Filling My Gills

We used to swim in the rain as children. It was magical really—the drops as they fell on the water, the thunder, the lightning. It doesn’t sound like a good idea, as I write it, but I had my heart on swimming today even though it rained.

My friend who has her Masters in public health from UCLA advised me to get the swine flu shot. Almost in horror she gasped, “You work around all those kids…you are bound to get it…we are all bound to get it.”

A counselor at a meeting today was talking about the student’s attendance. She said, “Those kids that were standing out in the rain today are going to be sick tomorrow.”

So I agonized. I did use a lot of Kleenexes today—maybe I shouldn’t go swimming, my hair wet for class walking through the rain. Is there even a connection about rain making you sick? Or is it an LA thing, where the world stops when it rains!

When I found out my gay best friend died it was pouring that night I went for my walk. I listened to Diana Ross and Sheriff’s “When I’m With You” for the entire hour or more I walked in the rain. It didn’t even bother me that my tennis shoes were skwishing water with each step. It seemed fitting that I should be drenched. I was between worlds, my legs moving, my heart half in bardo.

As I dove into the water this afternoon, I was escaping the animal world for a moment, filling my gills. Steam was coming off the surface of the water. The pool is always warmer than the air when it rains—a big, hot bath. I am between worlds, the water world beneath me, the clouded sky above me. Moving in the amniotic fluid of the womb, swimming with my sister in the rain again, breathing out the day under water, popping my head up for breath, continuing my day as I walk with my wet hair in the rain.