Buoyancy?

Standing over a bathtub, I wash a small piece of 4-year-old french coastline out of the rubber tread of my salinated, neoprene, scuba boot. I find myself ascending through the weighty memories of several heavy chapters, engrossed by the arc of my digressive buoyancy. Ascending towards some kind of dancing, volumetric surface; an odd, compelling, surface, both familiar and unfamiliar. Both reflective and distorting. I suppose I have befriended the formidable and intolerable uncertainty, and wonder if its thorny presence has become a forever companion? Perhaps a necessary associate in the lives of nomads? A chilling source of power that bestows its gifts on those willing to entertain its asphyxiative qualities. When traveling in a spiral we find remnants from previous journeys that act as portals to more efficiently traverse into some kind of deeper snake skin understanding; a laborious shedding process that becomes fungal and calcified when we fall victim to stagnation. Today, I choose the nauseating circularity, as my sea legs are in need of good stretching. I believe a friend would call this a "zero" moment... It's kind of like those drawings in grade school physics textbooks where the rock at the top of the hill demonstrates the potential energy. A big inhale before an inevitable exhale. How far will THIS breath take me, and what curious spaces will its particular exhalation find?