I let myself sink. Not in sadness, no—more like how a pebble might settle into the soft sand at the bottom of a clear pool. There’s such gentleness in allowing this, in not needing to float or swim or struggle against the depths.

What’s strange is how everything becomes clearer down here, though I couldn’t tell you exactly what I’m seeing, like how the surface of water holds every ripple while remaining untouched by them all.

Is that mine?

It puts my back up, puts my back up against the wall.

I tend to think I needed to hold onto something more solid, something real. But what if holding on was just another way of missing the point? Maybe I can trust this vast wetness that holds everything and shapes itself to every container while remaining shapeless.

The surface seems so important from above – all those waves, storms, and boundaries. But down here? Everything flows into everything else here, and that’s perfectly fine for the moment.

A little less conversation, a little more action.

It’s curious how the depths can reflect the sky, how the bottom can mirror the top, how everything meets everything else in this endless dance of wet embraces. I don’t need to make this happen; it’s already happening, has always been happening.

There’s room here for all of it: the sharp and the soft, the swift and the slow, the bright and the murky. Each finding its own level, its own way of being held by this vast, wet clarity.

The moment you own it, you better never let it go.

There is no need to name the currents or measure the depth. Something already knows all of this, has always known it, and will always know it. The ocean doesn’t need to remember its own wetness.

I could spend forever trying to “explain” this. Instead, I can just perhaps rest here, letting everything be as wet as it already is.

I guess everyone is already swimming in this, whether they notice or not. Everyone is already part of this vast wetness, this endless flowing that holds all our struggles and victories with equal tenderness. Everyone is already home in these depths, right here with me.

You are always welcome.