sense in the chaos
The boat bobbing on the water appears to be under the influence of a sort of magnetic pull. Out of eyesight, the jellyfish and shrimp found in these tidal waters - their presence hidden by mirrored pool reflections and hexagonal squares - each hold a tiny magnet, and as the creatures sway in the shallows, the boat keels toward the seamagnets. Under its own volition, of course, the slats of tree and twine which make half-immersion possible would rock a little in sweeping seatide, but not to this great extent.
There are greater forces at work here. Perhaps not a matter for such tiny rowing boats, yachts, ferries, nor even the largest ocean cruiser. It might be bigger than the ocean itself, should all the magnetic sealife choose to swim in one direction at a particular time. No. This force is a niche for chaos, disorder and fragmentation.
It takes more effort to keep order than it does to break file and listen to the shallow voice, whispering inside your head. It takes more effort to build uniform brick patterns, smattered with cement, than it does for a single swing to knock chunks of masonry flying into the air, creating red rubble, stone and chapter smashed along faultlines and smouldering dust suspended in airs. This is the lie of the land. Disorder prevails, disorder is the lowest state, and we are unable to stop it, even by defying nature, creating orders of two by two and five by four.
And so i’ll wish beyond all hope to lay in the sea one day, and feel the pull of magnetic fields in the life under the waves, at mercy to their swim and freeflow form. Once you are immersed, the days and time merge into a pastel lozenge, placed carefully in the back of the mouth at intermittent intervals. Take this to understand that it’s not all the same. Take this to understand that the days used to have names. But once in the sea, these passages of light and dark are characterised by the actions of others going about their own business, following their own collision course towards an untimely end of ultimate disorder.
And just as disorder meanders, destroys and weaves such a nonsensical path, disorder co-ordinates the most improbable to be real. The possibility that the person you notice staring into space on the platform chooses the seat next to you, also staring into space, is slight. The possibility that they then open a bag to produce your favourite book is even more slight. And further, when their voice over the telephone recommends, to a friend, a personal website they enjoy reading, which happens to be frequently frequented by you… It is sheer possibility. Highly unlikely possibility. But still, there is a chance of its occurrence.
The beauty of such situations is not to question why. There are plenty of creature magnets in oceans (perhaps even as many as there are possibilities), as there are people who read books on trains, and place telephone calls to friends. Asking a question of the reasoning behind their existence in the ocean, their strength of pull, or why they opened the door of the moving carriages to Possibility at ten fifty-three detracts from the existence of the infinite sea of possibility which made that occurrence real.
Perhaps sometimes we wish for something more solid than a quick coincidence. A lasting memory. A substance to hold on to. Perhaps it would give us some sort of glimmer, some sort of fleeting hope, that in this solitude, we can share seconds of quiet understanding coincidence before we must take flight once more.
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