Oh, These Shifts in Context

Beneath the surface waits a Technicolor dream. Parrotfish are richly colorful, art with the most vibrant oil paints, and with silly buckteeth and cartoonish faces. The Blue Parrotfish, in particular: a cartoon sidekick, generally has the look of a well-meaning idiot. They sleep in force fields of mucus at night, wander the coral by day, eating things human eyes can’t see off of the surface of the sunken brains of long-dead giants. Underwater reds reveal themselves when caught by a streak of light. The Slippery Dick, the subject of our giggles ashore, is, down here, streaks of silver, maroon, and sky; nothing to laugh at. The Rock Beauty, aptly named, in conversation with its neighbors, other damsels and angels of gold and purple, discusses the allocation of some algae. Soon, and with great civility, they decide to share. Staghorn and Elkhorn stretch antlers into open water and Finger Coral reach out to touch fish as they meander past. Sea Cucumbers contentedly do nothing at all, while startled Peacock Flounder skid atop the sand, then settle again like dust, and a school of royal Blue Tang wander around with no particular destination in mind.

Before donning my snorkeling gear and walking off of the Caribbean coast I have to pause. I have to count my breaths, to reason against my inner fatalist. With closed eyes I stand on the beach of pebbles, roasting in the sun in my layers of neoprene, curling and uncurling my fingers, nails digging into my palms. Distant but heavy memories of the bottom of a pool, of flailing in the water in panic, of feeling consciousness begin to slip away, play in my mind.

And then I open my eyes. Goats hop along the island cliffs to my left, leaping up and down the sharp rocks even as waves crash and bubble into white foam just below them. A hundred feet offshore some true seaman sails, casting his ship into the wind at impossible angles, yet never losing control. Mushroom-gray pelicans fly lazily, dive bomb the water without warning, then emerge with a full gullet and float proudly on the surface.

The daring of this paradise’s inhabitants is contagious. I can hardly imagine that world below the water but I know that it waits—or rather, that I wait for it. With my final deep breath I allow the power of the ocean to become my strength rather than the great fear it has so long been. I wade into the abyss and paddle away into my Technicolor awakening.