The warm waves invite me in. The tide tugs at my back, pulling me away from the world, into depths unknown. They say I could drown but I never have. I always swim back. The world isn’t so easy to lose. It asserts itself, ever expanding. I sink back into the surf, surrender, slip beneath the structure of logic. There is a hint of fear about what might lurk beneath me, muffled relief, then silence. The deeper I go, the warmer it gets. I breath this water like amniotic fluid. Of course I do; it’s mine. Some people travel the world, gathering experiences. I seem to be built for expeditions of the soul. What territory will I map down here? What living things will I unearth inside myself? They bubble up, slowly at first, shy and not quite trusting that I’m ready to understand them. They’re right to be suspicious. At first, I question them, superimposing my reality onto theirs. I hope they will lead me to a bottom, a foundation and a fortress, something ancient I can rest upon. But I fear there is no ocean floor. I’ve tried to find it. I hope once I return to the surface, I can share with others how to navigate into their depths. I’d like to think all our oceans meet somewhere via some deep connected tunnel. What I really want to learn is how to bring the ocean with me everywhere, encapsulating me like a liquid cocoon. I’ll find a way. This foundation needs focus.