Nature,
which governs the whole, will soon change all things that you see, and out of
their substance will make other things, and again other things from the
substance of them, in order that the world may be ever new.
—Marcus
Aurelius, Meditations, Book 7 (tr
Long)
“Feed the fish.”
Few phrases have had as many
meanings in my experience than this. Sometimes it just means exactly what it
says. Some use it as an expression about getting so sick on a boat that you need
to vomit over the side. Others use it as a clever way to talk about getting
stoned.
Most often, I’ve heard it as a representation
of death. That was used in some of the mob movies, and in the part of the
country where I grew up. “You wanna feed the fish?” A common variation involved
“sleeping with the fishes”. It was never a courteous invitation to sprinkle some
flakes in a goldfish bowl. It was a threat. It was much like asking if you
wanted to wear a pair of concrete boots.
Even then, I have heard that old
Boston phrase, with that exact same morbid meaning, used in two completely
different contexts.
A man I knew, only slightly more
unstable than I was at the time, once slammed down his empty pint glass and
confidently said, “Time for me to feed the fish!” I assumed he was using it in
yet another way, taking a trip to the restroom. No, he walked out the front
door of the pub, quite calmly, and made his way to the pier at the end of the
block. We followed and stared, quite confused. Then he simply jumped into the
water.
Another fellow, far braver than I,
jumped in right after him, and dragged him back. He had intended to take his
own life, right then and there. Years later, I sat with him one day, no booze
or misery to be found between us, and he told me quite clearly that he had
wanted to die that night.
He had used the phrase as an
expression of complete despair.
A different man I knew, far better
than I was at the time, was serving a life sentence without the possibility of
parole. He was old, and he was sick, and my boss and I had gone to see him in
the prison hospital. I hardly knew the man closely, but I had always been impressed
by his honesty and commitment. He would openly admit his mistakes, and he
accepted that they had forever taken away the freedom of his body.
As we walked out the door that day,
I simply waved at him, like the complete goofball that I am, not knowing what
else to do. He smiled, gave me a thumbs up, and calmly said, “I’ll say hello to
the fishes for you!” I knew exactly what he meant, and the intention was
completely different than that of my friend at the bar.
He had used the phrase as an
expression of complete acceptance and joy.
Sometimes we give up, because we
can’t bear the way things are. Sometimes we stand strong, because we know that
nothing happens in vain.
If I think only of myself alone, I
may indeed despair. Why bother, if all I get is more of the hurt? If I think of
myself with and through all other people and all other things, a vital piece within
the whole, I may yet find acceptance and joy. Why be so miserable, if there is
still something worthy to love, and something that gives purpose?
Will I pass away? Yes, I am doing so
already as we speak, and so are you, whoever you may be. Yes, it will be the
end of me in one sense, but the beginning of me in quite another sense. The new
comes from the old. Everything is rebuilt. At the very least, someone has to
feed the fish. That is hardly a meaningless thing to do.
Written in 11/2007
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