Ceaseless Picasso

This is the fish I look for each day, in the blue blue ultramarine blue waters near the shores of the Red Sea. This order of psychic events may be the same for other extended activities also: for the first few snorkeling days, I went for the thrills, new fish that I never could have imagined, the paintbrush of Ceaseless Creativity splashing me moment by bubbled silky water moment with firework surprises, ooooooos, ahhhhhhhs, screams of delight burbling through my snorkel like prayers. Here a perfect scene of frilled corals in lime green and pink with the long black spines of an urchin reaching towards me from the blue depths, a thousand tiny neon tetras swimming as one organism (maybe that's what an organism is. Maybe that's what I am) and two sudden yellow and black striped butterfly fish swishing through. And there, the fingers, a balletic anemone swaying to the sea's adagio, and always slowmotioning through the fingers, the clownfish in their orange, black and white stripes. The light aquamarine blue of the shallow water, the sudden neon brilliance where the sea's bottom drops sharp cliffs to a depth miles down. I have followed a big purple and green fish deep into the dark blue sea until it swished its last tail of colour and disappeared from me. By the third day of snorkeling, I am not looking for thrills. I am the rhythm of the reef. I breathe underwater, forgetting that my mask, my snorkel, are separate from me. I swim lonely but trusting until I find the Arabian Picasso Triggerfish (I looked up the name others have given him, but still believe he appeared to me alone). And then I swim with the fish, my bright coloured bathing suit and mask, and his Picasso painted blue and yellow mask, shimmering waverippled in the waterspace between us. I swim for hours with him, meet his friends, dart between corals and out to sea. Surprises continue, today a brilliant purple fish with turquoise dots, yesterday a bright neon blue partydress of fins swishing frills in all directions. But I am not looking for change. I am swimming with the fish. One-ing.