There you are, gazing off the port side, 2,400,000 meters beneath the surface of the water, transfixed by what should be impossible. It is beautiful and terrifying all at once. Innumerable creatures glow as though lit by a black light, while shipwreckage lies scattered across the ocean floor like the remains of forgotten worlds.

What is this place?

The water is so transparent that you can see the shapes of islands beneath the surface. They rise like mountains in both directions, with caves turned inside out, waterfalls suspended in the deep, and volcanoes somehow alive underwater.

Where have you sailed?

Then, not far off the starboard side, you spot an island.

You set sail toward it.

As you draw nearer, you begin to make out what appears to be a sign, though you cannot quite read it. Squinting, you pull out your spyglass and focus.

“This…

Is…

Still…

The Gulf of Mexico.”

Well, that settles it.

I’m joking—there is no sign.

But there is an island, and when you arrive, what is truly astonishing is that you can see every layer of it, from the hidden depths below to the cliff-lined surface above, all the way down to its sandy shore. You can trace how the sand is formed and watch it slip over the edge into the deep, like a sandfall instead of a waterfall.

And on that island, you will discover that you are not alone.