Sunday Swimming Ritual

First, there is the fear. It curls around me as I edge my way down the steps to the water. My brain plays showreel of images: a seal taking a bite of my belly, my body being dashed against the rocks, sucked down by a whirlpool of water. I push on towards the ladder, knowing that the images will evaporate once I hit the water.

 Shock and Awe

Then comes the shock. As I lower myself down the ladder, rung by precarious rung, the water begins to bite. When I run out of rung, I push myself into the water and all the breath leaves my body. I keep pushing, out, out into the open sea. And surrender myself to awe, at the expanse of sky above me, at the expanse of sea all around me. And my body floating in it. I am privileged to be cradled by water, to float on the edge of vastness.

Guillamene Cove
The place where I do my Sunday ritual. Image from http://www.outdoorswimming.ie

Then the thread snaps, and it’s time to go in. A sense of urgency returns as I make for the ladder, for the steps that blur into each other, with a handrail so low that it’s submerged by water. But now is the time for warmth, as life returns to my numbed limbs. I wrap myself in the blanket of my towelling robe. And I wrap myself in a blanket of banter. 

Sea Swimming Community

I am surrounded by a community of people brought together by water: some to swim, some to dive and some just to watch. They bat remarks back and forth, about the water temperature, the weather, the state of the nature. Laughter breaks out often. No names are needed: the language of water is enough. This is not a place of worship, yet I fancy I can hear a whisper of the divine.

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