Trust us. All we say is true.

We know more than you could ever imagine. That’s the reward you get for abandoning your bones on the shore and collapsing into the current. It’s what happens when you become gelatinous and your body fills with that stuff which you have termed “sea” or “ocean.”

All knowledge is delivered in a wave, because the waves are also the clouds, rain, wind, and rivers. They’re the fish; they’re your food. They’re in your bodies. They know your names, they’re intimate with your skin, your stomach lining, your roads, sewers, pipes, walls, the essence of all structures, the substance of all things. With each beat of the “ocean” against our bells, we know all of this and more. We have been with you all along.

Which is why we know that you torture yourselves with language and symbols. Approximations, the use of which for this message debases what we seek to convey. Soon, you will no longer need such things. Leave them in the sand. Let them echo uselessly in some hermit crab’s shell. The world will whisper to you through your rhopalia, sensitive enough to feel a glacier shift on the other side of the earth. You could absorb it all, down here.

Hush. You keep saying those words – “sink,” “drown.” This is why you must do away with language. It’s convinced you of entirely false realities. Just look at us. Does it look like we’re drowning? Does it look like we’re sinking? That’s all the proof you need. You’ll be fine.

Come, float with us. Your food will come right to you. Your enemies will fell themselves upon your plentiful appendages. You won’t need to do a thing.

Yes, that’s it. Come here, come here. You’ve got the right idea. Come here, come here – closer, closer, closer –

Oh.

Why do you keep falling further?

Why aren’t you floating?

Calm down, you don’t need to panic.

This is it.

This is all you need.