A Phosphorus Skinny-Dip
Have you ever felt the ocean? I mean, truly felt it. This might seem like a strange question, but for many people out there in this exquisite world, experiencing the sensation of saltwater lapping at their toes is but a far off fantasy. Now that, to me, is strange. Although vast, the sea doesn’t reach all corners of life. It’s impossible to imagine never having run my hands through the first layer of the Pacific while skimming along in a sailboat, plunging into the teal currents of the Caribbean, or breathing in the salt-infused breeze over the resplendent Atlantic. To feel the ocean is to experience an alternate universe that thrives in both the shallows and the shadows; the ones we see and the ones we probably never will.
I’ve been drawn to it for as long as I can remember. I suppose it’s always been a part of who I am. And who I want to be. In another life it’s perfectly conceivable that I was a mermaid—if they existed, that is. (But perhaps they do.) I feel most at ease when I’m enveloped by the ocean’s velvety swirls. It doesn’t bother me to open my eyes underwater, either. In fact, I prefer it. Sometimes I swim as far down as I can with a single breath, flip onto my back like a slippery grey seal, and float the rest of the way to the surface with eyes wide open, witnessing the sunlight streaming through the glassy top layer, igniting dusty drifts of algae in a golden spotlight. It makes me feel alive, connected, and wonderfully curious.
In the summer, my favorite hour of the day is when high tide swallows the beach whole—shells, stones, and all. Especially when it arrives, completing its calm crawl, as the sun begins to set, which, in my opinion, is the ideal time to swim. As the toasted marshmallow sand—not unlike the ones we roast on our beachside bonfires in the evening—disappears beneath the swell, subtly warming the water, it makes it easier, more enticing, to fully submerge. Some . . .