Sometimes, I can just float.
I don’t need to think my way into or out of anything. My breath does it for me.
How do we clear a cluttered mind? I think about how spacious the human mind was before the written word. How gray matter must have been able to spread out and float, like I do now in a rooftop pool watching a furry moon.
(I know, I can’t write this and be in a pool, but stay with me… ;)
On the other end, near the light, there’s a woman learning how to float. Her spotter is telling her to relax, but she keeps bringing her chin to her chest and curling up. And in that moment I remember my mother teaching me to float, asking me to trust her and lay my head back and look at the sky.
“Just breathe, Jackie. Breathe.”
And later, when I’d learned how to swim but got caught up in a thick cycling wave at Jones Beach, her voice was there at the shore. “Jackie. Don’t fight it. It will take you in.” And I relaxed, and it did. Emerging waterlogged, with a big pile of sand in my suit, and noticing the difference– how heavy I felt then, when just before I landed I was so light.
It’s hard to float when you’re crunched up looking at your feet. Easier when you're in sync with the sky. Years ago, when I was training for a triathlon with the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, we were taught that in a moment of panic or exhaustion, turn over and look at the sky. And it worked. Still works. Taking in that expansiveness, you yourself expand, somehow becoming one with the wave, and not something that sinks.
Trusting the water, trusting my body, trusting the moon, I place my hands behind my neck, my elbows wide, like I’m on a float. I cross my ankles and straighten my legs and stretch out my sides and I am another shape entirely. Another body. I don’t lose my float.
I gaze at the moon—the cloud cover makes it look like it has grown hair, but still it glows. And the water lulls me. I am in that space between the surface and the depths. Feeling held and at peace, I can close my eyes and still feel safe. I am still and I am floating.
I came up here needing a way to clear my head. Turns out, I didn’t have to think my way out of it. I just had to float. Trust the wave. Trust the breath.
Just breathe, Jackie.
And that is how I got today’s affirmation: Sometimes, I can just float.
Practice “Floating”
Find a supported seat, or lie down.
Place both hands gently behind your neck, and let your elbows fall open, like you're floating or sunbathing—relaxed and safe. Imagine you are being held by water, or by the warmth of the sun, or the glow of the moon. Let your body soften into this feeling.
Close your eyes. Breathe gently into the back of your body—your shoulders, the space behind your heart, your low back.
Let the breath rise to your heart center.
Now bring the breath higher—into your throat, your jaw, your cheeks. Breathe into the space around your head, as if your thoughts could float above you and dissolve.
Let each breath become a gentle wave—lifting, loosening, softening, settling.
What if stillness could hold you like this?
What if you didn’t have to do anything but receive it?
Let yourself stay here for a few more breaths, allowing in these waves of stillness.
Write (Down the Page)
When I need to clear my head, I ____________________________
The last time I trusted the water, I ____________________________
One memory I can float with today is ____________________________
Reflect
We often try to think our way through overwhelm. But sometimes, the mind doesn’t need more input. It needs space. Trust. Breath. The wave that seems to be pulling you under might just be the one carrying you back to shore—if you stop fighting it.
This week think about moments in your life when you were learning to float—literally or metaphorically. Who was there? What helped you release?
Thank
Thank you, Breath.
Thank you, Water. Thank you, Moon.
Thank you, Trust.
Thank you, Mom.
Thank you all for being here, for listening and reading. Wednesdays Embodied: Memory class explores the way the brain clears its debris. Join me for a guided journeying and embodied writing prompts 12 pm EST. Here’s a link for a pop-in class. We have a few more weeks left in this series–I’ll keep it open until the next begins. We’ll start again in September with Fear as Muse!
And, FYI my debut poetry collection comes out August 5th: First Look by Jacqueline Henry. You can google it for your favorite bookseller, or message me for an autographed copy. (I’m still figuring out how to put it on my website- Faith-in-Form.com. It will be there soon!)
Love,
Jackie