The world is undoubtedly a verticality-oriented one. The human race is inexorably tied to the gravity of Earth, of the planet, and with that the directionlessness of outer space is not the natural place for them. Why, then, can the ocean’s depths be so alien? It should be closer to home than anything. It’s near to the heart of the Earth, and it echoes with the heart of humanity. The verticality is clear, as you descend and the pressure increases, as your body folds quietly, acquiesced to Earth’s might. But the ocean isn’t meant to be humanity’s path to the bottom. They’re meant to find it another way. The ocean is vast and uncaring. The lives it has claimed and the misery it’s caused might bring one to think it’s evil. It isn’t, however. It is, in the eyes of many, the embodiment of vast ambivalence. Its forceful grandeur cares not for your fate when you pass the threshold. It only does as it does because it does. The tide dips and swells for only its own sake; the waves crash upon gray stones for no reason but simply to crash. The ocean doesn’t take and give life as it pleases, for it favors no one and no thing. Many assign to the ocean intent, as is the consistent human nature of pattern detection and personification. This mistake is forgivable, but even if the human mind were distinguished enough to discern the ocean’s intent, what they would find might crush what sense of reality remained in a still-fragile skull. That intent means nothing to the experience of an individual.