Day six over ninety degrees.
Bedroom air blows me hot out of sticky sleep. Slowly I become aware of something else. The neck. It has somehow frozen on the ice pack I lay on so that now it does not move without pain. I sit. Bend one ear to one shoulder. Think about water. Pond water. Morning stillness, quiet heat and the blast of day sun to come.
I rise to the coffee grind grumblings and car. Head mumblings follow.
I do not know whether the head will speak louder in opposition to the swim spirit. Sometimes it rebels for days with lightning bolts firing rockets through the brain warning me it is supreme, not I, and I should take heed of its control over me. It gives me hints of its presence when I want to forget just who is in charge of my life. Rumblings of migraine thunder.
I go anyway. Risk. I plunge into spirit. Water goddess takes me into deep. Balance. Strokes rhythm into me. She does not take away pain. She speaks more of it. Knee cap and femur disagree, clavicle at shoulder joint, “you need more fluidity in your interactions.” Hip, quiet nagging at spine, sacro-iliac, like an incessant child.
Body is life. It is unhealed world we have created around us. We cannot escape. We learn to live with body inside a space where we hold our history. Where we feel held.
Water held us in womb before beginning.
Walden holds me now.