What does one do when one is faced with a movie as lyrical as poetry, so rife with symbolism which will provoke one's imagination, and told in a tone and in words so eloquent you feel as if you've been submerged into the fountain wherein all storyteller's bathe and upon arising are somewhat different from the rest of us? One is humbled, an immensely rare feeling, and finds oneself seduced into a state of reflective reverence.

At least, that's what took place in my case, and I being what I am, allowed the movie and the concepts in it to sink into both my conscious and unconscious for a day or two, then I decided to go for the jugular and glut myself on the lifeblood of the movie, to become drunk on the magical images and stories encapsulated in it. Time, as they say, to reel in the catch, to capture the big fish which i've been baiting for days, at least, temporarily. I'll let it swim free after this blog is complete.

See, varying perspectives seen from perceptions attuned to the most minute detail, and sensitized enough to catch every whiff of emotion which emanate from these perspectives are what bring depth and power into the events which comprise our lives. Our perceptions are what give dimensions to these moments, allowing them to be beautiful or repulsively hideous depending on how we see things. It is in this light that it was the way a man saw his life, the people surrounding him, and his experiences which made the movie so completely captivating. The power of the storyteller combined with a hunger to live life in all its glory is immeasurable. To see through this man's bright and eager gaze is as unsimilar as seeing the end of life through the glass eye of a witch. To see through the eyes of Edward Bloom is like seeing life literally come alive.

The title of the movie Big Fish, for instance, may fall flat to callous ears. Many have heard of the saying 'Better a big fish in a small pound than a small fish lost in the ocean'. And indeed, there are many big fish swimming around in the ocean, and plenty more who opt to remain in their small ponds, but in the case of Edward Bloom, the legend surrounding the uncatchable and clever catfish, 'The Beast', was as interlaced with his life in a way which would make it seem as if thinking that the title of the movie was flat is like comparing the Himalayas to a highway. Absurd.

It would even make sense in a fantastic kind of way that the uncatchable 'Beast', the catfish with a golden wedding band in its belly is the gallant protagonist Edward Bloom, a traveling salesman who fancies himself as a storyteller with an insatiable need to explore the world and who came to stay, albeit temporarily, in a swimming pool world of domesticity, using the bathtub to keep from 'drying out' as he would like to say, when he would thirst for the vastness of the 'big ocean' which is the whole world.

So is the man the fish? Could Edward Bloom really be 'The Beast'? Again, it's a matter of perspectives and perceptions. Whereas perceptions can alter the shade or mood, even the context of certain instances, it cannot alter truth, and if we look at the way Edward Bloom lived his seemingly unbelievable life, suddenly the unseemly idea of whether Edward Bloom could be 'The Beast' makes sense. Suddenly, what is impossible becomes possible. All of a sudden, while life may be symbolic, one cannot deny the truth of it. One less of a burden upon our perceptions.

Does it really matter then that Edward Bloom made an unexpected, lifelong friend in a giant of a man who he initially attempted to offer himself up to as a human sacrifice in order to stop the giant from devouring the crops in his town? Or whether the ringmaster of the circus he offered his services up to for free, practically consigning himself to slave labor, in exchange for the name of the girl which made time stop for him, was really a werewolf? Or whether the idyllic town of sceptre really existed, a hidden piece of heaven on earth which would not appease the adventurous spirit of the young man? All these would prove to be inconsequential when all these seemingly wondrous, fairytale characters proved themselves to exist during the most human time of Edward Bloom's life, his funeral.

They weren't inconsequential to Edward Bloom's son though. While his father was still living, everything, every story his father told him was subject to doubt and misunderstanding. I believe that it was only in the end when Edward Bloom gave up his most precious possession, the story of his life, for his son to tell that he was finally able to comprehend the magical tale of his father's life.

Suddenly the son becomes the storyteller in whose hands lie the telling and unfolding of what will be the end of his father's story, in essence, the end of life. Perhaps it was then that he believed.

That's my perception at least.

I'm setting 'The Beast' free now the way the son did when his father died, releasing the legendary cat fish into the rivers to swim where it will, to touch and amaze others with its story, into the mind's of those who think of it as a whimsical tale as myth, into the hearts of those who believe. I'm releasing 'The Beast' into the dark waters of both my conscious and my unconscious, to stir what it may, to swim into my heart should it will to do so during the moments when I find it the hardest to have faith, and to believe.