I launched my ten-year old body off the raft at the Blue Mounds State Park lake into paradise -- the cool, pre-nitrate clear, exhilarating water. Under the surface I gyrated like a dolphin -- whirling, twirling and pirouetting as only an expressive young child can compose. On the way up to refueling my air, I became disoriented and cracked my head on the firm underside of the raft and lost my bearings temporarily. I panicked briefly then emerged above the lake's surface with a greater appreciation for water than when I had submerged. The lure of water is strong with me. It has been a basic element during significant periods of my life. It fills most of the earth's surface; it constitutes the majority of a human body; without it we die. Likewise, it resurfaces in my life as assuredly as an ocean tide. While pondering this truth recently, I read a quote by my sister Freya in a review of her recent book of poems, "My Only Home", in part her celebration of the comforts of swimming. She says: (in water) "...you are so totally supported but free to do what you want...the ideal mother." Freya's summary fit my feelings perfectly -- water represents safety and freedom, two basics of human nature. Of course it does. Don't we experience our first nine months enveloped in "warm waters"? For me, that was followed eventually by summer days of merriment in the lake at the state park, often disappointed that the lifeguards would not allow us to explore by water the entire lake. When Freya became a lifeguard at the old municipal pool (adjacent to the river north of the city tennis courts), I found a new paradise. Five-cent Dilly Bars at The Hut at the end of the day were a great incentive, but not nearly as alluring as the opportunity to frolic all day in the pool. The significance of water to me is omnipresent. My childhood days of playing "pirate on the high seas" entailed building crude wooden rafts to float on the rainwater ponds in various quarries on the Blue Mounds. During travels as a young man I gravitated to significant bodies of water -- Sea of Japan, the Mediterranean, Gulf of Mexico, the Baltic and North Seas, the Neva, the Rhine and the Po Rivers. In the United States, I could not pull myself away from the mesmerizing Niagara Falls or the Grand Canyon's Colorado River. I once made a special side trip to the east coast to visit Henry David Thoreau's Walden Pond. I also believe the reason that Japanese culture so grips my attention is the relationship Japanese have with water -- in their art, engineering and landscaping. And I don't think it was a coincidence that while living in Southern California I found an apartment merely a few minutes walk from the Pacific Ocean. Finally, today, I am in an unhappy mood if I haven't had my fix at the Community Swimming Pool, an aquatic environment that masks my unavoidable clumsiness, a place of entirely personal expression, a place I refer to as "my heaven". So, as long as the waters of the world remain available, I will be free and safe and feel whole.
