Hands and tails
Oh, March is hard. Usually it is even more emotionally hard because of all the icky anniversaries, but this one was so busy that I kind of forgot about them. Until today. Down time is a mixed blessing for me.
There was a peace knowing at least that the ex wasn't going to be at the pool today. A blessing. It doesn't mean that my mind didn't try to eat me anyway. But as I was swimming, I could just feel the thoughts arise and really pull at me. It was like I was swimming as hard as I could to get away from them, away from the memory of my past pulling me back. It was the literal memory of my past loves, their hands pulling at me, not letting me go. Stay, let me hurt you some more, because I cannot know that I exist unless I see you suffer.
And suddenly, in time with the music, I had no legs to hold onto. Only a powerful tail. Only the feeling of being large and fast and strong. And the simple knowledge in every moment that nothing was there to hunt me. I was the hunter. Sometimes we dance our animals and sometimes they dance us.
And at that point, I was in my body, in my aquablue world again, watching the graceful shadow of my beautiful hands sliding into the water and pulling me along. Mesmerizing. My own hands.
I can't swim away from those memories. They are simply part of my March. Some years more than others. This year not so much. And when I got out of the pool, I was in much less pain. And walked away with the realization that I am a predator. And know that when I turn on my memories, they will run from me in fear. Because, as the litany of fear says, "when it has passed, only I will remain."
Only I remain. Only my hands and arms, long and sleek, shadows on the bottom of the pool.
There was a peace knowing at least that the ex wasn't going to be at the pool today. A blessing. It doesn't mean that my mind didn't try to eat me anyway. But as I was swimming, I could just feel the thoughts arise and really pull at me. It was like I was swimming as hard as I could to get away from them, away from the memory of my past pulling me back. It was the literal memory of my past loves, their hands pulling at me, not letting me go. Stay, let me hurt you some more, because I cannot know that I exist unless I see you suffer.
And suddenly, in time with the music, I had no legs to hold onto. Only a powerful tail. Only the feeling of being large and fast and strong. And the simple knowledge in every moment that nothing was there to hunt me. I was the hunter. Sometimes we dance our animals and sometimes they dance us.
And at that point, I was in my body, in my aquablue world again, watching the graceful shadow of my beautiful hands sliding into the water and pulling me along. Mesmerizing. My own hands.
I can't swim away from those memories. They are simply part of my March. Some years more than others. This year not so much. And when I got out of the pool, I was in much less pain. And walked away with the realization that I am a predator. And know that when I turn on my memories, they will run from me in fear. Because, as the litany of fear says, "when it has passed, only I will remain."
Only I remain. Only my hands and arms, long and sleek, shadows on the bottom of the pool.