Stories Of The Han

He told me he saw God. He emerged from the pool, the heavens parted and he was saved. Or so he told me. My father’s eyes were piercing, he was not lying. I looked at him and accepted his witness. He said he had been searching for this all his life. An Answer. A Creed. A Religion. A Home. On weekdays, my rituals include a swim at Echo Deep with one of my dear friends. We wait in line outside amidst street vagrants aiming to take in a hot shower. Once we change and rinse, we don our goggles and we swim our laps. We go back and forth, each stroke costing a breath, a hold of air, a test of our core To swim is to be free. It’s the closest to what I imagine it must feel to fly. The water is resistant yet once one understands how to navigate, the body suspends itself in harmony I like to dive deep and see how far I can swim with one breath. I haven’t quite managed, yet the feeling of emergence from water is a feeling of relief, a feeling of gratefulness We continue to swim back and forth We rest We quip We