Scent of Magnolia

The key to floating in water is not to move. But the trick is to not stiffen your body or lock into a frozen pose. When your muscles are strained, the balance is kiltered and you will begin to sink. So you have to remain loose, let your body sit on the water and move with it like a fallen leaf on the surface of a lake.

It's frustrating though -- frustrating to feel yourself rise and fall and know that the only way you can maintain your victory is to do nothing. Some people will tell you to arch your back, straighten your spine -- but when you do that the water rolls over your face, threatens to get into your mouth and sinus. Nothing fatal, of course - but it's the sort of thing that makes the act of lying loose and doing nothing just that much more difficult.

So you stay there, staring upward to the sky -- aware of the meniscus in your peripheral sight and the elements against your skin. It amplifies every sound. You hear so much when your ears are underwater, but to remain afloat, you cannot move to react. You must listen. You must.. hear.

      It's supposed to be relaxing.
      It's supposed to be calming.
      Zen in a bathtub, satori in a pool.

But the thing is, when you're floating there - you the leaf, passive in a world not your own, everything loud as life without the freedom to flinch, to move, to do anything at all ...it's kind of unnerving.

         But it's the only way to make it work.
         ...It's the only way to keep from sinking.

I don't know.. maybe it's just me. I find it hard to just let a pot simmer without stirring it. It's hard to not watch the water until it boils. It's a very difficult proposition for me to achieve something by not doing anything, even when I know that trying to do too much has often been my quickest path to downfall.

But I don't want to sink. And I don't want to drown.

So I'm going to stay here - unmoving. Loose and relaxed (as best I can be). I'm going to trust in the balance. I'm going to rise and fall.