0017 The Philosophical Goldfish

Doctors’ waiting rooms. Dentists’ waiting rooms. Goldfish etc. What have goldfish done, what fishy business have they been up to in the murky underworld of the unpoliced, to be incarcerated in public view of the apprehensive, the fearful, the distressed out of mind, those bearing all the myriad aches and pains that flesh is heir to? Looking up from the Horse and Hound Gazette which I noticed I was holding upside down my eye was caught – or did he, or she, catch mine first? - as if it heard my thoughts about its welfare It swam towards me, pressed its mouth against the glass in perfect O-shape as if singing, or perhaps sounding some universal Om (the final consonant difficult to catch for the dry-eared) and it seemed to wish to communicate. I sensed it was not a cry for help (and indeed, what help could have offered, without a plastic bag and in view of others who still believed me sane? No, it seemed peaceful but chatty; even helpfully inclined. I got up, walked discreetly as if calmly passing time and – almost tempted to kiss the glass, but instead simply mouthing a friendly mwaa – and though my lip-reading isn’t all it could be, I believe I identified this message: ‘As above, so below; as without, so within’ Sometimes one’s view of Creation seems to have been hitherto singularly unimaginative