a wreck. The more I looked at it, the more it looked like some kind of angled skiff sticking up out of the sand. But was it my point of view or the structure of what we were looking at that was so deceiving? There really wasn’t much to go on from our distance and position, and it actually looked more like a lone section of reef—but if you looked at it—how do I say this?—really looked at it with the intention of decrypting what it was you were looking at…then you began to find, either by trick of the water, distance, or angles and your mind…an emerging organization. A definitive construction of some odd, obtuse kind. Its perspective messed with your mind, I tell you—it was like the shape of the vessel formed before your very eyes.

It was absolutely maddening.

Was it hiding behind coral growth, or was it coral growth?

It was like looking at those puzzles that spelled out words, but at first glance were nothing more than carefully laid out patterns of deceiving narrow strips.

I simply had to have a closer look….

Early Bahamian winters can mean mid-eighties, which is hot for the islands, and today was just such a day on board the Wreck Mistress, Carl’s boat. Skies were growing low and overcast, winds balmy, and it actually started to interfere with our initial hundred-foot viz. The day had quite the surreal effect to it, going from bright, balmy, and sunny…to cloudy, moody, and a difficult-to-describe “duality.” Like I was sharing this day, this moment in time with…something else. And the brewing storm only added to it, though still hours out and slow moving. It was far enough away so as to not be a problem, but it was definitely headed our way.

Her Majesty was your basic, two-hundred-and-seventy-foot wreck, upright on a sandy ocean bottom, with about a twenty-degree list and covered in a century’s worth of coral growth. Like most wrecks out here, it’d gotten caught in a storm and sunk, all hands lost, and lies just yards from the Gulf Stream drop-off—which was great for the mixture of shallow reef life and big-boy pelagics, like amberjack, wahoo, and permit. Her Majesty had been a Miami rum-runner back in the days when that’d been a problem, but, as interesting and tragic as that may be, I’d lost all interest in her once I’d spied this newer find. The funny thing was—as if pre-ordained—once we’d gotten only about twenty feet into Her Majesty, a loose piece of ship came crumbling down before us, leaving us dead in the water and totally blinded by stirred-up silt. You don’t know vertigo or zero viz until you’ve experienced stirred-up silt inside the claustrophobic confines of a wreck. Anyway, we paused until the debris cleared enough to reassess our situation, but any further exploration had been cut off by the collapsed debris, which looked like actual chunks of the decaying ship’s structure. Our plan cut off at the knees, I had to admit I was anything but disappointed! We aborted the dive.

Or, should I say exited, since we didn’t exactly head back to the surface. Carl being the first one in was the last out, which put me first in line out the hatch, and after exiting I simply couldn’t take my eyes off that obtuse, jagged piece of indeterminate shadow a hundred feet out. But, I had to wait for Carl, it was the polite and procedural thing to do. As he rolled up our guideline, I hovered, staring at the object of my growing obsession. I checked my gauges and found I had a good twenty-nine-hundred psi left in my tanks, not counting my bailout bottle. I looked to Carl, who was shaking his head and hands before him “no.”

No.

Such a stickler. To rules.

With that much air left, why not try something else? The passage of my bubbles, the underwater ballet of wrasse, jacks, and grunts—and I even saw one helluva huge Nassau grouper eerily float by—how can you not take the opportunity, especially with a nearly full supply of air? As my exhaled bubbles danced and burbled about my face, I realized…in that one highly defined moment…that this was the turning point in my life. I know all about your “plan your dive and dive your plan,” but give me a break! This was exciting—didn’t he feel it?

Didn’t it wrap itself around his insides like it did me?

Come back to dive another day my ass.

It was here…I was here…and air was plenty. No brainer in my book. But Carl, true to form, gave thumbs up for the surface. Like the good buddy, I responded with an “ok” and agreed. He began his ascent…

And I unhesitatingly headed toward the beckoning shadow, Carl not even a dim consideration.

I don’t know what came over me…I mean, I’d mentally committed to resurfacing, even prepared to resurface by grabbing my inflator/deflator hose to dump air for our ascent…but when I actually began to put body in motion and kick off, it was like I was a sliver of mindless metal drawn to one helluva commanding magnet. I had gone perhaps ten feet before Carl noticed I wasn’t beside him, and he’d scurried back down and grabbed me behind my head, at the first stage on my tank, jerking me to a stop.

What are you doing? he signaled.

I don’t know, I signaled back.

Up, he gestured forcefully.

OK, I returned, and this time he kept direct eye contact with me. He began his ascent, and I—again—continued on my course toward the mysterious wreck. This time Carl hadn’t finned an inch before he again jerked the ascend signal into my face. If gestures could kill, this one murdered. Then he pulled out his slate and scribbled what’s up?! and are you narced? on it, underlining “narced” twice. I again gave him the “I don’t know,” then pointed to the narced question and shook my head “no.” You could see his exasperation as he looked between me and the new wreck, checking both his air and mine. Then he paused and again brought up his slate. On the back of it we did a trick we’d designed a while ago to check if anyone in our group’d ever gotten nitrogen narcosis. Topside Carl had randomly written down the numbers one through six, and down here we were to point them out to whomever brought up the question, as quickly as possible, in ascending order. I rattled mine off in record time. Carl looked back to the new wreck, then back to his slate, and scribbled Just a quick pass, then UP. Five minutes. He underlined “UP” and “five” more than several times, tapping his pencil point into the slate for emphasis. Carl’s a good man. A good diver.

I again signaled “OK,” and off we proceeded. I didn’t know what had come over me, but I felt this was the right thing to do. And as we both proceeded, I had a sudden flash of mental imagery fill my mind…stars…billions of them. The image was powerful but fleeting, and though the image departed, the feeling didn’t. The feeling that I somehow belonged with those stars….

We arrived at the “reef”…the object…and I was overcome by emotion…strong, powerful waves of the stuff that actually brought a tear to my eye. It was like all my senses had taken complete leave of me…all of my dive training and experience had abandoned me. Carl, I noticed, was responsibly taking notes and sketching out the wreck. Man, that’s why I dive with the guy. But, I was concerned with other matters, like experiencing the most passionate need to touch, to contact whatever this was—and whatever it was was beginning to awaken some weird kind of arcane recognition within me that was hard to explain and far from complete. I felt amnesiac…spellbound.

We explored the wreck, and I noted how the odd, complicated lines didn’t match anything I’d come to know as a ship, boat, or skiff. It simply didn’t fit any rational design I’d come to associate with ocean-going vessels. This thing was completely alien, and as we continued alongside I noticed it had even become difficult to discern what was wreck and what was reef. What was visible appeared to be about fifty to seventy-five feet in length, but its physical configuration, once again, didn’t appear to be anything sea-going, unless what we were looking at was damaged, perhaps banged up during some ancient storm or topside battle. Which brought up another point…the material of this thing also didn’t look like anything familiar…it wasn’t wood and it wasn’t metal. To be honest, it actually looked more like some weird kind of a semi-translucent substance similar to those silly little balls I used to play with as a kid…the ones with all the

(stars)

glitter in them. And what’s more, the material actually reflected its environment back at you like a gigantic ornamental gazing ball (which would help explain the difficulty we had in focusing on it), but not in a bright, shiny way—more like in a movie, I guess would be a better description.

A movie?

Like a cloaking device, if you wanted to get all Star Trek about it. I wondered what it would appear like from above. If my guess was correct, it probably wasn’t visible at all, because it simply reflected the environment back at you. That would explain why there wasn’t anything on any map. And it didn’t look at all recent, but instead looked like it had been resting here for the better part of an eternity.

I could no longer contain myself. I reached out and touched the thing, and not at all to my surprise found myself jolted with yet another surge of emotion shooting through me like liquid electricity! It was like sticking your finger into an electrical outlet multiplied a million times over, and it literally stopped me dead in the water. I was emotionally and spiritually stunned as it continued to kick wildly throughout me. Maybe stunned is the wrong word (though its intensity is correct)—I was

Contacted.

I felt as if all this incredible emotion had been downloaded into me—or released from within me—I don’t know which. All I do know is that all I ever was, all of whomever I thought I was, was touched…as if by the very finger of God. That is the only way I can even come close in explaining what happened. From that moment on I had inexplicably changed…was no longer the man I thought I was. I had become something so much more, and I actually felt stopped up with all this emotional information—and I do mean emotional—for intellectually I was no better off than before and would even go so far as to say I was worse. Any so-called answers I found by physical contact and direct observation of this wreck only served up more questions. But that hollow, unfulfilled feeling that had been constantly plaguing me had instantly evaporated. I stopped and brought my hands to my head, eyes closed. Coming here, touching this…this…thing…had opened up such deep and powerful emotional channels within me that I felt I was going to explode—at a molecular level. My entire body tingled and shook, and I couldn’t believe this…but I was actually crying.

Kind of annoying when you’re wearing a face mask.

It was at that point that Carl again grabbed my tanks and yanked me up off the sea floor. I was limp in his grasp as we ascended, and he grabbed my inflator/deflator hose venting my air, then shoved it into my hands, forcefully directing me to look at him. As we rose, I felt the wreck’s effect on me begin to dissipate…not leave, but just…slip away…and I honestly felt it wasn’t so much a proximity issue as it was more of a, if you could believe this…respectful consideration.

None of this was making any sense—good Lord, what was going on?

As you can imagine, once we surfaced all hell broke loose.

“What the hell’d you think you were doing?” Carl yelled, as we bobbed in rougher-than-expected water, waves that were much worse than before our dive. I also noticed that the skies had grown darker, too, a weird steel-blue I’d never seen before mixing into a deep, dark hurtful-looking black farther away. Carl was beside himself, wildly cursing up a sailor’s stream at me. Once on board, I’d barely begun to unhook and slip out of my BC, our buoyancy control device vest that contains our tanks and other gear, when he again lit back into me. The storm that wasn’t supposed to hit us was building in intensity, and our boat was tussled about somewhat more than when we’d first anchored. Winter weather, I guess. Lonnie, our Divemaster, and the rest of the crew of the Wreck Mistress initially all smiles as we surfaced and boarded, were understandably confused and politely stepped back, letting us clear our own gear.

“Do you mind telling me which part of ‘five minutes’ you didn’t understand?”

I was numb. Though the hold of that specter-from-below’s grip on me had somewhat—and I mean somewhat, for it was definitely still with me—lessened, I still heard its whispers. And there were more images…of high seas and dark skies…stars, more and more fricking stars…and I looked to our darkening skies and jostling seas before I calmly answered Carl, feeling more at peace with myself then I’d ever been.

“I don’t know,” I said calmly, though confused. I felt like a Buddhist monk meditating on a mountaintop.

“What? That’s it? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Were you narced? Nitrogen get ya?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so. It wasn’t narcosis. I…I don’t know what it was, Carl—really, I don’t—I’m sorry—”

“Okay,” Lonnie asked, finally assisting us with our gear and separating Carl and me, “anyone care to explain what happened down there?”

“Well, Junior, here,” Carl began, “decided to go on a sightseeing tour after Her Majesty turned sour on us—we had a collapse—but instead of aborting, he spotted this other wreck and just decided to go have a look-see. So we spent five minutes checking it out—or I did. Time’s up, and I keep trying to get his attention, and he’s just ignoring me, until he sunk to the bottom in a near catatonic state.”

Everyone reached for support as a particularly rough swell assaulted the Mistress.

“What other wreck?” Tanya asked. “There’s no other wreck down there.”

“Oh, there is now,” Carl said, barely containing his rage. “I don’t know why I’m so pissed off—gee, maybe it’s from almost getting killed down there—”

“Wait-wait-wait,” Lonnie said, raising a hand, “what happened?”

Carl related everything. I guess in my haste to check out the other wreck I’d been somewhat ignorant as to just how close Carl had been to getting hit by whatever it was that’d collapsed into our path down there in the first wreck. He had every right to abort and surface.

“I’m sorry,” I said to Carl, actually embarrassed, “I-I didn’t realize how close you were. I just didn’t—”

“You’re damned right you didn’t. Didn’t gets people killed!”

Overly dramatic or not, he was right. Lonnie pulled Carl aside.

“Okay, Carl, he apologized. Why don’t you come with me and calm down a bit, huh?” Lonnie pulled Carl starboard, and I dumped my head into my hands. Tanya came over.

“You okay?”

I looked up to her. “I didn’t know,” I said. “I really didn’t know.”

Tanya lowered a sun-bronzed hand to me. “It’s okay, honey, it’s understandable. We all get excited. We all have one wreck where we get stupid…this is yours. He’ll get over it…but, you have to tell me—what did you guys find down there?”

I got up and went to Carl’s BC, removing the slate from its clips.

“I don’t really know, but Carl sketched out some notes. I was just way too engrossed in the thing to write anything down. Here’s what he did.”

I handed her the slate and sat back down, shaking my head. It was a weird, angular sketch jutting out from ocean bottom (several lines crossed out and restarted), notes jotted all over it. If I hadn’t known any better, I still would have thought it part of the reef. When I looked up, Carl and Lonnie stood before me.

“I’m sorry I got so heated over this,” Carl said. “You didn’t know. You got excited—that’s all.” Carl extended his hand. I looked at it—and him—and stood up, shaking it. That seemed to make everything better, but the sea, I noticed, grew more uneasy. As we completed removing our gear, Carl finally asked, “Okay…so, what happened down there…at that other wreck?”

I took a moment before replying.

“To be totally honest, Carl, I haven’t the faintest idea.” I got up and began dipping my equipment in the clean tank. “It was like nothing in my life up to that point ever mattered. Once I spotted that wreck—and where the hell had it come from, anyway?—once I spotted it, it was like I was being sucked into a vortex—a-a whirlpool of some kind. I’m not kidding. Each and every time I acknowledged you that I’d be following, my mind and body had every intention of doing so…but, when I actually put myself into motion it was like I had no control! There was no choice in the matter. There was never any question of what my body was going to do—and when you agreed to take a look, well, it was the most joyous moment in my entire life. Like revisiting a lost love. Have you ever been so overcome by emotion while diving on any of these things? Has there ever been a wreck that just so captivated you—emotionally—that you felt so… overcome?”

Carl looked at me, shaking his head. “No, I can’t say as I have—I mean, I’m awed, sure, fascinated even—but I can’t say I was ever so overcome by a find as to become emotional.”

“Well,” I continued, “I guess I’m different, because I was, and on such an incredible level. It was creepy, totally creepy—but awesome. I have to go back. Have to see this thing on full tanks.”

Carl looked down to the deck and nodded. “Okay,” he said, pensively, “weather says we have two…maybe three hours, but we have to do it like every other dive. Agreed?”

Of course I agreed.

“We plan it, we dive the plan. We chart it out, look for any entry points—if there are any.”

Again, I agreed. And when he said those words, there it was again. I thought the feelings had faded with distance, but they hadn’t. I mean, we were only really a stone’s throw above it—what “distance”? I felt the same emotions again welling up within me, my soul, and I would have leapt over the side that instant if I hadn’t known any better, or Carl had said we were heading home. Decompression sickness, killer storm—they all meant nothing. Getting back to that ship did, and just knowing that we would be diving on it again was all I needed to restrain myself. After all, had I immediately jumped right back in, they certainly would have proclaimed me crazy, aborted any further diving, and headed back to Bimini. I wasn’t going to let that happen. So, I waited out our surface interval, and we planned our next dive.

The dive was planned, lunch eaten, and I was like a kid at Christmas! We decided Carl and I would be the first down to do the initial survey. Then Lonnie and Tanya would follow to continue where we left off, weather permitting. Carl and I would also scout for entries.

I couldn’t get my gear on fast enough.

Just before I entered the water—and I was the first to splash—thoughts of Atlantis entered my mind. After all, we were in the Bermuda Triangle. Not far from the Stones of Atlantis, in fact. It all fit. There be mysteries in these waters.

Carl and I descended down our line to Her Majesty, still there, of course, and turned to take a bearing. It was still there, and oh, how it sent my pulse racing! Of all the wrecks I’d ever dove, this one drove me mad with anticipation! I just had to get inside her! I swear, I felt I was going insane—and I cared not one bit! It took all I could muster to restrain myself—I didn’t want to be landward bound—and performed like the perfect buddy, swimming side-by-side with Carl. It took forever to arrive.

And then…we were there.

When Carl wasn’t looking, I looked to him, but he seemed totally unaffected by this wreck, its presence. There was more to this find than what we could or couldn’t see. Why was I the only one who felt it? I’ve heard others feel they’ve lived other lives, and I guess, to be totally honest, I’ve always felt I’ve lived other lives, as well, but it wasn’t until this wreck that I really believed it. Felt it. Somehow I was connected to this thing, and no one else felt it but me. I had to know, to find out…I had to get inside it and it couldn’t wait; as much as I promised myself and my friends, I just couldn’t wait.

Carl motioned for me to follow, and, following our previously agreed-to plan, he was to monitor time and depth, while I sketched out the wreck. As if I was going to actually sketch it, I pulled up my slate and pencil and put the two together. But I didn’t need this. I knew what I needed to do, and I suddenly knew where to find the entrance.

I skimmed along the side of the ship, Carl watching me. My attention was fixed upon it. It was constructed of the oddest material I’d ever seen—and seemed to shimmer “in and out” until we got right up on it and it became more “solid”—a translucent, sparkling substance that continued to reflect the sea and surrounds. It was excellent camouflage, and I doubted if anyone would see it, even if anchored directly over it. But still, something tugged at my soul. There was something here and it needed me—not Carl, Tanya, or Lonnie—me. This I knew.

The wreck was meant for me and no one else. I finally understood this.

I rounded the farthest-most section of the wreck…then suddenly dove down to it…and there it was, hidden among the shadows and encrusted orange-cup coral. It wasn’t visible, but I knew it was there. As soon as I got down to where sand met wreck, I reached my hand to the ship—and it passed through what should have been outer hull.

Before I knew it, the rest of me followed right on through.

My body, my soul, had a life of its own! I could hear my cells sing—actually rejoice—all nerve endings tingling in excitement!

Then Carl snagged me.

But I’d already penetrated, and it stole my breath away…it had been the most exhilarating experience I’d ever known. For the instant I’d been in that wreck, I’d lost all care about Carl, didn’t care about depth or time or air supply, didn’t care if I ever again surfaced. This could have been my living room, my bed, someplace where I was so comfortable and at peace. Topside watching a sunset. I felt so at home and at one with myself. I hadn’t really been able to discern anything useful about the internal structure of the craft, though, because I couldn’t really see anything. It was dark inside. But it all felt strangely familiar. Like I’d done this before. I wasn’t discovering anything new here…I was rediscovering. Well, at least until Carl yanked me out. And there was one other thing—

I’d seen something inside.

Movement.

Well, of course, that was it. The dive was history, and I’d only brought it upon myself. Again. Carl immediately aborted, dragging me up to our fifteen-foot safety stop where the surge was noticeably stronger than during our descent. Carl draped me over the hanging PVC pipe, anchored to our bobbing boat above and never took his eyes off me. I never resisted. I was still overcome with the feeling that no matter what happened from this point on, I had come home and would dive again. I would get inside. Nothing could stop me. No longer was the feeling one of urgency, but of love and longing. Of course, back on deck, I again had to deal with the wrath of Carl, and this time I had no excuses. I was caught, pure and simple, and I was gutted and gilled.

“Goddammit,” Carl exploded, “what the hell’s the matter with you, boy! You know perfectly well you just don’t frigging jump into something like that! Geez, we just talked about this!”

He was right. I couldn’t argue with him. He was the skipper, the Mistress his barge. But what he didn’t know was that though he might be skipper up here, down there…that was mine…that belonged to me, and no one—no one—was keeping me from it.

“Tanya!” Carl barked, “Check his equipment—his tanks. Make sure his air isn’t contaminated. In fact, Lonnie, grab me that oh-two,” he directed, pointing to the green cylinder at Lonnie’s feet. He was taking no chances, putting me on pure oxygen just in case I might be going DCS. I couldn’t argue with him—possible decompression sickness—I would’ve done the same in his fins. “Lie down,” he directed, and when Lonnie came over with the oxygen, he placed it over my nose and mouth. Still in my wetsuit, I gave in and lay back, holding the cylinder. A little oxygen never hurt anybody.

As I lie there, everyone monitoring me like I was bent, I heard them talk. I also felt the boat rocking more and more as we tossed about in the growing swells and silently watched as the skies grew darker still. That storm wasn’t turning, it was heading straight for us. Seemed to have picked up speed. We’d have to head back to land soon, and by all rights, should have already.

“Look,” Carl began, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, but we’re going to treat you as if you got narced and bent, and we’re making for port. Advisories and radar indicate the storm’s turned, headed straight for us. We don’t have any choice—”

Carl was going to say something else, but even his seasoned sea legs buckled beneath him, and he had to grasp the rail to regain his balance.

Carl continued. “We’ve mapped the wreck…it’s location anyway…and can come back. Be better prepared.”

The sea again threw another wallop at us, this time our equipment rattled and slid around us, some of it falling on deck. Lonnie and Tanya scrambled about, collecting it. The winds were definitely picking up. Tanya shouted out from somewhere astern, “Carl—we gotta get outta here!” Carl paused, looking up and mumbling something about how this storm couldn’t possibly have gotten here this quick, then shouted back to her to fire up the engines and hoist anchor. My heart—like Atlantis—sank! Carl looked back to me, and I know he saw it in my eyes.

“Look…I promise we’ll come back, and you can be sure we’ll continue this conversation, but right now we have our asses in a sling, so we’re out.”

He looked at me a moment longer.

Did he see it? Did he see my answer?

Carl turned his back to me, and I gripped the railing harder. I sat up. The seas were rough, rain now, in sheets, pouring out of swollen skies as if to implore us—me—to stay, and, as if on cue, there it came sliding toward me. I wouldn’t have believed it, had someone just told me about it, but I was there, staring at it. A BC strapped with two tanks and my bailout bottle slid to my feet, mask and snorkel caught in the regulator and hoses…fins nearby. From my position and to my utter amazement, I could see on the dive computer that both tanks were fully loaded. I couldn’t have been more shocked. And to add to this? It was all my equipment—my vest, my tank, and my mask and fins.

I was electrified.

There was no thinking involved…I had given that up long ago.

I was running on emotion, pure, hot, and sweet. I was a sliver of steel, and I yielded to the pull of my undersea magnet. I tossed the cylinder away and was in the BC, fins, and weight belt before I realized it, and when I turned, there was Carl. I’m not sure if he’d actually taken a swing at me, or if he’d just reached out for me, but the boat bucked, and he missed. On the return rock we both piled into each other and he grabbed on, shouting into my ears, “Are you fucking nuts? You’re gonna kill yourself! What in hell are you doing?”

I pushed him away, thankful Lonnie and Tanya were busy elsewhere on the boat. “I have to do this!” I shouted back. Wind and rain lashed my face like whips.

“You’ll fucking die, don’t you goddamned care?”

At that point I did the cockiest thing I’d ever done and just…shrugged. That’s all. I just shrugged. Then I smiled…from his point of view probably the most wicked and yes, crazy smile he’d ever seen. “I don’t care!” I shouted back, both shocked and accepting of my reply, which seemed not to come from me, but from some deeper, all-knowing part within me. Carl froze and at that moment I felt more distant from him then I’d ever felt from anyone. It was like we no longer knew each other, had just passed each other by on the open seas. I remembered all the other wrecks we’d dove, the beers we’d had, the islands we’d explored, but none of that mattered at that moment. I was a man out of time, out of context.

I suddenly felt as if I were in the wrong company.

All Carl could do was watch me hurtle myself off his boat and into the maelstrom of water and torrential downpour.

Drowning? Ha! I laughed at the possibility!

What I was doing was right—the most right thing I’d ever done. It wasn’t just about feeling pulled—I wanted to go. I felt at home, here, in these waters, and even for me in my present state of mind, what I’m sure sounded quite maniacal, I yelled “bring it on!” laughing into the torrent.

The Mistress rose and fell before me, and at times I was lifted high above its decks. I saw Carl, barely clinging to the rails, aghast. Watching me. I could see my death in his eyes and how much he wanted to jump in after me—but I also saw that he knew it would do me no good. And to my horror, I noticed that he held my mask and snorkel. It didn’t matter…with or without them I was going back. To my surprise he stared at me a moment longer…then threw them out to me. My hand shot up into the rain-whipped sky and—amazingly—caught them.

They flew directly to my hand.

I couldn’t believe this! I wasn’t meant to depart this place. I was meant to go back down below. As Tanya kicked in the engines and turned back toward Bimini, the Mistress began to motor away, and the last I saw of Carl were his lips mouthing words I could no longer make out.

I’m sure he was wishing me luck.

All this flashed through my mind in an instant as I now bobbed…alone…a quarter mile out to sea in the middle of an angry storm, watching my lifeline beeline it for the safety of a mere spit of land. A small part of me remembered what it was like to be sane, to be together and bored, all on the safety of solid ground or a rolling deck, and I felt a part of myself begin to cry pathetically—but a deeper part of me silenced that whimpering slob. I had cast my lot…there was no turning back (not that I even wanted to). I put on my mask, clearing it with only mild difficulty, even in this storm, deflated my BC, and slipped beneath the angry sea….

No sooner beneath the surge, I forgot all about any storm or how dead I already was. Never had to worry about decompression sickness ever again, I chuckled to my sick, sick self. In no time I was amid the permit, wrasse, and the wreck…and I touched her. We were alone now, finally. Just the two of us. It was as if we’d been lovers, long separated and I was mad for reunion. I couldn’t get there quick enough, and once there, finned inside the entrance-that-wasn’t-an-entrance….

It was dark inside, but I had my dive lights with me and switched one on. I shined it about and checked my air. I had just shy of three-thousand pounds. Nearly full tanks. At this depth, not counting my excitement, I probably had about a good fifteen-to-twenty minutes of air. Fifteen minutes is a lifetime to a dead man.

Looking around I noticed there was little—no, no—debris, inside. No silt. In fact, I’d seen not one fish in here, either, though I had seen some kind of movement on my last foray. Apprehensive and excited, I directed my light ahead, half-expecting to see a head pop out, but all I saw was an empty, narrow corridor leading straight ahead on its slanted journey downward. Damn it, but there was something vaguely familiar about this place.

I followed the corridor.

Guiding myself through the interior, I passed several open compartments, all positioned at different levels…more like cubby holes, really. Some only went in a hair’s breath, many went in inches, and a few were tiny, narrow flues that disappeared away into inky, fluid darkness. Parts of walls appeared solid, like the entrance, but allowed my hand to pass through. I continued on. Finding a corner, I took it, still descending. The wreck was at an angle, digging deep into the sand, and by the looks of it, so my journey now took on an absurd, surreal tone. I had several minimal bouts of vertigo while descending along the oddly angled corridors and had to use my bubbles as an “up” reference. This craft was enormous. As I continued who knew how far in and down (I wasn’t counting kick cycles and certainly had no guideline), I began to wonder just how large this thing really was. It couldn’t be as large as I was experiencing, but here it was, here I was—still going down. I’d passed more compartments…but felt no urge to stop—until now. I entered one on my right, by previous standards large, but only, perhaps, eight-by-ten-by-eight. As soon as I entered the room, my entrance disappeared and panic overtook me.

I was trapped!

Good God, my weaker shrieking self chimed back in, what the hell had I done? One hundred feet or more above me raged a howling storm, I had only about ten minutes of air left—if I was lucky—and my only salvation, the Mistress, was hurriedly making for land!

What had I done?

I really had to be crazy! Ten minutes of air, and I was sucking it in faster thanks to water pressure and my sudden panic.

I tried to slow down my breathing, but the panic monster plowed right on into me. As much as I knew I had to relax, I simply couldn’t. I was dying, and I’d totally done it to myself. Me. No one else. All my actions had finally caught up with me! I had no place else to go, and no time to do it. I simply had to make the best of my remaining existence.

Huddling my arms across my chest, I closed my eyes and tried to think of the most calming scenes imaginable…grassy spring glades…babbling brooks…being back in my comfortable bed, covered in cool sheets and a comforter (and how it was all still there, now…the sheets, pillow, and all—but forever without me)…being in the arms of old loves…but the image that surprisingly had the most affect and finally 100% calmed me down…the image that actually slowed my breathing…was this damned wreck itself. That was what got me to relax and center myself.

I’d simply had a moment of human weakness…but I was better now.

I had a mission to accomplish.

Opening my eyes, I looked straight ahead and saw it. Another opening…shimmering, translucent…directly before me. Not comprehending, but wasting no time, I passed through it.

Continuing on down the passageway, I once more grabbed my light, still lanyarded to my wrist, and directed it ahead. I hadn’t gone two kicks when something shot past the distant end of my beam. I jerked to a stop, heart jumping.

That weren’t no fish.

I had no idea what it was, but all I caught was a shadow. I swam up to where I saw the something swim past and took the turn. What my light fell upon made my jaw drop. How could this be? In total awe, I looked in upon a vast, cavernous interior, still canted at its crazy angle, the end of which my light beam could not discern. Even down here visibility remained crystal clear, but I could see no end.

It hurt my mind.

I hurriedly swam inside. How could what I entered be so damned immense? This was impossible.

I didn’t want to look at my air supply, but ended up doing so, and found that I must have smashed my console against something during my panic attack, because it no longer worked. Great. Oh, well.

So, I pushed on farther, I had to go farther!

I could only imagine how deep I was, wondering when the poisonous effect of compressed oxygen in my air supply was going to get me—when I laughed. I hadn’t enough life left for that to be a problem, and if oxygen toxicity got me first, then c’est la vie! Anytime now…anytime…and my current breath would be my last. Images of training flashed through my mind, of the time one of my instructors had demonstrated what it felt like when your tank ran out of air. He’d turned off my first-stage junction and I’d inhaled.

The air simply…stopped.

Just like that, matter-of-factly, like it was no big deal.

The purpose of this, my instructor’d calmly informed me, was to see that there was never any immediate need to panic. If you’re a good diver you always have an emergency air source—a bailout or pony bottle—and you have plenty of precious seconds to swap them.

Again, to a dead man, extra seconds are a lifetime.

So I’d inhaled, and, indeed, realized that after taking that last breath, I had plenty of time to make the old swapparoo. I had, in fact, discovered an ability that few could master: the ability to hold my breath for a solid five minutes. Depending on many factors, of which physical activity and state of mind were paramount, I found I could add as much as twenty or so seconds to that number, but come thirty-five seconds, and I was in the panic mode, realizing sooner or later, I was gonna be inhaling whatever was in front of my airway with insane ferocity. There was actually a point, I’d found, around those thirty-to-thirty-five seconds, where I’d again exhaled, and it seemed to actually stave off that inevitable Final Inhale. That was all there’d be left at that time. And no school would ever train this, but you later eventually find out that you also have a breath or two of air inside your inflated BC. A few more seconds. So, I figured I had about five-to-six minutes of reprieve once my tanks ran out.

Crazy how things like this run through your mind when you’re insane. And then I was trying to do the Zen thing, too, where you focus on exactly what you’re doing at the moment in the belief that you can actually expand that moment…expand Time. And that’s when I came upon it.

The body.

It’s just lying there, on its back, barefoot, loose robes gently floating about it, and it didn’t slide. I mean, we’re still at this surreal angle, but the body didn’t move. It stayed on the floor where it was as if it were level. Anyway, it seemed long, this body, which would make the creature tall, and a “creature” it was: its face was gaunt, yet peaceful, its body long and slim. It was definitely humanoid in appearance, but it was definitely not human. And, strangely, the creature didn’t scare me. I think I’d gone quite beyond that. I was a dead man, and it was just a matter of technicality when I would actually inhale H-2-O. I still had precious minutes of exploration left and I was going to exploit it to its fullest.

I floated to a stop above the body, and where I should have been terrified, I was totally at ease…yes…and calm. This was what I was meant to do. I was meant to find this. I was meant to be here…in the middle of this fantastic cavernous enclosure, an untold hundred-plus feet down…in the strangest craft anyone had ever seen. I was floating over the strangest creature I had ever laid eyes on—and I wasn’t the least bit afraid—

And neither was I afraid when it opened its eyes to display black, star-filled sockets.

I never gasped. I remained completely calm. Instead, I just stared back at him/her/it as he/she/it stared back at me, and I gave the final suck on my current tanks’ load of air. The creature brought up its hands from its sides and interlocked its long, slender fingers, resting them on its belly, as if curiously observing me. I cocked my head to one side in utter fascination of this strange being and held that last breath. Even in my present, near-death state, filled with my last breath of air (I swore I could actually feel the oxygen dissipating throughout my body), I was utterly captivated by this gaunt “lengthy” creature, covered in flowing robes who stared back at me with starry, compassionate eyes. Yes, they were compassionate, perhaps not so much in the physically expected way, but psychically. The eyes were as black as space itself…but inside that blackness, that deep and dark space, was the light of a trillion fires…scrolling and flying about, as if I were flying into them.

DO NOT BE AFRAID.

He/She/It said mentally.

I exhaled, gained a second or two, and switched to my pony.

The creature remained prone on the bottom, where it was, at least physically—but mentally it was inside me. It’s voice was the most permeating experience I’d ever known. The most comforting. When it spoke, it filled my cells with its words and meaning—more than just words, it was pure, unadulterated meaning. This being’s essence.

But I’m very afraid, I responded mentally.

THAN WHY ARE YOU HERE?

I had no choice—

THERE IS ALWAYS CHOICE. YOU CAME OF YOUR OWN VOLITION.

Then it was a choice where I had no say in the matter, I replied.

Before I could go any further, I was flooded with staggering imagery. I was skip breathing, not taking full breaths, every breath, and I could feel that panic monster again starting to rise up within. I had to again beat that bastard down. Why, now, while doing what I was meant to do, was this frightened part of me resurfacing? Because I was drowning. Even while staring Death in the face, while sharing its very breath, shouldn’t I be glorious? At one? Embrace the inevitable? But instead of making the best of my time left on earth, I was using it for fear and panic, and that, to me, at that time, was unfathomable.

What would you do if you had five minutes left to your life? Five breaths?

And it was then that I was besieged by the images…images I had been waiting for my entire life…images that filled all the empty compartments in my existence like a few cubic feet of this sea would soon be doing to my insides.

As I stared into the swirling stars of this creature’s eyes—no, not just eyes, but his/hers/its very soul—I was catapulted back eons…past such lost civilizations as Atlantis, Mu, or Lemuria…no, I was pulled back further—I was pulled to a civilization Humankind had no concept of—could have no concept of—and not just in terms of time or physical distance, but of idea and concept. It was the equivalent of discovering a civilization’s remains that were buried beneath the continent you lived on—how could you ever discover such a thing? With Continental Drift, whatever might have existed so far down in the earth was now forever covered over by miles of, now, to you, bedrock. Scoured and dragged across a layer of earth so far down and unapproachable as to be unthinkable. Or melted into the magma beneath it. To be able to get to such a discovery, one would have to be able to step outside convention—outside of life—to pick up the earth and slowly…carefully…peel it apart. And that is what I felt I now experienced. Not just of this planet on which I was dying, but of reality.

This creature was peeling apart reality for me.

This thing took me back to an age before there were ages.

And I don’t mean before the piddly concerns we humans have, concerning whether or not there was or wasn’t some kind of primordial soup, I’m talking before the existence of anything. Before existence itself. Before whatever it was that gave meaning to the creation of the universe—for to have a universe, you had to have something for it to be in…contained in…give it definition.

What are you? I asked.

A smile caressed my soul.

CREATOR.

God?

Laughter, the warmest most pervasive and all-encompassing kind filled me, and as it did I felt it radiate outward into all of existence…at that moment, I’m sure, all of creation everywhere must have, for that instant, agreed with itself. At that one moment, I am sure there was absolutely no strife and everything agreed with everything, everywhere.

NO…WE ARE NOT GOD AS YOU UNDERSTAND THE CONCEPT. WE ARE CREATORS. WE CREATE. IN YOUR TERMS, WE ARE THE NEXT BEST THING TO GOD. WHAT YOU SEE BEFORE YOU IS BUT A TINY PORTION OF THE TINIEST SLIVER OF THE TINIEST CONSIDERATION OF US. THIS FORM BEFORE YOU IS LIKE THE TINIEST PORTION OF A SNEEZE—YET AS IMPORTANT AS YOUR CONCEPT OF GOD.

I sensed it was trying to put me at ease. But still, the images continued to fill, engorge me. I honestly didn’t know if I could physically or psychologically handle all of what was being thrown at me. What this creature was…where he/she/it came from…was so unimaginably, inconceivably distant in the realms of things that I felt my mind begin to separate from my being.

This creature had something to do with the creation of Existence itself.

And if this was what this creature felt like, how could I ever hope to experience God? How could any of us? The creature sang when it—they?—spoke…notes and meaning that were so unfamiliar to human life…yet so integral to it…notes and tones that were between the spaces of all meaning and thought and worlds….

And it was then I was jerked back to my present moment, my reality, my Zen and the art of drowning (for now, I truly saw there really was an art to dying). If I could just get past the fear, the panic, the overwhelming sensation of that first inhalation of salty fluid where salty fluid wasn’t meant to go, I would see the “art” involved. The fluid that gave us sustenance and life was now also bringing about my death (and just what is death, anyway?). As centered and controlled as my mind was, this was new to my body, which seemed to suddenly take on a consciousness of its own—and brought with it more images…of a race of beings younger than the Creators. A race of beings that were just and purely a body consciousness…a blueprint, if you will, for all of our human definition. Our term “life” was far too limiting. These other creatures existed so that we could—our race—mimic and learn. This embryonic species was to show all following life forms how to walk and talk and breathe—and be—but not just us…countless other races and intelligences that also occupied other spaces and realities….

I looked down to my convulsing body like a detached observer, as I (again) took a last breath from my pony. I pushed back that panicked-me and brought up my inflator/deflator valve to my mouth. I inhaled that absolutely last vestige of air I would ever inhale and felt the BC deflate around me. I sank to the floor alongside the Creator, or whatever he/she/it was, and also didn’t slide. He/She/It continued to watch me. Be there with me. At least, in my case, I wouldn’t drown alone, and I noticed, happily, that he/she/it was actually holding my hand…and its touch was…metaphysical. I saw such a look of concern and compassion on its face for me that I cried underwater for the second and last time in my life. This being cared for me in a way that was difficult to comprehend. Death was minutes away.

DEATH SO FRIGHTENS YOU, it said, again, mentally. WE ARE SADDENED BY THIS. IT WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE, AND IT SO PAINS US TO SEE YOU IN SUCH IMAGINARY AGONY. IT WILL NOT LAST.

But it was hard for my body to listen to me, let alone the creature’s words, though my mind was fine with the drowning and all. It was my body that was used to the air…that needed the air…not my mind, not my soul, and with its impending loss, behaved as it now did—begging for it. Pleading for it. Making those insane promises if I could give it just five more minutes. I was not some Zen master who could control the functions of my body, though I understood its needs. I knew that my body would jerk and spasm and in all probability thrash until its life was ended, put out of its misery. Mentally, I was prepared for this, so I responded back to my starry-eyed companion that I was ready—as ready as I could ever be—and after my five minutes ran out (who’s counting at this point?) steeled myself for the inevitable.

Closing my eyes, I spit out my regulator.

As I did so—for I wanted it to come quick and fast—I again completely exhaled and noticed that seemingly contradictory response giving me a reprieve of still a precious few more seconds. I paused until I could pause no longer.

Then I inhaled.

Hard and deep.

If you’re gonna do something, go all out, right?

The rush of water into my mouth was startling, to say the least.

We are used to great intakes of water into our mouths and down into our throats…but what we are not used to is this water rushing past our glottis and into our lungs. That is something we are taught, from day one, is wrong and very bad, and there is little argument there. As I knelt there, holding hands with this incredibly loving and benign creature, I again cocked my head in fascination, but this time not at the being before me, but at myself. Curiously, I found—after the initial body jerk—not dissimilar to plunging your face into a bucket of ice water, it really wasn’t all that bad. I swallowed and some water made its way into my stomach. The salt water was upsetting, sure, but I knew it wouldn’t last forever. So, I thought, what the hell, and swallowed some more. My being was now totally filled with water…and I was amazed at how I was as totally at one with the sea as anyone could be. As many had been before me. I chuckled—yes, actually chuckled. All this life-long build-up of fear and panic in our lives about death is for naught! As I enjoyed the actual feeling of water totally filling my being (my stomach didn’t seem to bother me anymore)—not just being a part of my cells and blood, but also a part of my lungs and stomach and sinuses—I realized it really wasn’t all that bad. The Creator holding my hand smiled.

HAVE I SPOKEN THE TRUTH?

You have! I mentally replied.

I observed how my body began to shut down…slowly, quite gracefully, actually…as the lack of oxygen—or at least my body’s particular way at getting to it—closed up shop, when a curious thought entered my mind: I hoped that Carl wouldn’t let any guilt he may have felt for my staying behind eat at him. He had nothing to do with my decision to jump ship. It was…all me…

…groggy…it was like going to sleep…the shutting off of my physical mechanisms…the drowning…and I felt my hand go limp in the creature’s hand and gradually float away from the creature…but its smile…its deep…starry …com…pass…ionate eyes…those…were the last things my physical eyes…ever saw…and…I was more…grateful…than I could…ever…relate….

But where my life was supposed to end came a new beginning!

I found I was still…conscious.

I wasn’t breathing, not in the conventional human-accepted sense of the concept, yet I was alive. And beside me remained this creature. We were no longer on the submerged sea floor of an unknown shipwreck…but were standing on the deck of it, adrift in a strange and wonderful ocean…an ocean I just seemed to know that was, again, that term—blueprint—for all oceans. My new body, if you could indeed call it “new,” was afire with sensation I had never before felt—and was that true? Had I never before felt this, or—

I had an epiphany: I was this creature!

Or, more precisely, I was somehow a part of—one and the same with a portion of—this creature.

How can this be? I asked.

YOU ARE A PART OF US. WE CREATE—THIS IS WHAT WE DO. WE CREATED YOU, SPIN-OFFS OF US TO GO OUT AND EXPLORE IDEAS AND CONCEPTS. THIS IS NOT TO SAY THAT ALL OF YOUR RACE ARE PART OF US, IN THOSE TERMS, THEY AREN’T—ONLY BUT A HANDFUL, AGAIN, IN YOUR TERMS. WE CREATED THE CONCEPT OF CONCEPTS, BUT WE ALSO HAD TO CREATE THE EXPERIENCE OF A CONCEPT…ITSELF A CONCEPT.

I’m a concept?

EVERYTHING IS A CONCEPT. EVERYTHING IS AN EXPERIENCE.

The starry-eyed Creator and I stood side by side on the deck of this most oddly shaped, inconceivably designed ship. There were unseen dimensions to this vessel just as important as its physical properties.

WE CREATE THINGS, AND WE CREATED THE LIFE YOUR RACE LIVES, which is one probABILITY withIN countless PROBABILITIES. WE HAD A CONCEPT—A THOUGHT—OF WONDERING WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO LIVE SUCH AN EXISTENCE, AND AS WE THOUGHT IT, IT WAS. YOU WERE CREATED AS AN EXTENSION OF US TO EXPLORE WHAT WE CREATED. WE CREATED THE EXISTENCE AND THE NEED TO EXPERIENCE THAT EXISTENCE. THE CONTRADICTORY EXPERIENCES OF FEAR AND NO-FEAR. LIFE AND NO LIFE—YOUR LIMITED CONCEPT, AS WELL AS OTHER CONCEPTS OF DEATH.

It made sense. What good was existence if there was no experience? How could it exist?

THIS BECAME THE BLUEPRINT TO THAT EXISTENCE AND AN ENRICHING EXPERIENCE ON OUR PART TO EXPERIENCE WHAT WE CREATED. CREATING THE EXPERIENCE AND EXPERIENCING IT ARE ONE AND THE SAME. THERE ARE UNLIMITED VERSIONS OF YOU—US—EXPLORING ALL THE POSSIBLE PROBABILITIES WE CREATED. AS EACH FINALLY BECOMES SELF-AWARE OF THEIR EXPERIENCE, EACH RETURNS AND IS REASSIMILATED WITHIN THE WHOLE. YET THERE NEVER WAS ANY SEPARATION TO BEGIN WITH. THERE IS NO CONTRADICTION IN WHAT WE HAVE SAID.

What was that wreck?

IT IS A PSYCHOLOGICAL-PHYSICAL CONSTRUCT WE USED AS AN EXTENSION OF OUR SELVES. THE WRECK IS MERELY A PROP, A TOY, FOR IT STILL EXISTS WITHIN AND WITHOUT TIME AS YOU KNOW IT, AND IS A PHYSICALLY SYMBOLIC TRANSITIONAL CONCEPT NEEDED TO RETURN EACH OF YOU TO US. IT IS FADING OUT OF YOUR TIME AS WE CONVERSE. WE ARE TOO GREAT AN ENERGY TO BE SO CONTAINED IN ANY ONE REALITY. ASPECTS OF OUR EXISTENCE EXTEND THROUGHOUT ALL EXISTENCES. YOU ARE A PART OF US. SIMPLY? YOU RETURNED TO US.

But there is nothing inside the ship.

TO YOU. NOW. THERE ARE WORLDS AND TRANSITIONS AND PORTALS THROUGHOUT REALITIES. WHAT YOU SAW WAS THE LIMITED PHYSICAL CONSTRUCT—TRANSLATIONS—OF THESE ENERGIES. YOU WILL KNOW SOON.

I saw that we were now surrounded by powerful waves of towering crests and abysmal troughs. Suddenly, we—this creature, thought-vehicle, and myself—were moving through the most incredible seas I had ever imagined—and I was exhilarated! We were unaffected by the maelstrom, yet at one with it. Excited by it!

OUR ENERGY CREATES THIS EXPERIENCE. HERE, THE RULES ARE DIFFERENT. WE CREATE THE RULES. THE BLUEPRINTS FOR THE RULES. THE BLUEPRINTS FOR ALL BLUEPRINTS.

Instantly, I was no longer separate from the creature that so lovingly stood by me (if I ever was; I still felt it holding my hand as a part of me continued to hover in fascination about the drowned body of my extension into the physical world—buT I ALSO EXPERIENCED ALL THE OTHER PORTIONS OF MY THEN-LIFE AS I LIVED AND BREATHED AND…CONTINUED TO DIVE WRECKS IN THAT OTHER REALITY…). NOW I WAS THE CREATOR—MY EXPERIENCE HAD BECOME TOTALLY ASSIMILATED BACK TO WHERE I HAD ALWAYS BEEN. WE LOOKED INTO MY OWN STAR-FILLED EYES AT THE EXPERIENCE WE CREATED. IT WAS NIGHT NOW, AND WE EXPERIENCED THE WARM, BALMY BREEZES OF A TIME SO INCONCEIVABLY VAST AND DISTANT IT ANNIHILATED THAT OLD PART OF ME. WE CREATED THEM. WE STOOD ON THE DECK OF THIS THOUGHT-VEHICLE, SAILING ACROSS THIS UNIMAGINABLY DISTANT TIME THAT IS NEITHER PAST NOR FUTURE…CREATING AND EXPERIENCING THE SEA AND SALT THAT KISSED OUR FACE AND MATTED OUR HAIR AS WE STARED UP INTO THE STARRY NIGHT. WE CREATED SO MUCH SEA, BECAUSE WE LOVE THE SEA. ITS DYNAMICS, ITS BEING. AND WE HAD NEVER FELT SO AT ONE WITH ANYTHING AS WE SAILED UPON IT. OUR ROBES GENTLY FLAPPED WITH OUR PASSAGE BENEATH THE STARS. OUR FACE KISSED THE BREEZES AND WINDS THAT KISSED OUR FACE. WE, IN A TIME SO DISTANT IT DEFIED ANY CONCEPT OF TIME, YET WAS INTIMATELY INTEGRAL TO IT. WE, A RACE OF BEINGS THAT WERE THE CLOSEST THING TO ALL THAT IS, OF WHICH WE ARE ALSO A PART OF. WE SMILED. AS DISTANT AS ALL THINGS MIGHT APPEAR, THEY ARE ALL RELATED. WE CREATED IT SO.

AND AS WE SAILED ON INTO OUR CREATED CONCEPT OF NIGHT, WE LOOKED FORWARD TO MOVING ON TO CREATE OTHER EXPERIENCES AND CONCEPTS AND REALITIES FOR OTHER RACES AND EXISTENCES AND WONDERED AND LOOKED FORWARD TO WHAT NEW AND EXCITING EXPERIENCES WE WOULD YET CREATE. OUR THOUGHT-VEHICLE CHANGED SHAPE TO KEEP UP WITH OUR NEW CONCEPTS, AND AS WE STARED OUT OUR STARRY EYES FOR THE LAST TIME BEFORE WE TOOK ON OTHER FORMS, ONE THING CROSSED OUR MINDS:

BRING IT ON.

Short Story Links

Links to all my posted short stories are here.