25 January 2013
Rapture of the Deep
I have never felt so alone as when I swam the milky blue depths of the Atlantic. Each breath was labored, intentional, each movement calculated but entirely guided by instinct. It was as if I were made for this heavy, otherworldly lilting, as if the water held inside my body was relieved to finally be reunited with its earthly counterpart. My wetsuit weighed 2 pounds, & the weights lashed snug around my middle added another 10, making me a more substantial version of myself in a land shy of solid ground. What I remember is coral, so much coral, my mother swimming beyond arms' reach like I'd never seen her move before, the pink translucence of jelly fish & how they float, effortlessly, like tissue paper riding the back of the wind. The angels that circle the deep circled elsewhere that day. What remained was the thrill of doing something I'd been too afraid to do for as long as I can remember. That, & the tremendous, crushing, euphoric silence of, finally, letting go.