Children Have Such Bewildering Daydreams
I have to face the facts, chances are slim that I will ever get to walk on the moon…well, unless Newt Gingrich becomes President. It was a childhood dream of mine to go into Space. To be more honest, it was my childhood dream to be the first Space-Pirate (I also had a pretty rad horse in that fantasy).
Anyway, last year before Newt Gingrich fanned the fuels of my inner-child, with what I’m sure are the hollow promises of a politician who wants something or other, I decided that I would do my own version of going into Space by becoming a scuba diver. My friend and I left everything behind but our backpacks and headed south for Honduras. Our adventure to get there was long, riddled with precarious Central American predicaments, but also encouraged by a host of amazing people I’ve come to love and cherish today. It was on Utila, off the coast of Honduras, that we found refuge at Parrot’s Dive Center. I’m sure the different dives and my stay on the island will come up in other posts, because it was one of the best times of my entire life, but I’ll focus on the deep dive for now.
In our training, the deep dive meant that we had to dive down to the 30m mark (about 100 ft deep). At 30m underwater the pressure is about as equivalent as being in Space: The nitrogen in your tank pushes closer together and you begin to get lightheaded and loopy (some might even say “high”), the color all fades out without the light from the surface, and the pressure pushes HARD (which is why your lungs can’t endure a quick swim to the surface). In addition, when you are scuba diving, your breathing controls your movement; inhaling lifts you up and exhaling lowers you down. Down at 30m below the surface, everything was a dark blue-grey sanctuary. Sound, light, and gravity all faded away, the entire world seemed to be wet ink blurred on the page. We brought raw eggs down with us, cracked them open once we were down there. The egg yolks held together; a dull brown-yellow planet suspended in front of us. We began throwing the yolk back and forth. There were five groups of us, all hitting these yolk-orbs back and forth; An pre-aviary ping-pong tournament hosted at Davey Jones Locker. It was absurd and brilliant (much of the best things in life are). I don’t think I’ve ever felt more at peace then I was down there in Outer Space. It’s amazing how our childhood dreams shift into something more strange and magnificent than even our childhood selves could have imagined…
…or maybe I’ve just never stopped dreaming. I seem to always fulfill any great quest or journey I’ve felt I needed to make. The best part is, I still have so many left to do.
A Space-Pirate with a Martian Destrier….whose name is also Jordan