Our watery selves are awash in numbers. We negotiate rapids, falls, dangerously silent shallows, all
equations of our mortality. Our consciousness can be described as a direct result of our proofs for existence. These proofs can of course be fallible - there is no shortage of the indefensible, the "but it is so" and "how can it be otherwise". If we are guided by our watery self, we can glimpse how seeming contradiction and implausibility fog our insight.
Consider repeated attempts to arrive at an equation for turbulent flow - an admirable cascade of qualities, integers, arrivals and departures.
Consider the thresholds of silence - solitude, death, infinity. The numbers are there, beautiful, still, but where are we?