Night Swimming

Swimming at night, I could always go longer and stronger; I could swim myself into a state where everything disappeared except the next stroke. After a few months of training, I finally made it to three quarters of a mile in an outdoor pool at a hot springs resort in the mountains. Naked except for my cap and goggles, I climbed out of the water, all my muscles quivering, and lay flat on my back on the wooden deck, feeling gravity tilt me around and around the sky and stars and all the planets. I was in the next dimension.

The other mental aspect of training is even more personal: What do you think about, all those hours in the pool, churning away, not going anywhere? I mean, transcendent ecstasy aside, swimming can be very boring. But isn’t that, ultimately, the question of our lives? What do you think about when you’re driving, when you’re shopping for groceries, when you’re taking out the garbage? That question determines everything about the quality of our lives, yet who among us can answer it with clarity?

Well, sometimes I think my usual thoughts, such as reiterations of my to do lists. I also hatch new plots for movie scripts I will probably never write, rehash moments of splendor or shame from earlier days, or come up with wild budget-enhancing schemes to supplement my income as a freelance writer and teacher (I could do a subversively feminist porn piece for Penthouse! I could sell my original acrylic paintings on eBay!).

In rare moments of higher consciousness, I substitute a mantra for this babble; I silently repeat “Rama, rama, rama,” as a yoga book I read suggested. Gandhi died with these words on his lips, and I figure if they were good enough for a saint, they’re good enough for me. Other times I use one of the Hebrew names for God. I figure it’s better for me to have any of these thoughts circulating through my body-spirit than the badly programmed comedy channel that usually plays there.