Art by Sacha Irick
The sea interacts with the human body in mysterious ways.
To those whose lives revolve around di-hydrogen monoxide — aka water — there is a certain point below the surface known as “neutral buoyancy.” At a specific depth, your body’s density matches the density of the water surrounding it, causing the sea to cease trying to reject you or draw you deeper into itself.
At this point, an individual’s body is suspended, weightless in a solution bearing similarities to the amniotic fluid in which we all began our lives.
Most of my time in the ocean is spent at the surface, riding waves created by the energy pulsing through its depths. However, every chance I get to dive below the surface, I open my eyes to the world around me.
Billowing clouds erupt above me as the waves crash over my head. The muffled sounds of the underwater world overwhelm my senses with thundering crashes and echoing crackles.
The shadowy forms of rocks, fish and kelp take the shapes of sea monsters and mermaids in my imagination.
Then, when the burning in my lungs reminds me of my mammalian restrictions, I exit the liquid world to flood my veins with oxygen once again.
Those moments of pure peace and zero gravity teach me how important it is for me to get physical, mental and spiritual rest.
But what that looks like in each individual area of my life is a capricious variable — just like the sea.
I’ve found that the concept of neutral buoyancy is so difficult to achieve in my life on land.
The currents I live in seem to be ceaselessly ebbing and flowing, and I’m constantly fighting to either reach the surface or remain below it.
Sometimes I long for neutral buoyancy, to no longer strive for balance but to be suspended in life, held by grace, to be at peace with my surroundings and dispel the worries that pull at me like a tug-of-war between tides.
I’d like to just be, and not wonder where the tide is taking me. I want to simply be present in the present and be released from the control of the past and the future.
However, as I think on it more and more, those places of peace and neutral buoyancy are so sweet primarily because of the contrasting rush of the currents surrounding me.
If the oceans ceased their circulation, the life within them would become stagnant. Then everything would die and the sea would lose its beauty.
My life is a constantly flowing maze of currents, and it will probably always be so. It can be pretty exhausting, but I think it’s a good thing, as long as those moments of calm and balance can intercept me before I careen into chaos on the causeways of life.
The coming and going and pulling and tugging create balance in a unique way and promote a healthy exchange between all living organisms.
If my life achieved perpetual neutral buoyancy, it would be sweet for a very short time, but then it would become stagnant.
Then, the beautiful moment of balanced peace, which is meant to be only a moment, would turn life into a festering pool of complacency.
There are two seas in the Middle East located very close to one another called the Red Sea and the Dead Sea. The Red Sea has a constant circulation of water and nutrients through its length.
The Dead Sea has no outflow, and its still waters are thick with too much salt and devoid of the vibrant life found in the Red Sea. Look at your life in the context of these two seas.
Do your plans and dreams flow freely like the life-giving blood through your veins, or are the arteries of your life clogged by over-commitment to the point of an imminent heart attack.
Yes, a body in motion tends to stay in motion, and a body at rest tends to stay at rest. But that doesn’t mean a body should be only in one of either. We need to learn how to be busy, but also how to take time to just BE.
As you find yourself diving under the chaotic swells of daily life, you will discover that the ability to rest beneath these waves can give you the boost you need to overcome the challenges waiting at the surface.
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Follow Akela Newman on Twitter: @AkelaRenae
