I am now a diver. I dive in. I've gone from being very scared indeed and waiting hours (days, actually; weeks) and not diving in to being a bit scared and diving in within the count of ten. So far, the water has been warm and clement. Today, I felt the change. And what I've noticed is this: the dive is quite a thing. First, there's the tip, the point of no return. That's what has to have happened by ten. Then there's the hip lift (the lifeguards suggest it every time, and every time I do, my thighs, which tend to take the brunt, thank me). The hip lift, though, is beyond consciousness. I hear them say it and sometimes I feel that it's happened, but that time between tip and the water: nothing.
It's a little patch of blank, of nothingness. I have no way of making shapes of it. It just is. It's not long, but there's definitely a moment of oblivion. I told someone this and was asked 'is that good, or bad'. It's... it just is. I'm curious. I've never been a brilliant meditator. Moments of silence like that are rare. I'm curious what happens. Is it really a moment of black or is it terror - am I wiping out the experience of entering the water. Have I made it up? I don't know, I really don't, but it's new, and in that, fascinating.Spiritual practice is on my mind, or lack of it. Ritual. Form. Community. More on that to come.
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