The first breath is the hardest. It goes against the strongest of instincts. Eventually I have no choice but to inhale. My body stiffens expecting the in flow of water into my lungs but my anticipation was without cause. Everything in my body begins to sync. My breathing becomes normal and I begin to take in the reality around me. I am suspended in a world unseen from the land that our lives are built on. The tanks on my back, that only a few minutes ago felt like the weight of all my obligations and stress, are now weightless. Every inch of my body is in contact with the water. Every limb, every fiber of skin moves with the gentle tossing of the current.
I am deaf to everything with the exception of my own breath, the breath which now has become steady with the surge of the uncertain sea. The water splits the noise in my head, making it more manageable. The bubbles that seep from my mouth are fragile feelings that are suppressed until they reach the surface. They burst and release the pressure of long ignored frustration and grief. They break free into the air where they wait to be reclaimed by another open host.
I am the waves. My leg are propellers causing the water to surge; my body then retreats to the power of that surge. My legs are lose but feel strong. I create the next force, watching the sea fans sway as if they were trees in a hurricane. All the creatures around me are in rhythm with the current. We get caught in the addicting pattern of ebb and flow. It is like a bad habit, hard to break, and we can only sink further or float to the surface.
The surrounding life forms have lost their homes. Homes that have been destroyed by humans. Perhaps it's because the majority of humans have never sunk below the shallow surfaces of themselves, to see all the compassion that they are capable of. Under the water, I feel selfless. I become vulnerable being in a place that is so different from anything I have ever been exposed to. The creatures around me are cautious but I do not feel unwelcome. I find I respect them more than most human beings. They welcome me into their world without knowing the destruction we have caused.
I duck under coral arches and scale the side of the reef, floating roughly a hundred feet above the ground and the same distance below the surface. I am not sure where I am being lead to, but I continue forward, avoiding coming in contact with anything. I spot an eagle ray feeding off the gobies that pop out of the ground, trying to tease them with their game. I am distracted by all the beauty that surrounds me, the way the light shatters into separate beams, and the sea turtles that soar through the water taking gentle strokes. One moment I am looking up at the bubbles that I just released from my lungs and the next I realize that I am in complete darkness. I am a speck floating above a six thousand foot drop off with nothing but the coral cliff behind me. The black space is everything unknown and forbidden, you would never be able to spot an approaching predator before it's too late.
The realization of my insignificance begins to sink in. I am suspended in dark matter and I see no end. The only thing keeping me afloat, keeping me from drifting down and settling on the bottom, is a pocket of air. It would have been so easy to pull the cord, to release the air, and allow the weights tied to my waist to drag me down into the sand. The temptation to experience the fear, the temptation to be rid of all the obligations and stress, is so real, so strong. The captivation of the unknown, the unseen, it opens up my mind to the possibilities and the wonderment. However the wonderment can not fight off the creeping fear that spreads up my spine. My shoulders shift as a reflex, tightening my muscles in my back. What isn't seen haunts me, it leaves me squinting into the black fog waiting for fear to expose itself.
My life is so fragile, being held up by nothing but a gust of air. It could all end so quickly and spontaneously. The rush of the darkness blows past me and I am left as a curious child wanting to go into the forbidden part of the sea. Forbidden to me because of my lack of experience and because my excitement uses up my oxygen too quickly. There's a learned control to being part of the ocean. To be in coexistence with the sea without disturbing the natural flow. I find another part of myself a hundred feet below the surface of the ocean, a hundred feet below the surface, of myself.
I think I have found something I am finally proud of.
