You look at a vast ship and wonder what its holds hide. When a vessel cracks, as in Gibraltar, and dark oil pours from the wound, the sign is clear: oil stands for something buried and powerful. Oil has a habit of reminding a reader of the subconscious because its depth and darkness suggest unseen forces below the surface. A person sits in a bar, and what you can’t see is what’s inside. If that man slips into a moment of shyness, a flood of hidden substances can spill from his inner rooms, threatening his own stability and the lives of others. In this sense, the subconscious should not leak like oil.
Issues that lie dormant in the background of awareness can surface in quiet, telling ways. A difficult boss can reveal a lot about the subconscious through his behavior. He may be coarse and unsettling, yet go unnoticed because he moves with a reptilian ease. Ugly actions can be hidden behind a smile and a neat tie. Some still call him kind and tolerant because he wields his influence with precision. Yet the same skill that shone in his outward manner can also sever, fast and clean, a line from life to danger, if used without restraint.
Across history there are moments when the collective psyche breaks through, much like a hernia that lets the insides spill out. The term describing this is a bulge, a difficult word for a hard reality. Debates in parliaments sometimes feel heavier with unspoken truth, even through the glare of televised discourse. The air is thick with tar and dark matter, drifting through political, social, and economic life. The first step in healing such a rupture is to gently reinstate what belongs inside and to carefully stitch the protective walls back together. Inner truths were meant to stay within; public claims and private morals must align. The leak is easy to fix when it mirrors a physical breach, but moral breaches linger longer and matter more in the long run.