The world is going through some serious things, all very painful, all tragic.
One of my favorite aunts died yesterday, in her sleep. She was ninety-one years old and had a hard time coping with the death of her loving husband and a subsequent stroke. She was simply tired of being alive, even less after her youngest son recently died of cancer. Last week, her entire family (on the east coast) gathered by her side for her birthday but they said it was as if she was already transitioning, already thinning the veil between here and there or nowhere.
This Mary Oliver quote from her poem, “Invitation”, really says it all: It is a serious thing just to be alive on this fresh morning in the broken world
It could mean something. It could mean everything.
“In one drop of water are found all the secrets of all the oceans.” – Kahlil Gibran
My thoughts are about as insignificant as a drop in the ocean, but I’ve memorialized my observations as a way to try and wrap my brain around the tragedy that unfolded the last few days about the Titan submersible.
I’ve lived near the ocean most of my life and while I love it, I’m afraid of it at the same time.
I CAN swim but it’s not my most favorite thing to do; in fact, my chest gets tight and I can start to hyperventilate simply thinking about putting my head under water — even though I know I have done it many times.
The Angel Kids aren’t like me — they’re half dolphin — both of them, and swim and jump in the waves and dive and try to surf and paddleboard with no fear of the power of the ocean.
When I first learned about the concerns regarding the loss of communication with this tiny little submersible while it attempted to reach the wreck of the Titanic, the idea of being crouched into a tight space, freezing cold, in total darkness, with limited oxygen, miles away from help — was a recipe to ignite some of my worst fears.
Lost and alone, in the dark, unable to breathe, under the sea.
I don’t like to take the Bart tunnel from San Francisco to Oakland and can’t even think of an incentive that could motivate me to endure a two-hour ride on the Chunnel from London to Paris.
Yesterday, the United States Coast Guard said that an ROV found the tail cone of the Titan 1,600 ft from the Titanic, and the ROV then found additional debris consistent with the “catastrophic loss of the pressure chamber.”
The debris is consistent with a catastrophic implosion of the vessel,” said Rear Admiral John Mauger.
Officials said that the location of the debris field matched “the location of last communication” of the submersible. The time of the implosion has not yet been determined.
From the Rear Admiral, “I offer my deepest condolences to the family. I hope this discovery provides some solace during this difficult time.”
OceanGate Expeditions, the company that operated the Titan, released a statement on Thursday saying that they believe all five passengers on the submersible had been “lost.”
Presumed deceased are Paul-Henry Nargeolet, Stockton Rush, Hamish Harding, Shahzada Dawood, and his son, Sulaiman Dawood.
Also from OceanGate, “These men were true explorers who shared a distinct spirit of adventure, and a deep passion for exploring and protecting the world’s oceans,” the statement said . “Our hearts are with these five souls and every member of their families during this tragic time. We grieve the loss of life and joy they brought to everyone they knew.”
What I find utterly fascinating and darkly eerie is the connection to the wreck of the Titanic.
From NPR: “The OceanGate executive who was piloting the submersible on its fateful Sunday dive is married to the descendent of a couple who died in the very shipwreck his expedition aimed to see.
OceanGate founder and CEO Stockton Rush is married to Wendy Rush, the great-great-granddaughter of Isidor and Ida Straus, who choose to remain onboard the sinking Titanic together so that others could escape to safety in their place.
They were the real-life inspiration behind the heartbreaking scene in James Cameron’s movie in which an elderly couple embraces in bed as water rushes into their room.”
There’s been a disgusting amount of unkind and vicious commentary on social media about the fact that these men were millionaires and billionaires.
In my opinion, it doesn’t matter how entitled they were or how much money they had; this is a tragic, horrible way to die.
From Julias Kim via Twitter: “There isn’t one person who is hating on billionaires right now that wouldn’t take a billion dollars if it was handed to them tax free…Beware. It’s a slippery slope when we start devaluing lives based on how much money people have.”
Yet…there’s this:
As every news report led with the OceanGate submersible, how many international efforts coalesced to rescue hundreds of migrants from the ocean off Greece?
It seems as if that catastrophe garnered little to no attention.
I feel terrible for the migrants who drowned in the waters outside Greece AND for the people who died aboard the Titan.
And yes, it’s possible to feel compassion for both.
**This is so strange. I only published this post today, June 26, but it shows that it was published on the 24th, so I am RE-writing and posting again. Very odd WordPress, very odd.
We had a bit of rain, just a few drops, definitely not the kind of rain we need here in the Southwest, but I think my veggie garden was grateful for it.
When I went outside to check on the status of baby lettuce seedlings, I noticed a Monarch butterfly entangled in the netting surrounding the garden. I’ve been forced to use the barrier to keep out squirrels and rats and bunnies. There are plenty of other things in the garden those guys can eat, so I don’t feel too bad about restricting them from my yummy greens.
Carefully, I removed the netting from those delicate wings.
After flying off, s/he returned with a mate and they circled my head a few times as if to thank me. “You’re welcome, guys! I was glad to help.”
Later that afternoon, right before dusk, I went for a walk. There were still beautiful clouds in the sky and I was thinking happy thoughts about the butterflies.
Suddenly, before I could even react, several things happened at once. A white van was driving down the street faster than the twenty-five mile an hour speed limit. A dove flew low across the street, left to right. (Yup, you can see where this is going.) The driver MUST have seen the bird, I’m sure of it.
Without slowing down or trying to avoid the imminent impact, the van ran into the bird, and to make it even more horrific, the back tires finished the slaughter. There were no other cars on the road; simply slowing down would have avoided it completely.
It doesn’t matter to me that there was nothing I could have done to prevent this tragedy. I ran out into the street to see if I needed to take the bird to a vet, but it was too late. Too late. I crouched down on my knees over the little dove almost in shock at the massive destruction the van did to his body. I took a photo because I wanted to remember the poor dear and honor his/her life, but it’s too gruesome to post and I feel it would be disrespectful to the innocent creature.
The bird was probably on his way home, and there might have been nesting babies that won’t be fed and won’t survive all because of the actions of one unaware or uncaring human. What if it was one of the doves I just wrote about that often visit me in the garden? How incredibly sad.
Well, that stripped me of the joy of saving a butterfly, that’s for sure. I’m a fixer and a helper. It’s a tough lesson for me to comprehend that sometimes things can be so terribly damaged that they can’t be mended or put back together, like this poor little bird who was beyond repair.
This made me think of Prince. When doves cry, so do I.
Enchanted Seashells | Princess Rosebud 