My first swimming lesson was at Lake Sebasticook in Maine. I was young and put in a beginners’ group. The water was cold. It came to the tops of my legs. Facing the shore, it was scary to look at the big lake behind me knowing that the water was over my head. I shivered. My teeth chattered. I had to stretch out my arms toward the water, tuck my head, take a deep breath then push with my feet so I was floating. And I did it!...coming up gasping. I learned to paw the water (like a dog) while kicking my feet, and when it was my turn I did the “doggy paddle” from my place in line to where the teacher stood. After my five-day week of lessons, I passed the beginner’s test.
In elementary school, at a community indoor pool, I learned the crawl, a stroke that alternates both arms in forward movements with rapid kicking and breathing to the side. Then I learned to dive. If I fell from the edge with straight arms and fingers aimed under the water, head tucked, and my feet following last, it felt good. If I forgot to extend my legs, I landed in a hurting “belly flop.” By the end of the intermediate level I could do the sidestroke, the backstroke, and the breaststroke, and my swimming lessons stopped there.
At Crane’s Beach with my family, I rode waves. Standing with goose bumps above my waist in ocean temperatures in the sixties, I let low waves pass until I saw a big one coming and then threw myself on top of the swell. Rushed forward, tasting salt water, sinking in foam until my stomach scraped sand into my bathing suit, as soon as I beached, I stumbled up, catching my balance to push back through the incoming waves and into position …waiting.
When I was older, a woman now, for the first time my chest tightened when swimming after several strokes. I was gasping for breath. I had to stand up. I hiccupped. This pattern continued: an attempt followed by panic and disappointment.
Then in my fifties, in caring for my very ill husband, I became so run down that he took me to one of his doctors. I was dehydrated. His doctor had me sit in a large, comfortable chair where my head promptly fell against its cushioned back, and he started an IV drip. After three infusions my appearance was improved, but during the treatment I felt panic. At first I felt tightness in my chest. Then in inner vision I saw myself drowning. In the distance an ocean liner was sinking. In an agitated voice I relayed this to the doctor who calmly told me to look for ways to rescue myself. Hearing his quiet calm had an immediate affect. I don’t remember how I got to shore (perhaps it was only by my intent), but I returned to the present time settled and relaxed.
Only when writing this did I consider the grace of my being brought to a doctor who understood that inner visions have unique reality.
Years later, in India, a doctor’s comment about the benefit of walking in water led to my search for a hotel pool that offered swimming for non-guests. On my first visit, I walked two laps of the forty-foot pool then swam two, repeated this once but then was too exhausted to swim more. I did notice that my chest didn’t get tight. Each time I returned I increased my distance. My daughter in America sent goggles so that now I could swim straight, following the lines on the pool bottom. Then for months I couldn’t return. On my first day back, I set a goal: ten laps of swimming that with walking would actually be twenty laps. By the sixth lap my muscles were tired; I focused on breathing so that I didn’t swallow water and choke, which would cause me to stand. By eight laps I thought maybe I couldn’t do this. By nine I determined that I would and pushed my muscles, repeating to myself, “I will do this.” When I finished lap ten, so exhausted that I could barely heave my shoulders over the pool edge, with my arms shaking, supporting me, I burst into sobs. I had proven that I could swim free of a former, past life fear of drowning. In the steam room, I lay on the wooden boards, limp and smiling.
Recently I returned with a new friend, Ana, a pilgrim here for three weeks, who I invited because she said that she loved to swim. I didn’t know that she had taught swimming. In the pool, when I looked for her and didn’t see her, I realized that she was swimming the full length under water. Her energy furthered my healing. My laps kept feeling easier. I had the new thought that the water was my friend. By the last few laps I had a second new thought—“I could fall asleep swimming.”
My realization is, “We are powerful beyond what we believe. Someone else may help us remove a block, but in the end, it is we who decide if it will be a “yes” or a “no” in accomplishing a challenge.