Satori for Fish

A fish asks, “What is it like to be one with the universe?” It’s heard of this mysterious state from wise old fish—a place where all suffering vanishes, where one feels whole and complete. “I’d love to experience that,” it daydreams.

One day, a lone fisherman yanks it out of the lake. For the first time, it sees the world outside. In that moment, it realizes what water is. The fisherman snaps a photo and tosses it back.

The fish is stunned. Its friends and family ask what happened, but it’s at a loss for words. All it can say is: “I saw the universe.”

This is what Satori is. Many seekers imagine “nirvana” as a different realm—like the world outside the lake, with sky, trees, and boats—as if that’s the goal. But that world is irrelevant. Satori isn’t about escaping the water; it’s realizing what it is. Seeing the medium, not the message.

For the fish, the universe is water. It’s already one with it. There’s nothing to experience—because it already is.

And Satori doesn’t erase suffering. Just because the fish now understands what water is—its physical properties and constraints—it doesn’t mean its life changes. It still has to scavenge to survive.

For humans, the equivalent of water is the world constructed with language. When we’re pulled out of it and finally see it for what it is, we realize it’s just a game with rules. But that perspective doesn’t free us. The rules still bind us. And to survive, we still have to play. Suffering persists because the rules are fundamentally misaligned with our needs.

Some enlightened people claim to have seen nirvana, where all is one, with no suffering. I wouldn’t know. I’ve never seen it—and frankly, I have no interest because it’s an entirely different game.