We dived at approximately moondown. The navigator explained how up was down – and vice versa – and that in the new medium of exploration common perceptions would be challenged. Forget what you know, he said. Forget we did. The familiar ripples on the fabric of the ocean floor was the first impression. It could have been the womb of the ultimate creature that gave birth to us all. The deeper we went the closest we came to our moment of creation. Near was far, far was near, zero was infinite, infinite was zero. Then our vessel came to a sudden halt. We had arrived, the navigator said; there is no further going. We could now touch the end of the sky, the depth of the ocean. I raised my finger and poked the thin veil of spacetime. Curiosity is a reflex sometimes, and that time was one of those. The blue colour changed, momentarily, to red. A faint sigh was heard from the other side. Was there someone there? I wanted call to the others to let them know; did they hear that noise too? But at that depth all voice was lost. We had become strangers living in our private worlds, sealed from each other. The only sound I could hear now was the almost silent breathing coming from the other side of the ocean in the sky.