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Cowfish Out Of Water

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  • sumangali_m
    I was in the sea, snorkeling I think, or maybe diving. It was a long time ago. The sun heaved magnificent light into an already magnificent ocean, and all was
    Message 1 of 4 , Jan 30, 2007
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      I was in the sea, snorkeling I think, or maybe diving. It was a long
      time ago. The sun heaved magnificent light into an already magnificent
      ocean, and all was bathed in lucid unearthly beauty below.

      I was very fond of cowfish. They were like cartoons, little horns like
      raised eyebrows, boxy bodies puffing happily in and out as in a fit of
      laughter, big dark eyes, two arms fluttering - seemingly too small to
      do for anything but decoration. They always looked young, with
      childlike curiosity, as if so sure their own cuteness would keep them
      out of danger.

      Their colours varied like all things in the sea, wearing different
      shades even when a cloud passed overhead. They were always brilliant,
      as if generating their own light, and always in such complex detail as
      if embroidered with a very fine needle and silk.

      Someone caught one in one hand. The hand broke the surface and there
      she lay on the broad of the palm, in the raw blades of the sun, with
      no significant fins or tail to flip her back to safety. Her body
      looked instantly starved, the skin now dry in mottled greys stretched
      over a tiny twitching skeleton, eyes like dull flakes of flint, mouth
      and gills straining and sucking for a for a life she might never feel
      again.

      I, like the cowfish, did not know the intentions of the human hand.
      For all we knew she'd breathed her last of the ocean, in the homely
      gardens of a coral maze. I held my breath with her, unable to speak or
      act in a daze of horror. The hand closed around her again

      and let her go.

      She puffed downwards as if squirted from the bulb of a pipette, her
      colours instantly proud and resplendent in the sun, now through its
      proper lens of sea. And she was gone.

      I was told that it was all for me - so I may have a closer look at her
      when she was still. Still, I thought. But it was not her at all. Fish
      are colour and movement. She had neither. I saw only the shrouds of
      death closing around her. Ridicuous. How can she be herself when she
      is in the air. I remained silent for a long time.

      If it is true that fish have short memories then she would have been
      unchanged by the trauma, but I carry it with me everywhere. I glimpse
      her when I feel coerced by others - even when their intentions are
      innocent - to be something other than myself. True, I am in no mortal
      danger, but I am reminded that what is comfortable for others maybe
      harmful for me. She reminds me to allow others their freedom too, to
      let them be as God made them, in their own proper environment. I still
      have a way to go, but shock of the cowfish makes me try. Only then may
      we each laugh and let our colours shine as He intended.

      Sumangali Morhall
      http://www.srichinmoycentre.org/Members/sumangali
    • cott_doris
      Enjoy, Sumangali, thank you for the sweet and sensitive story. http://www.cowfishes.com/index.html Doris ... magnificent ... like ... of ... to ... them ...
      Message 2 of 4 , Jan 30, 2007
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        Enjoy, Sumangali, thank you for the sweet and sensitive story.

        http://www.cowfishes.com/index.html

        Doris





        --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, sumangali_m
        <no_reply@...> wrote:
        >
        > I was in the sea, snorkeling I think, or maybe diving. It was a long
        > time ago. The sun heaved magnificent light into an already
        magnificent
        > ocean, and all was bathed in lucid unearthly beauty below.
        >
        > I was very fond of cowfish. They were like cartoons, little horns
        like
        > raised eyebrows, boxy bodies puffing happily in and out as in a fit
        of
        > laughter, big dark eyes, two arms fluttering - seemingly too small
        to
        > do for anything but decoration. They always looked young, with
        > childlike curiosity, as if so sure their own cuteness would keep
        them
        > out of danger.
        >
        > Their colours varied like all things in the sea, wearing different
        > shades even when a cloud passed overhead. They were always
        brilliant,
        > as if generating their own light, and always in such complex detail
        as
        > if embroidered with a very fine needle and silk.
        >
        > Someone caught one in one hand. The hand broke the surface and there
        > she lay on the broad of the palm, in the raw blades of the sun, with
        > no significant fins or tail to flip her back to safety. Her body
        > looked instantly starved, the skin now dry in mottled greys
        stretched
        > over a tiny twitching skeleton, eyes like dull flakes of flint,
        mouth
        > and gills straining and sucking for a for a life she might never
        feel
        > again.
        >
        > I, like the cowfish, did not know the intentions of the human hand.
        > For all we knew she'd breathed her last of the ocean, in the homely
        > gardens of a coral maze. I held my breath with her, unable to speak
        or
        > act in a daze of horror. The hand closed around her again
        >
        > and let her go.
        >
        > She puffed downwards as if squirted from the bulb of a pipette, her
        > colours instantly proud and resplendent in the sun, now through its
        > proper lens of sea. And she was gone.
        >
        > I was told that it was all for me - so I may have a closer look at
        her
        > when she was still. Still, I thought. But it was not her at all.
        Fish
        > are colour and movement. She had neither. I saw only the shrouds of
        > death closing around her. Ridicuous. How can she be herself when she
        > is in the air. I remained silent for a long time.
        >
        > If it is true that fish have short memories then she would have been
        > unchanged by the trauma, but I carry it with me everywhere. I
        glimpse
        > her when I feel coerced by others - even when their intentions are
        > innocent - to be something other than myself. True, I am in no
        mortal
        > danger, but I am reminded that what is comfortable for others maybe
        > harmful for me. She reminds me to allow others their freedom too, to
        > let them be as God made them, in their own proper environment. I
        still
        > have a way to go, but shock of the cowfish makes me try. Only then
        may
        > we each laugh and let our colours shine as He intended.
        >
        > Sumangali Morhall
        > http://www.srichinmoycentre.org/Members/sumangali
        >
      • meriem_ao
        Sumangali, Your story reminds of a sufi saying: Don t let the colors deceive you, there is only one sea, but each fish has its color. Thank you, Keep feeding
        Message 3 of 4 , Jan 31, 2007
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          Sumangali,

          Your story reminds of a sufi saying:
          Don't let the colors deceive you,
          there is only one sea,
          but each fish has its color.

          Thank you,
          Keep feeding us with your stories,
          Meriem

          --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, sumangali_m
          <no_reply@...> wrote:
          >
          > I was in the sea, snorkeling I think, or maybe diving. It was a long
          > time ago. The sun heaved magnificent light into an already
          magnificent
          > ocean, and all was bathed in lucid unearthly beauty below.
          >
          > I was very fond of cowfish. They were like cartoons, little horns
          like
          > raised eyebrows, boxy bodies puffing happily in and out as in a fit
          of
          > laughter, big dark eyes, two arms fluttering - seemingly too small
          to
          > do for anything but decoration. They always looked young, with
          > childlike curiosity, as if so sure their own cuteness would keep
          them
          > out of danger.
          >
          > Their colours varied like all things in the sea, wearing different
          > shades even when a cloud passed overhead. They were always
          brilliant,
          > as if generating their own light, and always in such complex detail
          as
          > if embroidered with a very fine needle and silk.
          >
          > Someone caught one in one hand. The hand broke the surface and there
          > she lay on the broad of the palm, in the raw blades of the sun, with
          > no significant fins or tail to flip her back to safety. Her body
          > looked instantly starved, the skin now dry in mottled greys
          stretched
          > over a tiny twitching skeleton, eyes like dull flakes of flint,
          mouth
          > and gills straining and sucking for a for a life she might never
          feel
          > again.
          >
          > I, like the cowfish, did not know the intentions of the human hand.
          > For all we knew she'd breathed her last of the ocean, in the homely
          > gardens of a coral maze. I held my breath with her, unable to speak
          or
          > act in a daze of horror. The hand closed around her again
          >
          > and let her go.
          >
          > She puffed downwards as if squirted from the bulb of a pipette, her
          > colours instantly proud and resplendent in the sun, now through its
          > proper lens of sea. And she was gone.
          >
          > I was told that it was all for me - so I may have a closer look at
          her
          > when she was still. Still, I thought. But it was not her at all.
          Fish
          > are colour and movement. She had neither. I saw only the shrouds of
          > death closing around her. Ridicuous. How can she be herself when she
          > is in the air. I remained silent for a long time.
          >
          > If it is true that fish have short memories then she would have been
          > unchanged by the trauma, but I carry it with me everywhere. I
          glimpse
          > her when I feel coerced by others - even when their intentions are
          > innocent - to be something other than myself. True, I am in no
          mortal
          > danger, but I am reminded that what is comfortable for others maybe
          > harmful for me. She reminds me to allow others their freedom too, to
          > let them be as God made them, in their own proper environment. I
          still
          > have a way to go, but shock of the cowfish makes me try. Only then
          may
          > we each laugh and let our colours shine as He intended.
          >
          > Sumangali Morhall
          > http://www.srichinmoycentre.org/Members/sumangali
          >
        • sharani_sharani
          Dear Sumangali, As a little time passes since I first read this here, I begin to feel it is my new favorite of all your work. It contains your ever constant
          Message 4 of 4 , Feb 2, 2007
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            Dear Sumangali,
            As a little time passes since I first read this here, I begin to feel
            it is my new favorite of all your work. It contains your ever constant
            gift for exquisitely describing the natural world and melds it with
            the moral lesson of tolerance and acceptance of difference. Sheer
            genius as always!

            Gratefully,
            Sharani

            --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, meriem_ao
            <no_reply@...> wrote:
            >
            > Sumangali,
            >
            > Your story reminds of a sufi saying:
            > Don't let the colors deceive you,
            > there is only one sea,
            > but each fish has its color.
            >
            > Thank you,
            > Keep feeding us with your stories,
            > Meriem
            >
            > --- In Sri_Chinmoy_Inspiration@yahoogroups.com, sumangali_m
            > <no_reply@> wrote:
            > >
            > > I was in the sea, snorkeling I think, or maybe diving. It was a long
            > > time ago. The sun heaved magnificent light into an already
            > magnificent
            > > ocean, and all was bathed in lucid unearthly beauty below.
            > >
            > > I was very fond of cowfish. They were like cartoons, little horns
            > like
            > > raised eyebrows, boxy bodies puffing happily in and out as in a fit
            > of
            > > laughter, big dark eyes, two arms fluttering - seemingly too small
            > to
            > > do for anything but decoration. They always looked young, with
            > > childlike curiosity, as if so sure their own cuteness would keep
            > them
            > > out of danger.
            > >
            > > Their colours varied like all things in the sea, wearing different
            > > shades even when a cloud passed overhead. They were always
            > brilliant,
            > > as if generating their own light, and always in such complex detail
            > as
            > > if embroidered with a very fine needle and silk.
            > >
            > > Someone caught one in one hand. The hand broke the surface and there
            > > she lay on the broad of the palm, in the raw blades of the sun, with
            > > no significant fins or tail to flip her back to safety. Her body
            > > looked instantly starved, the skin now dry in mottled greys
            > stretched
            > > over a tiny twitching skeleton, eyes like dull flakes of flint,
            > mouth
            > > and gills straining and sucking for a for a life she might never
            > feel
            > > again.
            > >
            > > I, like the cowfish, did not know the intentions of the human hand.
            > > For all we knew she'd breathed her last of the ocean, in the homely
            > > gardens of a coral maze. I held my breath with her, unable to speak
            > or
            > > act in a daze of horror. The hand closed around her again
            > >
            > > and let her go.
            > >
            > > She puffed downwards as if squirted from the bulb of a pipette, her
            > > colours instantly proud and resplendent in the sun, now through its
            > > proper lens of sea. And she was gone.
            > >
            > > I was told that it was all for me - so I may have a closer look at
            > her
            > > when she was still. Still, I thought. But it was not her at all.
            > Fish
            > > are colour and movement. She had neither. I saw only the shrouds of
            > > death closing around her. Ridicuous. How can she be herself when she
            > > is in the air. I remained silent for a long time.
            > >
            > > If it is true that fish have short memories then she would have been
            > > unchanged by the trauma, but I carry it with me everywhere. I
            > glimpse
            > > her when I feel coerced by others - even when their intentions are
            > > innocent - to be something other than myself. True, I am in no
            > mortal
            > > danger, but I am reminded that what is comfortable for others maybe
            > > harmful for me. She reminds me to allow others their freedom too, to
            > > let them be as God made them, in their own proper environment. I
            > still
            > > have a way to go, but shock of the cowfish makes me try. Only then
            > may
            > > we each laugh and let our colours shine as He intended.
            > >
            > > Sumangali Morhall
            > > http://www.srichinmoycentre.org/Members/sumangali
            > >
            >
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