Infinite
by Robert Aquino Dollesin
Thirty-six minutes. That's how long I held my breath underwater, burrowing beneath a sheet of white sand in search of the giant razor clam. My lungs burned, but having been drawn to the sea, I knew I was on the cusp of a major discovery.
I almost exploded with joy the instant I spotted it. Mounting the hard tapered shell, I used the crowbar I'd brought to pry the enormous mollusk open, then wedged my head between the shell's edges to keep them from snapping shut. My eyes adjusted and seeing the glowing pink and soft, moist and meaty inside of the clam increased my excitement immensely. Despite not breathing, the smell of the sea tickled my nostrils. The steady hollow lapping of distant waves breaking along the nearby beach roared in my ears.
With considerable grunting and force and manipulation, I squeezed my arms past my ears and into the clam's cave-like entrance, pushing my palms upward to stretch the lips of the shell wider and wider until I finally heard a popping noise. My shoulders had penetrated the opening.
Like a tadpole, I squirmed, pressing my face toward the loosened hinges at the back of the shell while keeping my arms close against my sides until finally my torso, followed by my legs, were completely inside the cavernous chamber.
The two shells snapped shut behind me and in the pulsing darkness I tucked myself into a fetal position. Like a pillow shaping a head, the clam's soft meaty walls molded around me.
I felt myself withering, my being rapidly transforming.
My skin was shedding its hair, growing smooth and transparent. My organs were drying out. My limbs grew shorter and shorter, the digits fusing into stumps of veiny flesh. I was slowly vanishing, becoming something that never existed.
In that instant I was reminded of all the animated attempts I'd seen on television to recreate the big bang. I was floating through a blinding light, filled with the sensation of weightlessness, shattering into a million pieces to dust over everything.
Then I knew . . .
I knew that I was no longer the recognizable me that I'd been. Although tiny and insignificant, I was at the same time enormous and infinite.
Parts of me floated down like aimless motes. My essence covered the crackling autumn leaves. Other pieces of me were swept away by the breeze to swirl in the fragrance of tilting wildflowers. I became the tiniest part of the stars in the heavens, the sand on the beaches, the soil in the earth, the flares of the sun. I became microbe and mammoth, ant hill and mountain, snow and ice and rain and heat. I became sorrow and joy, achievement and failure, love and hate.
And if you look closely in the mirror, you will see that I have all at once become a part of you and me and he and she and them and each and everyone of us.
- - -
Robert Aquino Dollesin was still a kid when he left the Philippines. He now resides in Sacramento, where he tries to get a few words down on paper every day.
by Robert Aquino Dollesin
Thirty-six minutes. That's how long I held my breath underwater, burrowing beneath a sheet of white sand in search of the giant razor clam. My lungs burned, but having been drawn to the sea, I knew I was on the cusp of a major discovery.
I almost exploded with joy the instant I spotted it. Mounting the hard tapered shell, I used the crowbar I'd brought to pry the enormous mollusk open, then wedged my head between the shell's edges to keep them from snapping shut. My eyes adjusted and seeing the glowing pink and soft, moist and meaty inside of the clam increased my excitement immensely. Despite not breathing, the smell of the sea tickled my nostrils. The steady hollow lapping of distant waves breaking along the nearby beach roared in my ears.
With considerable grunting and force and manipulation, I squeezed my arms past my ears and into the clam's cave-like entrance, pushing my palms upward to stretch the lips of the shell wider and wider until I finally heard a popping noise. My shoulders had penetrated the opening.
Like a tadpole, I squirmed, pressing my face toward the loosened hinges at the back of the shell while keeping my arms close against my sides until finally my torso, followed by my legs, were completely inside the cavernous chamber.
The two shells snapped shut behind me and in the pulsing darkness I tucked myself into a fetal position. Like a pillow shaping a head, the clam's soft meaty walls molded around me.
I felt myself withering, my being rapidly transforming.
My skin was shedding its hair, growing smooth and transparent. My organs were drying out. My limbs grew shorter and shorter, the digits fusing into stumps of veiny flesh. I was slowly vanishing, becoming something that never existed.
In that instant I was reminded of all the animated attempts I'd seen on television to recreate the big bang. I was floating through a blinding light, filled with the sensation of weightlessness, shattering into a million pieces to dust over everything.
Then I knew . . .
I knew that I was no longer the recognizable me that I'd been. Although tiny and insignificant, I was at the same time enormous and infinite.
Parts of me floated down like aimless motes. My essence covered the crackling autumn leaves. Other pieces of me were swept away by the breeze to swirl in the fragrance of tilting wildflowers. I became the tiniest part of the stars in the heavens, the sand on the beaches, the soil in the earth, the flares of the sun. I became microbe and mammoth, ant hill and mountain, snow and ice and rain and heat. I became sorrow and joy, achievement and failure, love and hate.
And if you look closely in the mirror, you will see that I have all at once become a part of you and me and he and she and them and each and everyone of us.
- - -
Robert Aquino Dollesin was still a kid when he left the Philippines. He now resides in Sacramento, where he tries to get a few words down on paper every day.
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