Floating feeling

You want to know what I crave? Probably not, but if you want funny stories about kittens or helpful links to techie trouble shooting stuff, you’ve come to the wrong place. Without regurgitating all the stuff that has happened, I have come to a place where I need to float.

I look at my lava lamp, and I’m almost envious of the way the golden blobs of wax get to drift in glowing suspension, rolling over and over with unhurried tranquility, on a stress-free surge and drop cycle in a thick protected glass skin.

I see jellyfish. Well, not actually see them, although more architects should embrace giant seawater tanks as walls- pulsing with calm and gentle thrusts through the lukewarm azure seas. I don’t think of their propensity for violence, only the womb-beat rhythm of their journeys.

A bubble blown by a child who is still able to extract joy from such a simple act, sending shimmering rainbows as it catches a summer breeze and lifts into the very air which constitutes it.

A swimming pool in a deserted garden, the breathy hiss of summer winds in the nearby trees- the lapping of the water as it lifts you out of circumstance and connection to this world.

The reassuring words of the masked anesthetist as he counts back from ten and you are gloriously dulled to the removal of dangers, hurts and pain.

Floating, a leaf in a cool stream, a herb for garnish on a bowl of homemade soup, an insect with meniscus-swollen feet walking an impossible track.

Floating would be perfect right now.