First Lesson

I don't know how it is that I've only just now come to know this poem--First Lesson by Philip Booth.  All of my Fleet Feet Tri teammates and most everyone else knows how I struggle(d) with the swim portion of triathlon.  Everyone has a weakness in this sport but at the beginning of this year I couldn't even tread water and was terrified of the deep end of the pool.  I love looking at water--it would be difficult for me to live in a land-locked state without access and view of some water body.  But being comfortable in it--away from the shore/pool edge?  That was something else. 

I became obsessed with learning to swim and getting over my fear of open water.  Thank goodness for amazing and patient coaches and friends--I would have never covered that brief distance (600m) of the Syracuse Iron Girl course without them.   The next nine months will be about increasing my comfort in the water, strengthening my skills in freestyle, and coming to love the swim.

The day after the Iron Girl I was off to a yoga retreat at Kripalu with several clergy colleagues.  Near the end of the retreat week I was able to attend a special evening offering where participants in a workshop led by Kim Rosen performed the poems that had learned by heart that week.  When I heard First Lesson I erupted in tears--where has this poem been all of my life?

It says nearly all that needs to be said about the past 8 months of my life--and, perhaps, the life I'm still growing into.

First Lesson by Philip Booth

Lie back daughter, let your head
be tipped back in the cup of my hand.
Gently, and I will hold you.

Spread your arms wide, lie out on the stream
and look high at the gulls.

A deadman's float is face down. You will dive
and swim soon enough where this tidewater
ebbs to the sea.

Daughter, believe me, when you tire on the long thrash
to your island, lie up, and survive.
As you float now, where I held you
and let go, remember when fear
cramps your heart what I told you:
lie gently and wide to the light-year
stars, lie back, and the sea will hold you.

(Photo of Cranberry Lake in the Adirondacks.  One of the many lakes I befriended this summer.)