I am in a blue swimming pool where most of what is buried inside of me floats out. Around my hands, and the wavy blur of watery feet, my body surrenders; the truth wanders forward and the desire to put words into my thoughts takes ownership in the morning ripples. A dragonfly zooms across my head. It looks at me as it lands on the cemented walk around the pool, then it soars overhead again reminding me of the folklore that when it appears transformation is about to begin.
The water shows me both the buoyant and dormant years. Life washes into dirt and time, and when life is washed in water the dead cells get sloughed off and the secret self emerges. In this pool shame disappears. There is only truth to the self as weightlessness tells me to abandon the burden of despair and the pushed down part of this life.
My hands and feet disconnect from me and they are images in waves. I invite my past to my mouth. I say to the images and memories that play over and over that it’s done and let’s get to the mind words that play in the depth of my consciousness and tell about the secret self.
I am alone in this shell of blue and water and palm trees that stare downward at me. Two secrets that I own paddle with my shame and my youth. In this element my freedom is private but my voice is loud. The experiences of having lost over one-hundred pounds ten-years ago and my son David’s father who has never owned up to having fathered him are on the wings of the dragonfly. I own the experiences. They belong to me. I held them both close and protected them from the rest of the world for many years; they were my secrets.
In water I bloom. In water I find freedom to not have a body or a history or a life. In water I just am. In the float and the splash life just is and there is no one to tell me how to dance on my toes in five-feet of water or to swim or to get out and go back to life on land. Then talking to me becomes easier and so my body has less weight in the water than on the street, but I wonder about the weight on the man who abandoned his son and when he goes into the pool is it get easier for him to put his thoughts into words. I can’t be his revealer; at least not now. As his family grows and they think of him as pure and perhaps like water is to me right now? Did he tell them that forty-one years ago he had a son outside of his marriage and that he lied to the young woman about the status of his marriage and a child resulted in that affair?
I see many dragonflys over his head: Wings with stained glass pinks and blues, and the hovering nightmare of getting found out as he keeps his secret must make his dip of relaxation in a pool null and void. And so what I realize the best thing to do is to talk about my life, my secrets and leave the names of others out. The water is my creator and the blue is the eternity when my eyes close and there is only life on a continuum. In rhythm the tiny waves roll like the ticking in time and the cycles of evolution.
I am a dragonfly. The water tells me that I have a finite life like the flying creature. I am a messenger to my mission in the decades promised to me albeit limited like my water soaring dragonfly that has wings with colors and see-through designs for changing; and just like the dragonfly I have water.