Two fish pass each other in the water. The one says: “The water’s nice today.” The other replies: “What’s water?”
It is easy to forget where we are. Or rather: It is easy to not even stop to think about where we are. I’m not, most of the time. But then there are these moments when the awareness sets in for a while.
This moment, right now, is gone forever. This one, too. Every moment is gone forever, sometimes before we even realize it’s there. No use trying to hold on to it.
And yet, there is no way to be anywhere else than in this moment, right now. Sure, we can think about the future. Remember the past. Daydream about far-off places. But whatever we do, we always do it from now. Even pretending otherwise means pretending otherwise right now.
Do you think fish know what water is? They are surrounded by it, live in it, know nothing else but it – why would it ever occur to them that there could be such a thing as air above? Those that never go to the surface, that is.
Which really begs the question: What is our water? What do we live in that is so normal, so all-encompassing, that we never stop to think about it? What would “going to the surface” mean for us?
Not sure I know the answer. But it sure is a great question.