Day after day in the deeply, impossibly blue. Blue enough to redefine blueness. Blues so blue that my eyes actually changed color to try and keep up out of sheer envy. Breathing slowly, clearly, purely. Surrounded by the sound of breath, the sound of whale song. Whale song loud enough to feel as much as hear, the tank on my back resonating with every possible click, squeal, hum, and moan. The ocean always holds me like a constant lover. Warm, sometimes cold, maybe shocking, or powerful or violent or meek, but constant. Always constant. Descend into the welcoming womb, and dally as long as possible, soaking up the surround, the encompass, the totality of true immersion. The only interface of exchange being, as usual, the breath. Subtle aquatic vinyasa. Pressure up, pressure in, equilibrate, and be one.
Resurfacing to this world again. Here again. Back again. Solidly fidgeting in place, watching my breath shorten and squeeze, doing what I can to soothe the aching sensation of depressurization away from my paradise, my constant embrace. Sea legs, in reverse. Slight stumbling as the emotions absorb the return to this old life. My escape was temporary, yet so total that now I’m disoriented with my Real Life. I don’t entirely recognize it. Almost as if I had been previously watching it all as a movie, and now I reach out my fingers and try to prove to myself it’s real. Again. Less than subconsious attempts at surrounding myself in liquid: if it rolls off my skin, I pour it inside, trying to fill the empty spot, trying to affect the embrace that compressed the emptiness to nothing.
Breath lengthening. Breath lightening. My mission clear, my methodology muddled and gray. I can see where the path leads but I can’t see the fucking thing itself. Maybe this is the feeling of making one’s path, truly, honestly, daringly…? Regardless, onward. A new decade, a new orbit, another sloughing of skin, another chance.
