I want to talk about abyssal gigantism:
the way animals in the deep sea take up more space,
make themselves larger.
It’s right there in the name:
abyssal, meaning of the abyss,
gigantism, meaning preternaturally large.
You probably know about the giant squid—
I did too. But what I didn’t know was that
the giant squid is just one of many enormous sea creatures.
There’s the giant oarfish, the seven-arm octopus,
and, to my vocabularic chagrin and amusement, the colossal squid.
Like most things having to do with the deep sea,
no one actually knows for sure why these invertebrates get so big:
maybe lower temperature, maybe the need to get food that is scarce,
maybe fewer predators, maybe more dissolved oxygen.
You or I could read the requisite papers,
talk to the marine biologists who are experts in the field.
We could do this together, even.
But at the end of it all, the answer would be that
there are huge creatures that live further down in the ocean
than you or I or those experts can or will ever go and so
we know nothing. I know that thought
terrifies you in equal measure as it thrills you,
because I get the same shiver all over
when I look at pictures of the Japanese spider crab.
An irrational fear equal to an irrational excitement,
like being stranded in space or falling out of love.