On Jumping
As featured @ The Ionian
“Do you want to go swimming?” he asked.
My reaction to this question was a look of disbelief— disbelief that the question was even being posed. Was he not aware that jumping into any natural body of water is one of my all-time favorite pastimes? Did he not recall all the morning, daytime, evening, and moonlit spontaneous ocean jumps of the past five years— memories splashed across the jumbled canvass of college? Did he fail to recognize the yearning in my eyes after six solid months spent in landlocked locations? No. He was just being considerate. Perhaps twenty-two hours of travel topped with a tinge of culture shock was enough to quell my desire until daylight? My eyes told him otherwise.
“Those lights across the water are Paleros,” he pointed out from the beach. I could hear the baselines of pop songs being pushed from bar-side amplifiers, sailing over the empty space between the waves and stars. I thought about how utterly different the world I now stood in was from the one I stepped out of just one day before. I closed my eyes and recalled the cluttered sound of honking horns and barking dogs and the residual timbre of any big city that seems to resonate forever into the skyline of skyscrapers. I remembered sitting on top of a building in Old Bazaar New Delhi as the sun set, soaking in every last sight of busy streets, tattered structures, and soaring kites held by the delicate hands of dedicated children. I reminisced slowly inhaling every last bittersweet scent of city soot, monsoon-induced sweat and the all-pervading aromas of tulsi, turmeric, curry, cinnamon and sage. I got lost in a tangle of vibrant sensations, knot of paradoxical paradise. I remembered feeling a heart full of gratitude for every single cell India awoke within me, every single sensation it had evoked. However, I also felt content with my decision to leave, recognizing a desire in my heart that could only be fulfilled in a small seaside town in Greece.
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath. Fresh air. No soot. No monsoons barreling in from northern skies. A veil of glistening stars stood where I half expected smog. Except for the thumping waves of bass, silence consumed me in its sweet reverie. I waded into the water slowly. My breath seized by chilled waters against my bare skin. My heart racing to keep up with the evolving environment. My nerves firing. Hesitation hit me like a wall in the blue. Was I ready to jump in? To face the reality of diving headfirst into Greece? I bought a ticket here on a whim, with a gut feeling and a trust in whatever my heart had to say. I had listened. Now the time had come to act.
And so I jumped. Head first. A plunge into the inviting Ionian waters.
“It’s salty!” I yelled excitedly upon surfacing.
“It’s the Mediterranean,” he said, matter-of-factly.
It had been three years since I last swam the saline seas of the Mediterranean. Three years of travel on four different continents: of jumping into seas, oceans, lakes, ponds, rivers, streams. Three years worth of questions, answers, callings, hearings and stories… many of which still stand unfinished. Yet the very caress of the Mediterranean soothed me like the comfort of home. It didn’t matter what steps I had taken in those three years or even what steps I took to get here. What mattered was the recognition of a constant within the ever-changing environment. A constant that intertwines the tangled sensations of life.
Since that initial swim late one star-veiled night, I’ve been diving further into this small seaside town. And, slowly, step by step I see what my heart was drawn to… to the peace in each salty breeze, to a silence that allows you to listen to yourself, to an almost dreamlike reality that nourishes each intention into creation.
Never question a jump that is propelled by your heart.
