Whale Fall
Filed Under: My Writing, Science, Top Post
When a whale dies, an entire ecosystem blossoms in its corpse. Species of clams, worms, and other invertebrates can be found on the bones of a dead whale that cannot be found anywhere else. The “seeds” of these ecosystems seem to lay dormant in the benthos of the deep oceans, waiting for that one-in-a-million chance that a whale, it’s last breath escaping for the surface, will fall to the muck and mud. Imagine being stranded in the desert, your only hope for flourishing in the form of a giant falling from the sky. Tons and tons of meat and bone, providing nourishment and succor. Later, sulfur-loving bacteria pick over the bones and release hydrogen sulfide, launching an entirely new ecosystem of chemosynthetic bacteria. And it’s here where the diversity really gets wild, with nearly 200 different species making up the community, feeding on the bacteria, feeding on the feeders of the bacteria.
I see no beauty in death. I am terrified of it, as a general rule. The loss of a human mind to the black maw of nothing is the only thing that frightens me, really. My panic attacks, at their root, are all about my fear of death. But, for some reason, I read about whale falls, and I am filled with awe and amazement. There is beauty there, for me, and I don’t know why. A great, amazing creature dies, and gives life to not just one, but several ecosystems, for years and years after its death.
I want my death, when it comes, if it comes (as I hope to catch the wave of life extension science and live for centuries–a foolish hope, but I cannot relinquish it), to be as beautiful and as generative as a whale fall. I want what I have done in my life to create as much, perhaps. And the fear of death that I have–maybe it’s because I know I haven’t done that yet. Now would be too soon. I’m not ready. That’s what the attacks are about. Not being ready.
I refuse to come to terms with the idea of my own mortality. Not yet. Not until I can die like the whales do.
