Episode 9: The Descent

From Episode 1…

There was once an ocean, on or in which life can never drown…

Episode 2…

…but there was a sticky, steaming storm smearing the lines between itself & the sea—thrashing & heaving as if crying beyond its cloud’s control. You’re tossed between waves, and the salt water seems to both draw & combine with your fresh tears & anxious sweat, teeming not because you’re afraid of drowning, but because you know you can’t drown in this unique ocean, and therefore, have to live through this.

Episode 3…

…And so you feel everything. You feel memory in the water like how felting is the process of separating & relocking the fibres in wool. This is why you can’t sink—the fibres can always be felt & then felted. They begin to build a raft in the shape of a body—a place where you’ve felt both safe & turbulent, often at the same time. It’s made from the blue fibres of the ocean. Relieved, you climb on top of the raft, suddenly feeling painful memories, hearing negative self-talk, tasting dryness in your mouth, stroking the rough canvas of your cold hands, and smelling a sharp chill in the air. The raft begins to sink, tilting you back into the water. It bobs upright in front of you, as if another being, and you instinctively take a few strokes to swim to it. Despite your frustration, you hug it tight. But then you see something: a loose fibre between its shoulder blades, right where the back wall of the chest cavity is. You pull it free & see that the part of the thread inside the body-shaped raft is not only green but also dry…

Episode 4…

You pull the thread further until it’s completely free of the raft, noticing that it’s half blue & half green. The blue end was woven up near the forehead of the raft, and the green portion near the heart. In trying to keep afloat, you fumble & drop the thread into the waves. Miraculously, it seems, the thread bobs like a buoy, green end beneath the waves. When you pull the thread from the water, the green end is dry, as if naturally waterproofed. You lie on your back & slow your breathing to calm, deep breaths—you’ll float this way—and begin to unravel the threads from the raft. You then begin to craft a new one…

Episode 5…

You begin by folding & braiding the threads into a new raft—the blue portion of the thread inward & the green outward—hoping it will float. And it does! Although it seems to take on a traditional raft shape, it expands as if filling with ocean water instead of air, creating a waterbed. The fibres stretch until the raft is translucent; you can see through it, including the vibrant plant & animal life beneath the sea.

Because it’s still afloat, you climb aboard. Anxious to locate land, you scan for a horizon that you haven’t yet been able to see in the dark. In the distance, the sun is a touch of tangerine slice above the inky water, separating the ocean from a moon-mist sky. And there, hardly visible in the opposite direction, is a mountain range like shards of amethyst.

With nothing to use as paddles, you propel the raft forward with your arms. But something strange happens as soon as you do this—it begins to deflate, and your body sinks as if the raft were slimy quicksand. When you pause, it reinflates & continues expanding—achingly slowly and seemingly slower as seconds tick by. You know why this is, but you’re weak with hunger & thirst. How will you resist the urge to paddle?

Episode 6…

You realize that you’ve slowed down time. Seconds feel longer when we’re truly in silence. And you notice something that frustrates you at first. The raft isn’t moving—it’s filling. But with what?

You look around you but there’s no direct air source. With a heavy sigh, you peer down & shake your head, but a sudden air bubble beneath nearly topples you over. Frowning, but with a theory, you breathe in deeply & out again forcefully. Another air bubble! The raft isn’t filling with water like you once thought; it’s filling with your exhales! Yet you quickly realize that drastic, harsh breaths will wear you down in minutes. And it’s a long way to those amethyst mountains. You must breathe deeply & slowly to create enough breath to expand the raft across the water. You see & feel a way. You begin to breathe & magic comes to life…

Episode 7…

In, out. In, out. Lying on your back, you rest one flat palm on your heart space and one on your stomach. In, out. In, out. You close your eyes at first—the stillness & quiet feel dense. A chill runs through your body. And then you open your eyes, just in time. In this moment, you can see everything all at once: the paprika sun, an indigo sky, and a chalky moon, all sprayed with a misting of sparkling stars. Your breathing doesn’t shift & the raft continues to fill & stretch, but your thoughts begin to spread to the infinite edges of your consciousness. You keep breathing. Painful memories pop up. Embarrassing moments make their way forward. Patience. Gently moving through these thoughts & memories—as if a path through hundreds of hanging string puppets tempting your attention—you realize you’ve carved away all you didn’t need to ask. Now, you reply to the question circling your heart: what will I do when I reach shore? And just as you visualize it, everything stops. The raft has bumped into shore.

Episode 8…

The mountains seemed to call you closer from a distance—reassuring because they could be seen from the water before the shore at their feet. Now, looking up at their peaks obscured by clouds & fog, the beach feels more enticing. The mountains spread across the entire width of this swath of land, and there isn’t anything on your side to create a signal with—no rock, felled trees, or anything of the sort.

You recall something from your journal…E.L. Doctorow once said, “Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make the whole trip that way.” Your note beneath this quote reads “Maybe any creative courage requires a vulnerability not unlike writing.” You wonder if this includes climbing a metaphorical mountain (or a real one in this case!).

You’ll only be able to see a few feet in front of you as you climb, and although you can’t see them now, you know the peaks are there—you saw them from the sea. You know that beginning any task is notoriously difficult. But the rule of starts is that their only role is to exist. And perhaps most importantly, they’re never in isolation.

As you begin to climb, you notice ant colonies, mosses, birds, footprints, root systems, and monarch butterflies. Soon you know what’s on the other side of this mountain. And that you can get there. 

Episode 9…

As you climb, walking with the natural systems around you, you’re flooded with memory. Bearing witness to nature’s examples of community care helps you realize that you weren’t ever alone among them: moss cushions your step, birdsong lifts your spirit, root systems create staircases & railings, ant colonies dot the lines of the land’s map, and monarch butterflies paint the sky.

Further, this awareness allows you to be visited by layers of ghost-like memories. Swirling like refreshing frost clouds before your every step—as if portals you could walk into—these memories feel real in the atmospheric fog. They’re memories of the community care in your life, and as you walk through each one & into the next, you notice that they’re not only enacting a deeper sense of collective connection, but keeping your body hydrated.

When you reach the peak, peering down at a valley saturated with welcoming life, it induces awe & wonder but not surprise—you knew it was here, confident you’d arrive at the peak to see it. But arrival isn’t one stop. Belief & faith are crucial, but ‘seeing as believing’ is only part of the process. The peak is merely halfway. Now, you must descend…

Tune in next month to find out what happens next! And…