When you plunge into the deep blue, your eyes open a bit wider, your ears know nothing familiar, and your mind moves in a new way- with the currents, if you allow it.
I jumped in last week, a few pounds secured around my waist, a rather weighty tank upon my back, an unnatural mask grasping my face, and fins drowning the little feet I inherited from my mother. With a quick nudge from our captain’s aid, I made a grand, and equally awkward entrance into the world beneath me.
The thoughts that occupied my first hour were simply, breathe in, breathe out. The truth is, all I could hear were my breaths. I couldn’t separate myself from them, nor would I have wanted to. I thought to myself, surely this is life in its simplest form- breathe in, breathe out. We fill ourselves with what we need, then release that which we don’t. In a life where I so often weigh what’s good for me, what’s not, where I should go, what I should do, what I should keep, what I should release, how grateful I am that I don’t know the burden of thinking on each breath. A part of me that’s hidden, it works- breathe in, breathe out.
Like most new places, I adapted in time, and I quickly found a calmness that allowed me to look a bit deeper, to think clearer on this new landscape. I climbed mountains of coral, aged and weathered, new and vibrant. The Christmas Tree Worm became my favorite playmate. And the communities of animals reminded me of communities I hold dear. Even the fish, they need each other. All the while one idea drifted to the forefront of my mind again and again- the artist that sculpted this very different, oh so lovely world beneath me, formed me as well. It’s no wonder there’s great harmony in being in it.
The absence of traffic jams, of spoken words, of feet on pavement, of man-made distraction, created an environment the closest to natural that I’ve ever been. And just as the tide comes in for me, I’ll be running to greet it.
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