F2-JAS2

The Shallows

Copyright © by Jessica Schneider, 2/11/05

            These are the places you are told to roam.

Fearful of submerging, you leave your ankles exposed, partly parched by warmed sun and pricked with the glow of sand. So here you stand, knowing you would become part of them, knowing it is easy not to question category, for category is the thing that prevents pulling you under to that place where safety is no longer found, seeing yourself according to their compartment of knowledge.

They don’t know you like you know you.

It is within these shallows where safety finally is, and left as that. But all this, of course, is never according to you.

            You have moved in a little more.

Could you possibly direct this level that now forms at your own mid-knee length, that part upon the leg that authority instructed the skirt to fall in seventh grade, for anything shorter was not long enough, then. Now such is not the case, but back then you recall how it was.

The order of time is not of where but of when.

Really, though, what you are saying is that you would rather take the shore in hand, remaining there out of respect for what you are told. “Who are these tellers of authority? Who are these makers of category?” you wonder. “And why do things that fall just outside the line get left there to just fall, disregarded but not unnoticed? And where do your feet form within this burden of sand and quench of salt that only reaches half way up to your knee?”

            The sky is rebellious, but even it has patterns too.

These makers of category know you best- they know your plans and everything ever composed in your head. It is there where they have placed you. You need not question them, for they tell you where to go, and what to do, and give only answers you are worthy.

This is what they are supposed to do.

And they do just that. And so, what are you getting at? What label have they granted you? The world is filled with the disagreeable, those left to wander at whim, dreamers filling a planet not fit for them- they too will find place.

And so will you.

Walking further out, it is July and the water is warm- especially near the top of the waterline, and you like that because your body’s temperature does not need adjusting. With pants rolled up, the tips of your fabric are damp- call it the curse of the wave, or wind, or any other free-ranging form reaching upward to find you. You would like to dive in deeper, but you know you cannot go to a place where the bottom cannot be seen.

This is true.

And you remember how your friend told you that swimming pools frightened her more than lakes, because in pools, especially the deep, Olympic-sized ones- she could see the bottom and how far her feet hovered over the bluish base.

And the drain looked small and far away.

Such is not the case with lakes, where the bottoms are free to roam and free to form into whatever depth they please, as long as they need not show or see it. You remember her telling you this and wondering, “was it sinking or floating that held her fear?”

No one wants to see just how high anyone is. Even you know that.

The shallows are not the makers of illusion, but merely the product of one. In the realm of the shallows, you can have the illusion of vision, yet the deeper parts that require more effort and thought- those parts go ignored. You have to realize, though, that you are not just speaking of water levels, but levels of all things possessing any level at all. Water is just the easiest thing to manage, and so you remain there walking, and gazing at swerving gulls, and reaching for shells to toss outward, doing all of this carefully, because you don’t want to travel to those parts your circulation cannot handle. And so you toss the shell, and wonder what other shallows you have been acquainted with.

Anything with a mind of its own that is not really a mind. 

The birth of category is what has allowed you to be born.

Just where do you fall in?  

But this can be frustrating, of course, because you know that your category all depends on what person you ask. Most likely, this person will know nothing outside the realm of the shallows, and view any attempt beyond them unnecessary, unstructured, and just plain old silly. And you will know how hearing this will make you feel, but you will not say.

That is your own fault, then, you dummy.

Don’t you remember how you were told that you could not change the way others think, only the way you think? Don’t you remember how it all begins with the you? Where is that you that so desperately wants to become more than just a signature of yourself? Perhaps you have grown into an illusion of yourself- your you, now excavating a life composed in real time?

            Is it possible to sink within these shallows?

All this has made you weary. They knew there was something strange about you, but you never would confess what that was, but rather enjoyed keeping that to yourself. You are like no other- defined by words, yet feeling those words do not describe you at all, but inscribe you, a label upon your face, giving you a place and a handful of beliefs to subscribe to.

No more than a newspaper. 

Yes, inscribed and subscribed, but never described.

Yet the core of your you remains.

Sticking within the shallows, you are never alone- your beliefs are easy, there, and never without company. Thousands of you are congregating accessibly- visionless with the illusion of vision, saying the obvious and what you know you would like to hear.

Listen in.  

Always a hand is there to lend. You can’t ever offend. So stay a while and say what you know everyone else does already. Soon they might even get to know you.

You’re becoming see-through.

Agree with what you already do. And you can be sure of this: the itch of the deep is there, forcibly in front of you, and from where your ankles rest in the waterline or where your feet are placed in the sand, perhaps you are one of the rare ones who see it- the flatness of the water’s body pressed beyond your reach, and the beauty within the glimpse of your knowing. There is more than just surface in things, beginning with the billowing of far away fish. “Go for the fish”, you think.

[Excerpted from Ghost Continents: Stories Of Maps & Legends]

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