De Jure J.D. Bancroft left behind a cryptic note:
“Survivors -Write a picture book about why there are dangerous fish…”
One of the last things my mother spoke of was the problem of the Dangerous Fish. She wanted everyone to be aware of these dangerous creatures that are here – living amongst us. They have abilities and senses that are far greater than those of people.
What are these Dangerous Fish? Why are they here? What are their powers and abilities?
What might happen if you encounter a Dangerous Fish? How can we protect ourselves from them?
Comments are welcome – what are your ideas about the dangerous fish?
More of my mother’s clues and information will be revealed and published soon…
Motherhood and the Dangerous Fish 
Dangerous fish. There’s an unnerving beauty in the language of schizophrenics. Symbols arise from the unconscious and metamorphose into new identities. My father had the acute phase of the disease for most of his life, so I can deeply relate to your quest.
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Perhaps we are the dangerous fish…
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Life adapts in order to survive. (Many? Most?) Bacteria and viruses thrive in water. The fish must adapt or die, as will bacteria/ viruses. And, stripped down to life itself, life is a battle — or maybe a dance — to adapt, to survive, to thrive. Your Mother knew this. The fish know this. Life recognizes life.
Do we live in symbiosis or strike one another down so that our own lives appear peaceful (for our own sanity)? If I encounter a dangerous fish, I am what created the danger. I will not find a shark in my bedclothes, no matter where I live. If I show up in his bedclothes, I am the clear and present danger. I don’t expect to survive.
I’m kept awake more at night by the deep sea creatures. It is a wonderful, scary, diverse ecosystem where some creatures don’t need to develop things such as eyes and I have no idea, ever, if I am unknowingly stepping on some unknown (to me) life form simply by walking along the edges of that ocean.
Thank you for sharing your Mother, yourself, with others.
(I may or may not be labeled mentally ill. It really shouldn’t matter. I’m saner than someone I met from Florida once, definitely less sane than my younger self.)
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