Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Intentional Drowning

"Your body is drowning."

"What?" I asked, somewhat startled.

The soft Asian face tilted up towards me, her look pensive as she sought for the words to explain. "Your body...it is... drowning. Too much fluid. Is holding.... um, retaining."

Oh, yes... that. I'm retaining water. I'm bloated. Twas a combo of PMS, stress, and bizarre temperatures. And apparently, unknown to me, a great deal of extra mucus in my lungs and sinuses. Through the miracles of acupuncture and herbal teas, I've been draining profusely ever since. Breathing is easier, but my nose is still recovering from the repeated blowings and tissue wipes.

But it is her words that still stay with me. Drowning. I am drowning. Never has a diagnosis felt so right on the money.

Working two jobs can be overwhelming. And the teaching, although it is wonderful to experience, is growing in hours and demanding on the voice and body. I often feel that my most fierce doggie-paddle just barely keeps my head above the surface.

More than that, as of late, dreams and signs are filled with underwater images and icons. My long time love for mermaids has grown into a nearly obsessive fascination. I hear the sirens call me towards the rocks anytime I see their images (and I'm currently reading a fascinating book on the subject as well.) Octopi (octopuses?) are everywhere. Painted graffiti on the street, Discovery shows that happen to be on when I turn on the TV, books and fliers that chance to come across my desk. Even my dearest love (& subject of my first 6th grade research paper) Nessie has returned to my consciousness, lurking in the corners of my mind and popping up in unrelated conversations.

Until lately, I'd complained about feeling frozen or numb. My coven sister speculates that this new drowning sensation is merely the effects of the ice thaw.

Could that be it? Could it be that I'm coming through the winter of this endlessly long transition? Something in me broke in 2005, and I've not felt whole since. The experience has been 2 years of highs and lows and general angst without resolution, and I'd love to think that phase is finally wrapping-up. But drowning is an odd sensation. Not one of relief, but neither is it one of suffocation or panic. We breathed and lived in liquid within the womb. Is it possible to find that skill again, amidst a sea of uncertainty?

Water is essential

Water is affected by thought & intention

Water is in all life, all things

Water is the connection

I am mostly water

My world is mostly water

Can I sink into that, and find the way to live?

4 comments:

the slackmistress said...

I can relate...

Tag said...

Perhaps Cameron has some oxygenated flurocarbon emulsion liquid leftover from The Abyss?

;-)

We are water, Live Water.

Deep puddles of pain.

Cleansing pools of blue.

Dismantling our souls to find a lasting relief.

We believe the answers to be inside

Pouring ourselves as freshly uncorked wine.

At the end of the bottle we are empty.

Bottle of humans swimming in a sea of reality.

Sold the fantasy through thick glass, longing to be free of all that we are.

The cliche was prophetic.

The answer lies all around us.

We are water, Live Water.

Point of origin leads to the sea.

Healing comes from outside and becomes us.

Live Water.

bina said...

hmmm. I wonder what John's Jungian take on all that water would be. I think it sounds positive ... though I'm a Pisces so water's good in my book. Don't drown, Teece.

Jennifer (she said) said...

First, I haven't been by in forever and I am so glad I came! The image at the top is new to me and made me smile, and the most recent post made me laugh. And then I read this post and the words: Can I sink into that, and find the way to live? made me pause.

I connect with water too and have been thinking about it a lot, also. One of the best things anyone ever told me was to think of the times I am either anxious or depressed in terms of a wave. Instead of trying to fight the wave, I was asked to allow myself to lie at the bottom of it, knowing I would come back up. It was an act of faith - to stop trying to fix or understand - and I find so much peace in the image of just lying in the trough.

Supposedly, one meaning of my name is white wave. Since I've spent some time thinking about waves, this has taken on more meaning.

You wrote: We breathed and lived in liquid within the womb. Is it possible to find that skill again, amidst a sea of uncertainty?

This is what I've been working on, I guess, and you say it so, so well.

I have a feeling that we can, and more importantly, that we are meant to. In fact, I am convinced more and more with each year I am in the world that growth is a sort of going back to what we were before we became, well, human beings. Maybe we learn something we need to learn here, but we come with wisdom as well?

xo