Strangers In A Strange Sea
Saltwater.
That’s where our bodies, those strange fish, came from. Our blood still has the same salinity as salt water. Most of the same minerals, too.
What do you think of when you think of the sea?
Do you think of sitting pensive and thoughtless by the edge of the sea? Do you think of the sun in the sky when you think of the sea? Do you think of the deep, dark, depths, when you think of the sea? Or of space? Of timelessness, or of the sea of consciousness? Do you think of the stuff that souls are made of? Do you think of shells; Do you think of belonging, and of not belonging? Do you think of good things when you think of the sea? Do you think of time, or of death, or of rotten fish smell, when you think of the sea?
Of what do you think, when you think of the sea?
One should not drink saltwater. The electrolytic charge is all wrong, as you know. It will dehydrate you to death. It will suck you back in, straight through your skin.
A man adrift at sea might drink saltwater, although he knows better. He may do so out of desperation. We may smoke cigarettes, drink whiskey, and chase wild, wild, women, upon a sailboat if we can, or by the seaside, or wherever, until the sun comes round and back up again.
