don't take my fictions!

Those like me who are enmeshed in the fictions and symbology of a great white whale may find their preconceptions jostled by the recent sighting the real McCoy off the Mexico coast. Yes, Virginia, there is a great white whale and its name is not Moby Dick.

Nor yet is the Mexico wonderment a solo occurrence. The following sighting was recorded off Australia's shores last August:



There is a part of me that slaps the table in irritation: How the hell am I supposed to enjoy my fictions when the facts keep intruding?!

Think of all the people out there -- like me -- running around proclaiming the reality or truth of God or love or compassion or suffering or enlightenment or cruelty or anger or whatever all else and then suddenly it really is true. Just true. Plain as cardboard -- true. It is as if life assumed the guise of a patient and somewhat tart grandmother saying softly, "Of course it's true, dear."

Think of all the newly-created free time that might now be devoted to washing the dishes or doing some other useful chore.

Of course I'm irritated: Washing dishes is not my favorite pastime.