There really is something about water.
Like the millions who came before me, looking out across the Ocean — reminds me that I am a part of something much bigger than me. This part of the hydrosphere, the familiar wild and calm of waves — is both magical and terrifying.
That something about water, being both soft and hard, with the power to nourish and devastate — reminds me of my mum.
I cannot swim, which is kind of ironic for a water baby — Pisces fish like me.
I only ever dive into water during REM sleep.
When that happens — I wake up with lungs full of the Ocean,
still breathing and not quite sure how,
wondering if I’ve been holding my breath all night — trying not to drown.
I don’t know if my mum could swim, I don’t recall ever asking her.
I do know — my mum was the only body of water I’ve ever been able to breathe in.
I never had a christening, but I guess — I have never needed one.
I was baptised in the womb. My body has baptised two sons.
My birthright is the instinctive knowing that somehow — mum would never let me drown. When my heart gets as heavy as an anchor, I breathe slow and let it be. I’m grateful for those merciful nights when I visit mum in my dreams — and she reminds me how to breathe under water.