Imagine swimming in an ocean. Hardly a wave. Flat. Horizon to horizon just grey-blue sea. Grey sky above. Night and day. No stars. Some nights brighter maybe an unseen moon others just dark. No wind. Ocean sometimes seems warmer sometimes colder. Sometimes swim, but no sense of being able to swim anywhere, nothing to gauge any progress by. Lack of progress and purpose. Only change is internal. Thoughts, emotions, consciousness. Time so much time to think.
And so it was for a time.
Till a raft appeared stocked with bottles, corks, paper and ink. Now a small purpose. Bottled messages. Once overboard progress can be gauged in the drift away from them.
Still the ocean. Grey blue. Blanket of cloud. Horizon to Horizon
Queen Elizabeth I created an official position of “Uncorker of Ocean Bottles”, and thinking some bottles might contain secrets from British spies or fleets—decreed that anyone else opening the bottles could face the death penalty.