2024: Diving in the Dark
Snorkel on. Flippers secure. Inhale. Dive.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness of the ocean that held the Tangalooma Beach Wrecks. The water pierced my fingers and toes with its icy needles, imprisoning me within its depths. The rust-covered ships threatened me with every kick and stroke. My limbs were no longer safe. Every move had to be made with precision as I swam alongside the eroded ships.
All that existed was the turquoise colour of the Moreton Island waters and the early winter temperature that had frozen my skin. No noise. No smell. My ears were consumed by the numbing water, and I felt that they could snap off at any moment. I tried to breathe. I tried to get some aroma from the environment. But nothing. I felt nothing.
I should have appreciated the scenery. The countless species of coloured fish that weren’t afraid to say hello as I swam through their home. Blue, yellow, red, green, silver and gold. They would whiz past me and swim between my flippers, letting me know they weren’t hurt by my exploring their habitat. There was so much coral that enveloped the vessels that I felt there was more of it than the ships themselves. They took away the sharpness of the ship’s material, helping me feel safe and confident to approach them.
Yet, swimming through the channel alongside this magical view, I could only focus on the darkness of the ship's interiors. I wondered what was down there, how it used to look before it was submerged in crystal clear water on the coast of Moreton Island. Had they held magnificent spiral staircases that led to a dining room that overlooked the ocean? Did the passengers feel elegant as they attended parties in their expensive gowns and masks? They were happily floating above the darkness of the ocean floor. They never would have felt they were sinking.
Why couldn’t I look at the miraculous different fish and coral with appreciation? Why was every thought I had utterly consumed by darkness? I was internally stuck inside those sunken ships entrenched in water. Everything was black. Sharp rusty fragments of the ships surrounded me. There was an opening so small that it only let in shards of dim natural light. But it got to a point where I couldn’t keep trying to swim out of the darkness to grasp light that wasn’t fully shining. It wasn’t enough.
It was as if the seawater had broken the barrier of the snorkel and rushed through my nose into my lungs. There should have been an aggressive gurgle. Some thrashing and strangled yelling for help. Some short, sharp inhalations to allow the air to know I was ready to breathe it in. But I had accepted this feeling. I had been living it for too long to feel scared. No thrashing, no gurgling, no inhaling. I just floated through the ocean between the dishevelled ships, feeling at peace, knowing that I would finally be relieved.
