The water carries me as I move to her gentle music. My muscles expand and contract obediently. I cup my hands and move my legs in and out. Kick, relax. Pull, release. Push, glide. It feels good, this rhythmic dance.
We embrace—the water and I. We are friends. We cannot do this alone. Together—it’s a good word.The water is reflective, and shiny, but not as shiny as light. The water is clear but not as transparent as air. It shimmers. It waves. It ripples. Pull, release. Hold on. Let go. Breathe.
I cut through the water again and again. Slice, breathe. Slice, float. Hold on. Let go.
There is a nothingness about the water. Yet there is substance. What parallel can I find? Perhaps sun-warmed jello. I imagine that I am swimming in a giant pool of warm colorless jello. I am the only color in this jello. I bob and glide through the jello. Pull, release.Rhythm. Movement. Power. Is it about water, or is it about life?
The water cradles me. I enjoy her touch. I am lost in her arms. Hold on. Release. Hold on. Let go.
It’s a familiar song. Hold on. Let go. I’ve sung it before.How do I know when to hold on, when to let go? I’ve always wondered about that.
It’s one of life’s great questions: When to hold on, when to let go?I feel safe, but it may be an illusion, for life is sometimes hungry, and I’ve heard of those who have been swallowed whole.
Hold on. Let go. It’s the rhythm of life.Linda Garner