Underwater

I breathe normally, but I feel like I’m underwater. At work, at home, in bed, I’m never on the surface, but just below it. It’s like I’ve been holding my breath for 39 years, staring at life through a liquid-air interface. I want to breathe out and in again. I’m out of my element.

I’m always in my own way. I cannot pass myself. Everywhere I look “I” block the view. We fit in the same space. We are like opposites sides of thin sheet of paper. Who is this person who won’t leave me alone? Or maybe it’s me who won’t let him go.

Something is wrong. Everything is wrong. Can we retreat from untruth when everything is untrue? No, we can only simplify the lie…and hope that between the lie and the not-knowing there is a letting go.