The Parsee: What was that great explosion, what was that great boom; I feel my feet failing me; I am cast into a strange world of pits and dark crevices; I think I heard your heart breaking for your lost self. You stand outside yourself, you stand outside your being and see yourself from the outside. You see a dangerous jungle, you see a dangerous sea, and you see a dangerous man. You are a tiny visitor, a little tourist wandering, a wayfarer in your own home, a visitor in your own soul. You are unwelcome everywhere you go, and you are made through and through of weary wandering and guest’s fare. You have no home—your home is the Pequod, and in the Pequod you do nothing but wander. You have no peaceful home—and look!—the gardens in the skies, with rivers flowing across the skies, are alien to you—you could not stand them were you to enter, for you never came from them in the first place, they are not where you originated. You originated in the sea—you are a fish, and the fish never rests from his swimming, has no nest or hovel, he sleeps in a different zone of the ocean each night, there is no place safe to him from his predators. Swim on, old Ahab—perhaps you will find a home at some sunny rock at some shining river in these jungles.