I wrote this poem letter a long time ago,
Probably around 2017.
Don't know if it totally resonates anymore.
I think I've grown a lot since then.
But I still like it as a piece.
So I'm going to read it.
And it's called How Lightning Dives Right In,
Today at the pool house.
When I was a girl,
I remember standing for what felt like hours and might have actually been hours.
At the edge of the diving board,
My feet parallel,
Arms extended overhead with palms together,
Pointing toward the water,
Knees bent and body poised and ready.
And yet the moments became new moments which became new moments still.
And I remain paralyzed in my internal practice of the dive and ever so far away from the actual plunge.
I remember this now because today a bright-eyed child invited me to the diving board,
Eager for me to join in the new skill she had acquired.
Immediately all these memories surfaced,
And with them fearful questions.
Would I belly flop again?
Who would call for help if somehow I failed terribly?
What if I froze again forever on the edge?
These thoughts were lost as I approached the white diving board while these excitable blonde-haired seven-year-old twins chanted my nickname and chimed out their own brand of you can do it.
Before I knew it,
My feet were in the air and my head was in the water and then I was back for air with a triumphant feeling which if they bottled it would sell like hotcakes.
I was stunned and pleased,
Relieved and joyous.
Maybe this is the way I'm now choosing and can choose to live,
I thought,
In the deciding and the doing,
Instead of the wondering and the worrying.
Sometimes we must ask ourselves if we are truly open to actually having what we want.
Or if we are instead more committed to knowing that we want it by keeping ourselves at a distance that makes us feel the longing strongly,
But little more than that.
Why not?
Why not believe there are good reasons very good ones indeed and they will win over our minds and then they will capture our hearts in a prison of our own making I do not believe in the tantalizing and fixed idea of the perfect life in the distance as a focal point.
I do not believe it's siren song which wants to sway you into believing that your time is up or that you are not ready or that it was never meant to be to begin with.
I do not believe the course has been set and that there's no deviating from the beat of the militant drummer of time who likes to whisper cruelly.
I believe instead in tonight's lightning.
In the way it lit up our faces,
The woods,
The world.
I believe in its fast-acting quickness,
In the way it seizes opportunity,
In the way it dances with the thunder in such a fashion that it makes everyone take note.
I believe in its decisiveness,
In its unquestioning and unquestionable force in its power.
When you are on the cusp,
There is a part of you that is afraid and a part of you that can almost taste the beauty of that which you are afraid of.
When you open to that tender spot of being in the middle,
You might first have to bear to yourself a truth inside that trembles with the veracity of a string on a violin before its song.
And then you might come to find that you actually want to dive and that it's just that you forgot that you remember how and that you actually never had to learn because diving is not a skill.
It is an impulse,
An impulse to be immersed in life rather than on the outside looking in or even on the inside looking out.
Diving is saying yes to the flash of luminescence in the sky,
Which is so big and so beautiful.
It blinds out that distant lamp so that if only for a moment,
Nothing else matters.
Do you say yes to this moment?
Do you agree to let it light you up from within?
Do you surrender to the flow and also commit to plunging headfirst into the inviting waters?
Each moment is a new opportunity.
Each moment has a new song.
Each moment wants you to see it fully,
Feel it deeply and then surface brightly for the profound and joyful breath that explains.
I did it.
I went for it.
I am new.
I am here.
Be here with me today in the magic of the lightning and the diving and the reaffirming belief that children have that doesn't have to slow as we grow.
That knowing that it's possible.
Will you allow it?
Will you believe?
