Allegory of a Fishie
I was at dinner the other night in the pleasant company of a large, brightly-lit fish tank, among other insignificant things. There were about four or five fish puttering around in the tank, quite complacently, poking at bubbles and specks of unknown substances in the water, sometimes drifting from one corner of the tank to the next. One fish in particular stood out from all the others, not because of its complexion, species, or size, but because of its behavior. This fish began its epic journey at the top-left corner of the tank, where the peak of a large brown-speckled rock presented itself rather imposingly, and proceeded to charge diagonally to the bottom-right corner of the tank; here the fish turned sharply and abruptly, after which it traversed the length of the glass enclosure once again, this time along the sandy bottom where smaller rocks and plants wafted in its wake; upon reaching the bottom-left corner of the tank the fish swiveled itself through a hole in the brown-speckled rock, which led it along the back of the tank and right back up to the top of the tank where it had started. I lost count of how many times the fish desperately repeated this sequence of events in a fluid, rapid, and almost calculated sort of succession. Occasionally, however, the fish broke from its frantic swim and paced the bottom of the tank, but this too became part of a greater pattern in its movements. In fact, the fish was so focused that, during one of its diagonal charges across the length of the tank, at top speed with its head bowed, it crashed headlong into a bright yellow fish that happened to be in its path. Neither fish was disturbed in the least, and the first continued in a manner just as frivolous as before.