UPenn Biopond

As I stare into the diffracted reflection of the pond surface, reality in the context of self eludes me.

Life has suddenly transformed to a new dimension in which clarity and focus oscillate like the surface of this fucking pond.

This fucking pond…

The only escape from the bright lights, computer screens, and blaring vital machines reminding you of the life in front of you slipping away.

I sit there transfixed; restless but paralyzed; Shivering yet sweating.Panicked.

This fucking pond...

The trees project themselves onto the surface and forfeit their height. Their masses become the sun’s loosely woven blanket lost in the chaos of ripples. The contorted mirror shatters as fish come to the surface for lunch.

It takes some time, but I come to realize that this surface has depth; there’s something deeper than the world’s projection on it. But how does one calculate depth when they reside on the surface?

The reflections continue to ripple and fold like the surface of our brain. Miniature waves crashing and curling. Is there some sort of order to this?

Who gives a shit.

Similarly, The reflections of myself have become convolved...distorted...restless. Again, is there some sort of order to this? Again, who gives a shit.

This stupid fucking pond.