Deep Currents & Deeper Lessons: A Fish’s Tale of Salt, Silence, and Soul

Deep Currents & Deeper Lessons: A Fish’s Tale of Salt, Silence, and Soul

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

I wasn’t born for company. Let’s just start there. I’m not one of those glittery, gregarious fish that school in shimmering thousands, moving like some sequined mob at a disco ball reunion. No, I’m more of a loner a shadow under coral, the last to the party (if I go at all), the one who swims left when everyone else swerves right. I’m the fish who contemplates the texture of silence and swims not to chase but to escape the noise of everyone else’s frantic flapping.

But the ocean, she doesn’t let you stay hidden forever.

She's a moody mother, you know wrapped in turquoise silk one moment, then thrashing like a goddess scorned the next. Her breath is the current, her moods the tide, and her thoughts crash constantly against the shore. Everything here is connected every fin, every scale, every bubble of salt and shadow. Even a fish like me, allergic to attention and group chats, can't help but get swept into something greater.

And so began my... let’s call it an unwanted spiritual retreat.

Day One: Dolphins & My Social Anxiety

They came spinning in like caffeinated acrobats the Spinner Dolphins. You’d think they were on some celestial joyride, corkscrewing through the sea like galaxies on espresso. Their bodies flickered like the sun had installed disco lights in their skin. And boy, could they talk. Chirps, clicks, squeals. It was like hanging out with children who had just discovered sugar and poetry.

“You don’t dance?” one asked, mid-spin.

“I meditate while moving,” I replied dryly, hoping my sarcasm would send them speeding off.

Didn’t work.

They circled me like I was some mythical relic The Mysterious Unsocial Fish of the Deep. I was tempted to fake a cramp just to escape, but something about them cracked my scales a little. Maybe it was their laughter unapologetic and full of sun. Maybe it was their joy, unbothered by depth or danger.

Lesson One: Joy is a rebellion. Even in the abyss, some souls spin.

Day Three: The Orca Encounter

Now they were different.

Orcas don’t dance. They glide sleek and deliberate, like royalty in monochrome tuxedos. When an orca arrives, the water pays attention. The sea stills. Even the arrogant barracuda shuts up.

One approached me a massive male, eyes wise and heavy with stories. I was sure he’d swallow me whole, or worse, lecture me on finding my "inner pod." But he didn’t. He just floated near, watching me with the patience of time itself.

“You don’t belong to anyone?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“Even stars belong to constellations,” he rumbled.

And then he left. No splash. No demand. Just the haunting echo of his wisdom trailing behind his dorsal fin like incense smoke in cathedral water.

Lesson Two: Even the lone star serves a design. Solitude is sacred, but connection is cosmic.

Day Five: Folklore Beneath the Fins

They say there’s a crab the size of a house who plays dominoes with whale bones and sings songs in a language older than the moon. They say jellyfish carry the memories of fallen stars in their gelatinous bells. And somewhere, deep below where light has forgotten to reach, there lives an eel who guards a pearl that holds the original sound of creation the first vibration, the sacred hum.

I laughed at it once, years ago.

But now? Now I wonder. Every strange current feels like a whisper. Every glow from a bioluminescent fish feels like Morse code from the divine.

The ocean is a library of secrets, and some truths are stored in the most slippery scrolls.

Lesson Three:

Just because it sounds absurd doesn’t mean it’s not sacred. Humor is the sea’s way of sneaking truth past our defenses.

The Jellyfish and the Joke of Life

One day I swam into a jellyfish. Classic antisocial move too deep in thought, not enough awareness. Got stung. Hurt like a divine slap. The jellyfish didn’t even apologize.

“They always float around like they’re late for something important,” I muttered, wincing.

Then I realized: they don’t swim. They surrender. They trust the current. They pulse and drift, navigating not by direction but by surrender. Floating monks with poison rosaries.

And there I was tense, overthinking everything, zigzagging like a guppy on caffeine. Maybe the joke was on me.

Lesson Four:

Sometimes, getting stung wakes you up. Sometimes, surrender is strategy not weakness.

Day Ten: Fish with Funny Faces and Big Hearts

I met a pufferfish who puffed up anytime someone asked him about his dreams. Said he wanted to be a cloud someday. “I’m working on the shape,” he’d grin. I didn’t have the heart to tell him that fish don’t float into skies.

There was also a parrotfish who claimed to be painting the reef with his scales leaving little flecks of himself on every coral like brushstrokes. “One day they’ll call this the Picasso Reef,” he insisted.

I envied their audacity. Their weirdness. Their willingness to be. No filter. No apology. Just vibrant expressions of whatever spirit swam within them.

Lesson Five: The ocean doesn’t ask you to be normal. It asks you to be real. Colorful. Present. Alive.

The Undersea Mirror

After weeks of silence, movement, strange friendships, and starlit currents, I found myself floating near the surface where sky kisses sea and the boundary between worlds becomes a blur.

I looked down and saw myself reflected not in a mirror, but in the stillness of knowing. Not just a fish. A witness. A traveler. A soul.

The sea had stripped me of ego, sarcasm, even my reluctance. And what remained wasn’t loneliness it was solitude transformed.

Lesson Six: The ocean doesn’t change you. It reveals you. The true you, beneath the shells you cling to.

Final Thought (But Not the Final Swim)

Do I still avoid schools of fish? Yes. Especially the flashy ones who won’t shut up about plankton-based keto diets.

But I’ve learned to swim with an open heart even if only briefly. I still scoff at overfriendly dolphins, but I’ve learned to spin, once in a while, just for the thrill of it. I still drift toward shadow, but I light up sometimes like those fish who carry lanterns in their bellies because I finally realized I’ve been glowing all along.

The ocean is not just water. It’s soul. It’s reflection. It’s mystery.

And I? I am no longer just a reluctant swimmer. I am a listener of waves, a believer in floating wisdom, a keeper of salty secrets.

And the next time someone asks me why I don’t belong to a school, I’ll answer:

“I belong to the sea.”

And that, my dear reader whether you’re landlocked or water-bound is more than enough.

Author’s Note

Because the Creator is the rhythm beneath my waves,

I lack for nothing.

He guides me through warm currents and hidden sanctuaries,

He lets me drift in the cradle of coral gardens,

And rests my spirit beside still waters where moonlight sings.

He renews my weary fins and centers my wandering soul.

He teaches me to move in ways that reflect His grace

Not always fast, not always loud,

But always in alignment with the deep purpose I carry.

That’s why I’m steady.

That’s why I don’t drown in life’s chaos.

That’s why I am anchored, even while I roam

Safe in the eternal arms

of the One who designed the ocean and me.

Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar