Can’t Swim
You stand at the edge of a vast ocean. Fear grips your body and holds tight. You watch sunlit sparks dance off the breakers. You scan for fins in your scattered reflection. The foamy liquid invites you in, splashing your skin with soft caresses. You feel sand slip through your toes as the tide pulls the wave to sea. You’re tempted, but you have a dark memory of this place. Time heals. The past slips farther from us each day: names, faces, the way sunlight bounced off a pool of water just before you dove into it. Last time you took a fiery dive, a shark sank jagged teeth into your flesh. You nearly drowned. The memory is hazy, but you still feel the bite. Fear cements you to shore. Can’t swim.
The sea breeze whispers to you. You feel the warm breath in your ear, and taste the salty mist on your thirsty lips. Take a dip. Wait until the moon smiles, then close your eyes and dive! Dive into the blue well, feel the warm waves wash over you, consume you, until you’re swallowed whole into that deep blue bed. You know you want it. In your moonlit dreams the water takes you, fills your empty spaces, and you’re reborn in the drowning. The rolling waves move your body in a rhythmic dance. You’re free.
Wake now. Ask yourself. Will you dive, or abide in fear? You say you can’t swim, the sharks laugh, there are other swimmers.