
Poetry, Science, Photography
Habitation Zone
Jellyfish perception
Thirty-three hundred feet down under the sea —
that’s where it starts, the habitation for the Atolla reynoldsi jellyfish.
The midnight zone. That’s what they call it.
It’s like the Land of the Midnight Sun at midnight in winter. Underwater.
Only the aurora borealis is made from bioluminescence.
And how would you ever know the difference — if you were born here? The horizon of the atmosphere is a watery breath that you’ll never breach.
It’s like reaching for the moon by pointing a finger.
The moon is there. You don’t need to read the parable to know it. You can see it without the help of any fingers.
But, down here, you can’t see it. You can’t even fathom its existence.
They say that eagles can see movement under the snow.
What does the jellyfish see?
We have no conception.
Two and a half miles down — that’s where it ends, the habitation zone for the Atolla reynoldsi jellyfish.
I recently read about a new jellyfish (it’s not actually the one pictured above, but you can see and read about it here) which lives so deep in the sea that there is no light, other than bioluminescence.
Can you even fathom that? To never see the sky? To never see the moon or the sun? To live in a world where the water pressure would crush most other living beings? It’s an entirely different type of existence than ours. It’s about as different as living on the moon, or in another solar system.
And it just makes you wonder — what do they perceive?






