Swimming in life

There’s a constricted energy in my body related to not being able to move to the rhythm of life. I constantly remind myself that change is inevitable in our unpredictable lives. Yet, there’s an instinctual resistance. Fear does not listen to rational thought. A fear of the danger of the unknown. Not dissimilar to being in water, when I haven’t learnt how to swim. My love of water far exceeded my fear of it. As I dog-paddled my way to the deep end, the whiffs of fear slowly creeping in and I begin to edge towards the sides, in anticipation. During those moments of terror, I could reach out and hold onto the edges. Breathing heavily to let in the oxygen that my body craved. Perhaps. With time. I can learn to ride the rhythm of life in ways I have learnt to ride water. One arm outstretched, palm turn out, touching the surface of water as the other arm begins to resurface and feels the cool air. And push. Not forgetting to kick from the thighs, yes, not the feet. Otherwise you exhaust yourself early. Developing the skills to float along the resistance of the water. And as my confidence rises like a mountain being pushed up as the earth scrapes against each other, the fearful lava overflows into the darkness of the water. So I wait. And I practice. Reluctantly. Riding the ebbs and flows of life.

 

But slowly and slowly, inch by inch, the wall moves, further and further.

 

The pain still exists, with a faint comfort of familiarity.