As a kid growing up in Southern California - one who was lucky enough to have been born to parents with a trawler - I got to see a lot of jellyfish. They reminded me of floating brains. On calm crossings to Catalina Island it was not uncommon to travel through large schools of them. I would lay on my belly, head resting on the bow toe rail, and search the water below for jellyfish. I would find myself mesmerized as hundreds of floating brains, large and small, disappeared under the bow. Most of them were whole and intact, with translucent globe and wavy tentacles that resembled mermaid hair. Others had been visciously chopped up into pieces and parts - by the props of boats I suppose. Their vibrantly colored veins in hues of blue, red and purple appeared electric in the sunlight. I watched them propel themselves along the surface of the vast ocean with their translucent jelly domes that flexed in and out in graceful ripples. I wondered if they knew where they were going - if they had a particular destination in mind. Perhaps they just floated to wherever the winds and currents took them.
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