Fishy Heaven

I had a great time recently, wallowing in mud - clearing out and cleaning a fish pond......  I received the following email from 'Ichthus' - obviously a pseudonym,  maybe from a resident of Fin-landia?   Although its origins are  a bit 'fishy',  I'm still pond-ering on its deep and watery meaning....

Instagram by Rachel

On behalf of the whole fish community in the Harwood Pond, I write to express our deepest thanks for all your hard work yesterday.  We are so grateful that now we can see one another, and see our way through the weed and around the stones.  Somehow the murk has gone and it is quite lovely to swim in such sparkling water.

It has also strengthened our faith in a fishy sort of heaven.  One of your number, Rupert Brooks, has written prophetically on behalf of us all a splendid poem which sums up our faith.

While writing, I hear rumours ... beyond the pond.... of our Guardians..... serious injury result would mean the end of our diet here in the pond. So not only can we swim in comfort but we are also reassured of a continuing food supply.

So thank you.....   Ichthus

Goldfish Heaven

 

HEAVEN  

Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June,
Dawdling away their wat'ry noon)
Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear,
Each secret fishy hope or fear.
Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond;
But is there anything Beyond?
This life cannot be All, they swear,
For how unpleasant, if it were!
One may not doubt that, somehow, Good
Shall come of Water and of Mud;
And, sure, the reverent eye must see
A Purpose in Liquidity.
We darkly know, by Faith we cry,
The future is not Wholly Dry.
Mud unto mud! -- Death eddies near --
Not here the appointed End, not here!
But somewhere, beyond Space and Time.
Is wetter water, slimier slime!

And there (they trust) there swimmeth One

Who swam ere rivers were begun, 

Immense, of fishy form and mind,
Squamous, omnipotent, and kind;
And under that Almighty Fin,
The littlest fish may enter in.
Oh! never fly conceals a hook,
Fish say, in the Eternal Brook,
But more than mundane weeds are there,
And mud, celestially fair;
Fat caterpillars drift around,
And Paradisal grubs are found;
Unfading moths, immortal flies,
And the worm that never dies.
And in that Heaven of all their wish,
There shall be no more land, say fish.

Rupert Brooke