The Co Creation of the Flying Fish: An Introduction to an Idea

My son and I were standing in line for the Jungle Cruise Adventure ride at Walt Disney's Magic Kingdom in Florida. Suddenly, the sky grew dark and the wind began to pick up. The warm air was cut through by a rather refreshing cool breeze that, after living in the Midwest for many years I have learned to equate with pre-tornadic conditions.

The young adults dressed as explorers and in charge of this particular ride were talking to each other in a little huddle while their leader was on a two way radio and communicating with some unknown park official. An announcement was made that the park was under a thunderstorm warning and that if it began to rain, the rides would be closed down.

We had already been waiting for close to an hour to get on this ride...we held our breath...and then the rain began to fall. This was no little spring shower either, this was a torrent of heavy rain that fell so hard and fast it was as if we had been moved directly under a waterfall. We looked out as the people not under our little sheltered area scrambled for cover. People ran pushing their strollers and dragging their older children, while trying hopelessly to cover their heads and protect the little ones in their care. Some people were screaming or yelling to their companions excitedly with what sounded to be a mixture of surprise, humor, and annoyance. Some people found dry spots quickly while others rushed on to search for the next shelter that was not overcrowded with people.

The regular recording that we had been listening to in line featuring a clever background story designed to set the stage for an exciting river adventure was cut short. A voice came over the loudspeaker again, and this time announced that they were sorry but they had to shut the ride down due to park safety regulations. A "Jungle Explorer" was sent out into the disappointed crowd. The ropes that had guided us into a very organized snake like line were released and everyone was told to leave.

We were under one of the only sheltered locations in the area.

I looked at my son, and he looked at me...we were now at the head of the line...only maybe 20 people away from getting our chance to brave the Amazon River, and we made a choice. Despite the announcement and direction to disperse, we were staying. We would wait out the storm together, and we were getting on that ride.

While we waited, I pulled two shiny red apples out of my backpack and handed one to him. One thing I've learned from being a mother and going to theme parks, is that the easiest way to save money and to avoid the grouchiness that accompanies dehydration and low blood sugar is to always remember to pack water and snacks. We leaned our elbows on top of the fence that separated us from the boats and relaxed into the moment.

As we crunched down on fresh fruit we looked out across the "river" and watched the rain drops change the surface of the water. At first they fell so hard that the river was broken and uneven as water from the sky hit hard against water that was already there. The river jumped and seemed to crackle and explode near the surface, as water was displaced and bits of debris were stirred up from where they had originally settled below. What was hidden a moment ago was now floating up for us to see. Mud and plants, dead little fish bodies, and the occasional lost item from tourists like us were rising from the depths, captured in a violent crash of heaven into earth.

After a little while things began to change. Like many thunderstorms that hit unexpectedly in June, the drops slowed almost as fast as they had initially spilled down. On the river, we could see a ripple effect happening. The plump heavy drops hit the water and rings spread out overlapping and reaching out toward each other and the outer limits of the shore. Things looked a bit smoother and more peaceful. I was hoping it would end soon so our wait would not be in vain, but at the same time I enjoyed leaning shoulder to shoulder quietly with my child watching the rain fall and enjoying a good apple.

My son turned to me and said, "How do we know that we aren't the ones under the water?" He was imagining life from the perspective of a fish watching the storm we were experiencing from beneath the surface of the river. I turned to him and asked for further clarification. He tried to explain his thought again. "What if..." he said, "The fish are the ones living in the air and we are the ones living in the water."

My son was 11 at the time.

He furrowed his brow as he turned to look out intensely over the water. After a moment, he turned back towards me and focused his lovely but very serious dark brown eyes on mine. I watched him study my face, which I'm sure gave away my surprise at the weight of the question, while he waited for a response.

Throughout his life we have had moments like this. One minute he is uncontrollable, making hand puppets while engaging in a spastic dance in the middle of a public place, (he seems oblivious to people that stare) the next, he has the wisdom of an 80 year old philosopher articulating profound questions and expecting a meaningful response from the mother and guide he has come to trust.

Poor kid, I thought...he's definitely going to get his mother's thinking lines. Such serious thoughts for such a young boy.

He wasn't talking about the elements of water and air. He was talking about the nature of reality. What was true? Was our experience the "real" one, or were we the ones under the water only seeing and feeling the effects of a storm that we couldn't fully experience or comprehend? At 11 he had hit on something that I had been thinking about intensely over the past year. I had spent the last 11 months since the death of my grandmother trying to put words or pictures to an uneasiness I continue to experience as I work to digest and internalize that life is much larger than us.

It was then, at the Jungle Cruise ride, while waiting in line at Disney World that my son Ash and I discussed the nature of the flying fish. This was the metaphor that I had gravitated toward in working to understand my human experience. It seemed to hold the most truth to me and over the past year had found a home in the center of my chest. This was my chosen paradigm.

The woman in the painting by Herbert James Draper became my muse. She was attempting to live in more than one world at once. She can be seen bursting out from under the water pursuing creatures that do this by the very nature of what they are...flying fish.

The painting intrigued me. I aspired from that moment to be a flying fish and to pass what I was experiencing through a more multidimensional lens.

To be fully human we must embrace our divine aspects. We must learn that we have a place in both worlds....or rather... both worlds are in constant collision and flux. We can not be in one without feeling the effects of the other.

Heaven is not in a land apart from us.

It was here, in sharing this idea that I received my first bit of critical feedback from one who I have learned over time is my equal in many respects.

The rain stopped and our patience was rewarded. We were the next in line for a boat ride...and I had experienced 30 minutes with my 11 year old child that I will never forget.