My Wet Dream.

This morning, I posted a picture of the most beautiful pool I’ve ever seen.

The caption: “My wet dream. Must. Go. There.”

I’ve got lap pools on my mind. I quit my membership at the center where I’ve swum for the past two years; it’s too expensive and too far away from my new home.

I had an attachment to the luxury of the old place: the complimentary towels, the steam room, the hot tub, but then I snapped out of it—

All I need is a lane.

It’s not the bells and whistles that create the feeling I get when I swim; I do.

It’s the repetition, the discipline, the immersion and the breath that brings the luxury of feeling alive. I feel like the richest person on earth when I push off the wall, reach and pull through that first stroke. I forget where I am in space; everything turns liquid.

It’s the same sensation as love, isn’t it?

When I love, I could be anywhere in the universe: in the slums, in a palace. It doesn’t matter where I am when I’m being true, doing, being and acting from a place of love.

Love is love.
Water is water.
I am who I am, anywhere I am.
It’s the feeling.
It’s the freedom.

It’s the being, the purpose, the aliveness I feel when I’m loving myself, loving another and loving the action I’m in that makes the scenery breathtaking and breath-making.

I’d still love to swim with the waves crashing over me in Sydney, yet I know the moment I get in, it’ll feel the same, because, it is. ~Rebecca

 

 

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