underwater

i went swimming yesterday.
at last, and how i'd forgotten.

there's a nice lake near my house and soon i'll be moving to its shore, so it's often that i see it. water never fails to hypnotize me, i could stare at it for hours. but i haven't been swimming there since last year, last year when life was utter chaos.

i almost didn't go. my hair was washed already, makeup done, and i had my writers group in several hours. then my seven year old lured me in to swim with him, so i was halfway there. funny how i can sit and consider and sometimes not do what i need so desperately, some practical thing keeps my feet on the ground.

finally, i asked my sister-in-law katie, "do you mind watching the kids?"
"you're going across?" katie knows, we've been friends since third grade and then married brothers, quite conveniently.

so i left everyone and went to my spot. it was windy and the water a little wild. the cold crept over my skin, physical exhilaration. there's a stiff line between air and water; the surface we call it though it should be named something else. it's rather a doorway, but that doesn't quite work either. when i've had a mask, i like to put that water line halfway up so as to view both sides. whatever that line or veil is called or should be, i was in it. lungs in need of air brought me up, everything else was taken in, so struck by that other place, consumed and at one. it's a whole other world, truly a step closer to the eternal, i think. always near, yet completely foreign to the world i inhabit. you can actually hear peace underwater. i'm weightless and have a sense of freedom unfound anywhere in the world of air and earth. friends have mentioned such deterrents as large fish and things in the dark down deep, and sometimes that thought has made me pause. but not when i'm there. the magic of water takes over then and fish or creatures of any size are simply comrades in our liquid kingdom. it's like flying, or maybe better.

on the other side of the lake, i sunk my feet into the slimy, thick mud and felt six years old. staring back, i could see the kids and katie all appearing so "away" and none saw me. the light too was oblivious to everything except it's dance on the tips of those waves.

it was another perfect moment. a wider glimpse. a reminder of all that's right beyond my sight especially when i won't allow myself to see.

and so, no more whining, i told myself as i've told myself before. no more eeyore whining (as a friend would say). i'll swim instead. swim and swim. of course, whenever these moments happen, it seems we come from our enlightenment to be slapped around a bit. the rest of the day had some of that and i wanted to sink into the earth again, so quickly i forget the places barely separate from us. so i hope to go swimming again today. when i move, my neighbors might hate me. they'll say, when does that crazy women ever DO anything. but it's when i forget that i begin to unravel. and my god how i need him, and how i need water.

it's summer, i might just stay there.