Oceans of the mind.

For an instant I'm aware that I exist, then back to never-never
land, alive again, then back to my slumber.

Barely conscious then comatose, a cycle that continues for God only
knows how long. I desperately want to remain in this cosy state of
oblivion, it's too painful not too, but a nagging unseen voice is
urging me to face my plight.

Come on, wake up, wake up before it's too late - I know I'm in
difficulties, but trouble is just a vague abstract notion. So it's no
use nagging. Focusing on who I am, let alone where, is something I'm
still unable to handle. So leave me be.

Leave you be? You should know better than that, come on think, you're
soaking wet - You don't know everything, do you? It's much more than
that; I'm weightless, fully immersed in water and colder than I've ever
been before. Lapping waves? A familiar salty taste? The smell of ozone?
So you see, Mr know it all, I'm not just soaking wet, I'm actually in
the sea!

At last, you're back with us, now open your eyes - I'm floating on my
back, looking up at the stars. I can feel the life preserver around my
chest. It's done its job, by placing me in this position I've been able
to breathe even when unconscious. But what the hell am I doing
here?

Only blackness, but I'm not alone, I can sense the presence of vague
shapes floating nearby, what the hell are they? A sudden burst of
light: a flare somewhere over to my right.

The flare's luminous glow, as if by the sleight of a conjurer's hand,
has unveiled those mystery's for me: wooden chests, deckchairs, a
sailor's hat, a lady's hat, a teddy bear, an upturned lifeboat and a
face, no, two faces, no, three four five six?..

Christ, there are hundreds of faces. Men, women, several children - all
white and still, their features made ghoul like in the flare's harsh
light. Most look as if they're asleep, but a few gaze, open eyed, up at
the stars. Some have a peaceful look, a few have a mask of terror, and
others simply seem puzzled. But they all have two things in common.
They're all floating on their backs, the life preservers have done
their designer proud, but I can see that they're all dead, the freezing
sea is more cunning than any man.

Oh God, I can't look, it's much too painful; but the residual image in
my mind's eye is even more ghastly than the reality it replaces.

Re-open your eyes and look down then, glance down to avoid those
discarded remnants of stolen lives - My sleeves, two gold rings? Jesus,
I'm an officer, a naval officer, but why am I in the water? Where's my
ship? Why are the boats, which fired the flare, hundreds of yards over
there when the people are over here?

Come on, shake off your confusion or you've had it - Oh shut up, stop
nagging, it's much easier to give in to the sea's seductive charms and
join my companions in their dreamless sleep, my fear and chaos would be
gone forever then. To fight or sleep? Options that battle for supremacy
over my poor tired mind - I'm too weary, I'll just??.

?? What's that? Something nudging my arm, a lifebelt trying to do its
job. More flares, more light. On the lifebelt the words S.S. Titanic. I
remember, at last I remember: the iceberg, the collision, the
complacency followed by the panic. I'm the radio officer; I stayed at
my station sending out the SOS until the very last moment, right up
until the water rushed in. Why am I alive? I should be dead - but I'm
not, or am I? Do all lost souls stay at the scene of their demise, am I
condemned to aimlessly float in this icy swell for all eternity?

Come on, one last effort; force those poor tortured hands to grasp that
ring of hope. Good, now make those lifeless legs respond. That's it,
make them kick out and propel you towards those distant boats. Good,
you see, the faces are parting, they're clearing a path, willing you to
survive.

Oh God, a cold knife's piercing every sinew of my physical being and my
body's screaming out in agony - begging me to stop. But my mind's not
concerned - it knows if I can feel pain then I'm alive - and staying
alive, not eternal sleep, has won the battle?

? John Sales 2003.