On Ik Ben Onder Water

I wake up early but find myself underwater.
Maybe a little coffee will sandbar me.

No. Back to the sea, by which I mean bed, and I am finding out how to be drowning.

Does it make the most sense to cast a dead body into the ocean?

Cast in a role or cast out like a daemon: the former is a gift, the latter is a cleanse.
You want to be cast, but who is directing?
You want to be cast, but is your understudy better?

I am growing a list of questions about living elsewhere.

Where does the potable water come from?
Where does the trash go?
Do you bother recycling?

But not on land.

How do you wash your sheets?
What kind of bugs do you risk?
Is there Internet access?

I am thinking about Bas Jan Ader and Death is Elsewhere, but also I'm too sad to tell you, and I'm probing In Search of the Miraculous. Without titles Ader tells the mood of what I am thinking.

Falling.

There is speculation as to whether Ader's final piece was a sea voyage gone wrong or a suicide in conceptual clothing.

The boat Ader sailed in from Cape Cod across the Atlantic stopped corresponding after only three weeks on the water. It was estimated that the completed journey would have taken two months to reach England, where Ader planned to dock to a greeting of sea shanties.

The Miraculous exists but is fabled, an island but still a mirage.

Is there electricity?

Of course Ader had set out to find for himself the Miraculous, but he must have known that only in death would he succeed. That death is the guarantee of finding what does not exist.
He never said that he would share what he found out.

The boat Ader sailed in was called Ocean Wave.

Wave, as a noun, meaning a swell of moving water that breaks on the shore.
Wave, as a verb, meaning to signal to and fro with a hand as a greeting or as a farewell.

By getting in the boat Ader had already disappeared.

He waved as the sea shanties were sung on the shore of Cape Cod.

We should have read the signs.

But where does the trash go?

Ader is still presumed to be dead.
He was never heard from, nor seen, again after his Wave fell silent.

Johanna Adriana Ader-Appels lost her husband, Bastiaan Jan Ader, in 1944.
He was executed by Germans for helping Jews hide from the Holocaust.

Johanna Adriana Ader-Appels lost her son, Bastiaan Johan Christiaan Ader, in 1975.
He was swallowed by the sea for finding the answer that cannot be found.

Johanna Adriana Ader-Appels had a premonition about her son's death.
Three months after he set sail in the Wave, she wrote a poem about her premonition.

A white body of a man, rocked in the arms of the waves,
Is very small too.

What are we in the infinity of ocean and sky?
A small baby at the breast of eternity.

Have you heard of happiness
Springing from a deep well of sorrow?

Ader's mother opens her poem with the line, From the deep waters of sleep I wake up to consciousness.

I have woken up early but find myself underwater.
In bed I am finding out how to be drowning.

This too shall pass, it comes in waves.
Like consciousness, ebbs and eddies, to and fro.