A moving visit to the Monterey Bay Aquarium – Monterey Herald

Even if we sleep, we are on the move. Breath comes in and out. The heart beats. We throw and turn. And think of the many ways how we cross the distances in our dreams. We can run and jump over incredibly broad golf. We can easily move as many of us want it if we could be awake. Sleep, we can fly! In my dreams, however, it is not the freedom and the loft of flying that I wish. Rather, I can only move, calming and free from water. Only then can I swim like a fish.

In order to satisfy my curiosity about the way in which animals live in the ocean, I arrived at the Monterey Bay Aquarium for a visit in the early morning. There I was welcomed by Mary McCarthy, curator of fish and invertebrates, and Erica Kelly, director of exhibition content. How and why do huge sabes, sardines, jellyfish, squid and more get from place to place? Much of the motivation of the animals to move is no surprise to eat something or not to eat someone else.

To what extent can these animals move that people cannot? A squid can spit out water as a form of communication, reject unwanted guests, support and play the movement. And don’t you want to be able to inject ink to thwart an enemy? As a writer who has spit more than once, I would like to be sure of this integrated ability! Inkfish can not only change the color of your skin to hide, but also the texture of your skin!

Before this last visit was what I loved best at the aquarium. No wonder, right? When I watch them, I remember ballet dancers in Rosa Tutus, of clouds at sunset and open parachutes. When I watch the gelees graceful movement, my worries are dissolved and I get a much rubbed feeling of being relieved. With my feet on the floor, it is as if I was also floating under water with my head.

McCarthy, an enthusiastic scientist, is a changing aquarium encyclopedia. Knowing what we see is essential and happy for us, loves McCarthy loves to share it. When you swim a school of sardines, the small fish becomes villain, the direction changes and then recognizes its folly. McCarthy tells me that there is no leader, even though this group of swimmers reminds me of bicycle racing drivers.

“Do you design?” I ask. “A bit,” McCarthy replies. “Fish have a lateral line with hair cells, tiny sensory hair that is triggered by pressure. This is such a way that you can see what happens around you. This lateral line is followed by your neighbors.”

“The finlets that little fish have,” says McCarthy, “help them to be quick. They don’t need large fish like Seebass because they don’t need any speed.” Obviously, the seabar has on the other side of the glass. He is not in a hurry to go somewhere. Although the depressed expression of this face reminds me of the expression of my grandfather, when I am upset, I am sure that this well -fed Seebarsch is not dissatisfied and rightly right.

In the aquarium, of course, it is not only the sea creatures that deal with movement, but also the visitors. McCarthy is currently saying that I have fixed myself and look at the fish when I try to hold back, and says: “It is interesting to see how people are related to animals. Sometimes people lie on the sardine round traffic and just watch them.” The observation of the fish in eternal movement is mandatory and has the opportunity to observe what only a few of us get in the open ocean.

Although I am impatient to see and learn more about the Jelly fish, and we come there, we first go on the way to visit the large Pacific octopus. There he is in full view, swims in a relaxed way in his tank and stylishly stretches the leg on the orange leg. This is beauty in motion. As I stand there, I am delighted and my life changes. Yes, that sounds a bit dramatic, I know, and it’s not like something that monumental prescriptions, but a big, subtle thing does.

By being visible when we know that we watch him, do not withdraw into a hiding place and watch us, the squid conveys a feeling of consciousness and curiosity – maybe awareness. This quality of the presence is more than what I had seen when looking at one of the fish and more than I could have expected. Even when I read about her inkfish and saw films about them, I am fascinated by this creature, of its almost colorful orange color, so many legs with so many other suction cups, the lightness and elegance of movement, the big bell and (am I too wide?) Express, attentive eyes.

I have lost a feeling of time, have my leaders and whatever the day keep. This experience causes me to re -calibrate my place for the planet. So much meaning of life arises from the relationship – the moments when we experience a connection to another, know empathy and respect, the times we see and feel. It is not that I feel recognized by the octopus. It is so that I can feel that I see this creature in his being. In order to describe this as a witness of the “identity” of a different kind that differs from my own, a route could be. But maybe not. What do I know? I am only human.

Del Rey Oak’s writer and poet Patrice Vecchione is the author of several books, most recently “my screaming, broken, whispering voice: a guide to writing poems and speaking of their truth” and “step into nature: promotion of imagination and mind in everyday life”. Your titles are available wherever books are sold. More at Patricevecchione.com