Saltwater Soul
I remember when I found my gods in the land, and among them was a great beast that swelled the water with teeth and scales. While up late reading one night, I had fallen down an online rabbit hole and scrolled so deep my toes had gone numb. I can’t remember how I stumbled upon the article, what esoteric biology had led to the largest and most respected of all the world’s reptiles—the saltwater crocodile—but he was mighty. And he was mine.
Males are estimated to reach up to seven meters in length, although they don’t often exceed six; I myself am not that tall. They hold the world record for strongest bite force in the animal kingdom, and I pictured my heavy, pronounced jaws gnawing on crayons and paper and marrow-ripe bones as I read those words. All the animals I had eaten would never make me so strong, but I felt powerful knowing they were inside my muscles and bones all the same.
Like me, crocodiles can survive on little food; I find my introspective thoughts and curiosity more than satiable. We are both content with the souls resting in our blood and so try to be frugal with our killing. They enjoy crabs but will devour almost anything, except what they don’t want. Saltwater crocodiles soak their bellies. They like the stability of land and spontaneity of water. They care nothing for their appearance and win every staring contest other animals start with them. They are quietly ferocious, disinterested in the bullshit of the world.
It was not a simple task to find him however; many gods staked claims along the way. At one time, I believed I was the bottlenose dolphin because of his intelligence, imagination, and grace. We both felt at home in the undulating chaos of water, but I am afraid of the ocean’s deep dark depths. I remember I was once allured by the African wild dog due to his alert nature and need for flesh. He is known for living in packs with social dynamism, but I am a misanthropic extrovert.
Then I discovered that nestled in my ego was the dog-size velociraptor, swift and feathered but a reptile all the same. Perhaps my bond with this creature grew from a childhood dream, a wondrous interest in the extinct relic of a forgotten Earth. His teeth, though—each one pulled from the neck of his prey as a price for its soul. His agility, his poise akin to how I push my body to blistering limits and carve my mental strength from a generous helping of life’s obstacles. One can only know his own darkness through such tribulations, and the best hunter is the most patient.
But the raptor’s bones were not honest; I couldn’t grow a dead god from my spirit, not one whose eyes I would never meet. Still, I had caught wind of a familiar scent—the smell of the sleeping monster at the bottom of my heart.
Now I am lost in the night, sensing that all of the animals that had once danced with my spirit were not true to my nature because I have found the one that is. He is all of the above and more: The saltwater crocodile is fiercely territorial but otherwise relaxed, a lone master while able to cooperate with peers. He stands keen and robust for what he knows is his.
At one time, my quest to claim my animal was something of a facetious endeavor, but my irreverence didn’t disguise the fact that a beast rests within every human. To know its name is to trace the edges of one’s shadow. Ignoring the dark inner reaches of one’s spirit invites a resentful surrender to instinct. Though I sought dominion over that place in my soul, I wasn’t convinced such an animal awaited me until I stumbled upon a certain photograph.
There, in an explosion of water, a saltwater crocodile tears apart a pig carcass. His great body is twisted into a spiral, the turning cycle of life and death in form alone. Spines and scales and teeth cut limb and liquid effortlessly. His body is part of the sea. Red water rains upward as the whirlpool tosses and balances. He is perfect instinct, innocent and ruthless, at peace with the monstrosities he must commit. He has no care nor concern for the pain of living.
His right eye looks directly at the photographer, and through him, we meet—the pure gaze of knowing all the horrors of the world and laughing anyway. We are one, eating and growing together in a tango of survival of the fittest. We are lazy beasts. We sprawl in the sun and destroy what we need. I carry his skull with me, and we consume all that comes before us. Spirit Animal? Familiar? My god is a saltwater crocodile. We sleep forever in ageless bodies and awaken only when there is hunting to do. Only when there are reasons to find.
Males are estimated to reach up to seven meters in length, although they don’t often exceed six; I myself am not that tall. They hold the world record for strongest bite force in the animal kingdom, and I pictured my heavy, pronounced jaws gnawing on crayons and paper and marrow-ripe bones as I read those words. All the animals I had eaten would never make me so strong, but I felt powerful knowing they were inside my muscles and bones all the same.
Like me, crocodiles can survive on little food; I find my introspective thoughts and curiosity more than satiable. We are both content with the souls resting in our blood and so try to be frugal with our killing. They enjoy crabs but will devour almost anything, except what they don’t want. Saltwater crocodiles soak their bellies. They like the stability of land and spontaneity of water. They care nothing for their appearance and win every staring contest other animals start with them. They are quietly ferocious, disinterested in the bullshit of the world.
It was not a simple task to find him however; many gods staked claims along the way. At one time, I believed I was the bottlenose dolphin because of his intelligence, imagination, and grace. We both felt at home in the undulating chaos of water, but I am afraid of the ocean’s deep dark depths. I remember I was once allured by the African wild dog due to his alert nature and need for flesh. He is known for living in packs with social dynamism, but I am a misanthropic extrovert.
Then I discovered that nestled in my ego was the dog-size velociraptor, swift and feathered but a reptile all the same. Perhaps my bond with this creature grew from a childhood dream, a wondrous interest in the extinct relic of a forgotten Earth. His teeth, though—each one pulled from the neck of his prey as a price for its soul. His agility, his poise akin to how I push my body to blistering limits and carve my mental strength from a generous helping of life’s obstacles. One can only know his own darkness through such tribulations, and the best hunter is the most patient.
But the raptor’s bones were not honest; I couldn’t grow a dead god from my spirit, not one whose eyes I would never meet. Still, I had caught wind of a familiar scent—the smell of the sleeping monster at the bottom of my heart.
Now I am lost in the night, sensing that all of the animals that had once danced with my spirit were not true to my nature because I have found the one that is. He is all of the above and more: The saltwater crocodile is fiercely territorial but otherwise relaxed, a lone master while able to cooperate with peers. He stands keen and robust for what he knows is his.
At one time, my quest to claim my animal was something of a facetious endeavor, but my irreverence didn’t disguise the fact that a beast rests within every human. To know its name is to trace the edges of one’s shadow. Ignoring the dark inner reaches of one’s spirit invites a resentful surrender to instinct. Though I sought dominion over that place in my soul, I wasn’t convinced such an animal awaited me until I stumbled upon a certain photograph.
There, in an explosion of water, a saltwater crocodile tears apart a pig carcass. His great body is twisted into a spiral, the turning cycle of life and death in form alone. Spines and scales and teeth cut limb and liquid effortlessly. His body is part of the sea. Red water rains upward as the whirlpool tosses and balances. He is perfect instinct, innocent and ruthless, at peace with the monstrosities he must commit. He has no care nor concern for the pain of living.
His right eye looks directly at the photographer, and through him, we meet—the pure gaze of knowing all the horrors of the world and laughing anyway. We are one, eating and growing together in a tango of survival of the fittest. We are lazy beasts. We sprawl in the sun and destroy what we need. I carry his skull with me, and we consume all that comes before us. Spirit Animal? Familiar? My god is a saltwater crocodile. We sleep forever in ageless bodies and awaken only when there is hunting to do. Only when there are reasons to find.
Sin Ribbon is a storyteller on page, canvas and screen—her work culminated from poetry, screenplays, films and paintings. An eclectic blend, she draws from the philosophical and spiritual to spin existential tales of encouragement and consequence. Her works originate from the caverns of introspection and explore issues of identity, origin, loss and depression, and the quest for meaning. You can find her art on her website at https://sinribbon.com and her narrative podcast, 'In Her Burning: A Surreal Diary,' on iTunes.