In a scene from the movie "Children of a Lesser God," William Hurt submerges himself in a swimming pool. He wants to understand the world of his deaf girlfriend. The camera is filming from beneath the surface of the water as viewers watch the actor drop into the darkness of the pool. It appears to be night, yet a shaft of light from above illuminates him. No orchestra plays, just silence. From beneath the water we watch William Hurt as he slowly brings his hands up to his face. He has a curious expression on his face. Turning his hands . . . he feels the water . . . focusing not on sound but on a world without sound. We watch as he slowly gazes in amazement at this new world. The scene lasts for a few seconds but clearly something has been learned.

In the scene, William Hurt experiences the world differently as his body moves through a liquid environment. His reality has been changed, and for a moment, he understands his girlfriend's world, where sound ceases.

We spend the first nine months of our lives in water. We live on a planet that is two thirds water. Our bodies are over ninety percent water, so it is only natural that the sight, the sound and the feel of water tugs gently at our inner selves, and if we listen carefully, can offer glimpses of lessons to be learned.

For those of us who spend time in the water (whether it be oceans or pools), the scene from the movie was a reminder of that special place, where senses are altered, and time slows to a trickle.

Friday 4:30 p.m., it's hot, slightly smoggy. The week has been long. There's tension in the air. It seems society has one goal in mind, to leave work as fast as possible. After all, it's Friday, time to take off the suits, ties, restrictive clothes, time to relax. As I enter the on ramp of the freeway, I begin to accelerate. Thirty-five miles per hour, I glance in the rear view mirror, forty, I flick on my blinker, a glance to the side mirror, forty-five, another quick glance, fifty, there's a car approaching in the slow lane of the freeway, tension grips my body, I speed up, I'm now on the freeway, cars are racing by me, fifty-five, flip my blinker on again, another glance in the side mirror, another glance in the rear view mirror, sixty. The process continues as I work my way over to a faster lane.

I can't help thinking about what our ancestors would say about freeways, cars, and our "modern" way of life. But soon I will leave the noise, the traffic, the frantic pace, and find refuge.

Soon, very soon, I will connect with a link to the past, and will be moving, not encased in steel, but enveloped in a soft sensuous fluid called water.

WATER
There are few things in life that can cleanse the soul of freeways, of meetings, of the everyday world as fast as water. The pool I use is located at the beach. It's a fairly large, indoor public pool, with about 30% devoted to lap lanes. During the summer months when the ocean water is warm enough, I do my swimming in the ocean. But today, it's the pool. The procedure I follow is predictable: shower, head for the pool with goggles, swim cap, kick board, and pull-buoy (a device used to raise your legs while concentrating on upper body strokes). I enter the water slowly. Time is required to adjust, to adapt, to become a part of the water. I begin my routine, twenty laps doing the breast stroke, twenty using the pull-buoy, twenty using the kickboard, and twenty doing the crawl stroke. By the end of my first twenty laps a rhythm has been established. The tensions of the day are leaving. I'm swimming free and fluid, gliding through what feels like a warm liquid oil. My senses are heightened, muscles relaxed. The transition has been made, from land dweller, to water dweller, from upright to prone. For me, it is here that the swim begins. It is here that not only are the physical benefits taking hold, but something is happening at a deeper level. Somewhere inside of me I know that I am becoming a more integrated, whole person. I am swimming now for my spirit, and soul in ways that can't be described. My body and mind are operating in harmony.

When I leave the pool today, the world will look different. It'll appear to be a calmer and friendlier world. Swimming has that effect. It always has, and always will.

The idea that water promotes healing was a philosophy embraced by the Egyptians and later ritualized by the Greeks and Romans. So enamored were the Romans of bathing, that as they conquered Europe, they developed elaborated spas at sites known for their healing waters. Today, one can travel throughout Europe to places like Baden-Baden, Bath, Envian, and Wiesbaden knowing that for centuries people have been drawn to these areas to "take the waters".

Swimming has been called the perfect sport. It exercises practically every muscle in the body. It is not a weight bearing activity. Naturally buoyed by the water, stress related injuries are reduced. Those who swim often have identifying characteristics: erect postures due to a strong musculature, a "V" shaped back again, due to the strengthening of the back and shoulder muscles, an overall trim and fit appearance, and a more relaxed walk resulting from the conditioning and relaxing effect of swimming. Few sports can claim the overall benefits of swimming without the injuries that usually accompany many exercise programs.

After twenty or so laps, the swim a becomes a mantra, a meditation, back and forth, back and forth, the water gurgling as I exhale, back and forth, back and forth. Hypnotically, the bodies move, as though orchestrated by a conductor, back and forth, exhaling, inhaling, exhaling, inhaling. It is the rhythmic breathing, the forced exhaling that some attribute to the "high" one feels as a result of swimming.

Swimming (and pools of water) have a calming effect on the mind. Architects and philosophers have known, since the earliest of civilizations, that water, spas and trickling fountains help to promote relaxation and reflection. The Romans, as mentioned earlier, developed the spa (thermea) to an art form, where the public gathered not only to bathe, but to socialize, relax and meditate, with separate areas for entertainment, food and massage. Records indicate that ancient Rome itself had over 900 public baths and 13 Imperial baths. The Diocletian bathhouse covered some 32 acres, and could accommodate up to 6000 people.

Today not only is swimming used in physical therapy, but mental health experts are encouraging their clients to exercise regularly for the psychological benefits attributed to physical activity. Swimming is often the exercise of choice for those that are looking for an overall conditioning program.

From the pool, I walk back to my car, get a beach chair, and head to the water's edge. It's here, in the ocean, that scientists say life began on earth. The idea is appealing. I've been in the water this past hour, I feel relaxed, the tensions of the day are gone. If my origins are in the ocean, that's fine. The idea is intriguing, a life in water.

As with my entry into the pool, it takes time to become part of the beach environment. Time to blend with the rhythmic sound of the waves, to connect with the lovers strolling on the beach, to join with the joggers, and the children playing in the surf. The swim has relaxed me, I have left the work world, the conferences, the freeways, I have left it all. Within minutes now, the transition from swimmer to observer has been made. I am here at the ocean, the sun is beginning to set, people seem content. I try to reflect on my life, where it's been, where I'd like it to go, but I can't. The swim has had a calming effect on my mind. The intellect has given way to a deeper place within. Now I'm immersed in the rhythmic sound of the breaking waves as they hurl themselves toward the shore, only to roll back into the sea, again, then again, then again, over and over. I'm reminded of the repetition in the pool - the laps, back and forth, back and forth, over and over. Since the beginning of time, and long after I'm gone, these waves will try to reach land, then roll back only to try again.

I've traveled far today, through a world of people, and things and places, ending at the water's edge. But near the close of the day it is time to seek solace, it is time to rejuvenate, it is time to reflect. So I turn to swimming. It is the water that gives the day immeasurable value. Swimming offers the obvious health benefits from fitness to stress reduction, but there is so much more. There is that time after the swim is over, that time when things, when people, when sights and sounds are richer. That is the real value of swimming. When William Hurt dropped into the water his realty had shifted and he looked amazed. This water, which fills the earth, this water that fills our bodies holds many secrets and holds many answers. Swimmers are closer to understanding this sense of awe and amazement.

And now I have the good fortune to look out over the water and reflect on the beauty of it all. The afterglow of the swim has made this beach, these waves, these sounds special. I have faced many challenges and frustrations during the day, yet now, after swimming, I am content.

The lessons to be learned from swimming depend on the individual, and one's willingness to view water's mystery with a certain wonder, to set aside some time to enjoy the aftereffects of swimming, and to give oneself permission to dream a little, and reflect a little.

And if you find yourself at the beach one day and a swimmer is gazing out over the ocean, immersed in the sound of the crashing waves, you will know that this person has found that special place, and maybe, just maybe understands the writer Rachel Carson when she said:

Copyright 1995 By Robert L. Ross, all Rights reserved

Robert Ross can be reached by e-mail at: SanDiegoRoss@Yahoo.com   

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