00004 · Havasupai Falls Plunge Pool
The first jump
is fast and fearful
from the wet rock ledge
under and behind the waterfall
a leap into the slipstream
then splashing into a confusion
of not air and not water
neither swimming nor flying nor landing
before the froth solidifies into the current
which shoves you toward to the shore
where all the white people blink at the Grand Canyon scenery.
Again
you swim back to the cliff wall of the plunge pool,
rest in half climber’s hold, half water float,
and look up to the top of the falls 100 feet above.
A short climb, 10 or 20 feet
and careful wet edge micro-steps to center body
with the airborne water at terminal velocity,
an obliterating white shadow of roar you step into
an instant
and there is no describing how fast
you go from air to water, the violence
of the phase change.
Again.
Return, circle, swim, climb.
But this time you dive into the unleashed stream, reckless
in its inverted free-flow the lifewater grabs
your body hand-muscled and hurls you
like a spear deep into the water, past
the thrower’s arm and into a terrifying belowdarkness.
To cry out is to drown
swim
swim to the light
up, panicked flailing crawling
towards the churning glowing foam
but pulses of water pulse you aside
the beginning unapproachable, no way back in,
and bubbling and coughing you bob to the surface
between the furious thunder of the waterplosions and the
tourists standing still in knee deep water,
they talk about their driveways and garage doors back home
and are clearly insane.
You want to shout it’s the center of the universe in there
But the sacred is secret.
Again.
On the precipice you will become a javelin, your body
in a state between unbending bone and newborn flexibility,
fear begets respect, honored to be delivered,
release
your arcing momentum dovetails
with the falling watermass
to plummet as flowing one
no slap of surface water
for there is no surface,
instead an amorphous generation of water and air and mist and gravities and earth
a nuclear reaction of waterplay
that one doesn’t hold
yet passes through
to the welcoming darkness.
No wasteful panicked breath,
just a strong heartbeat in the holding pool
deep enough that the liquid weight
pushes against your body’s buoyancy
and it’s effortless to be still,
the water immortal and unmoving,
a kick of foot and wave of hand,
position yourself 15 feet down
hovering far below the strange center
cradled amniotic and looking up
at the strange center what is this
strange center.
the great noise is diminished
as if you’ve gone deaf after cannon fire
the soft radio white noise of the universe
the darkness around is total,
no bottom no sides no stars no bubbles
only this illumined stirring of blue-greys and whites above,
galaxies and universes frolicking
dissipating as secret atom-eggs to be borne unexpectedly
elsewheres and elsetimes.
This is one of those rare times when you know exactly
how many cycles of heartbeats and breaths you have left.
This is one of those times
you are content with the countdown
before your return.
This is one of those times
your consciousness is the mere and pure whisper of
I get to witness this
floating
the smallest of pinches at the base of your throat
time to go soon
