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for my son
The underworld, under the water,
In the darkness of the tidal brown silt of the estuary,
Where you go in your scuba diving gear
With your eyes closed.
“You can’t see anything anyway”, you explain.
“It’s easier to feel your way with your eyes shut.”
You can’t see your air meter or wrist watch.
You must trust your partner on land with your life.
Every week you practice with your team,
Year round, even in the winter ice.
The siren call knows no season.
You are the heroes who rescue others.
You are too often called to the grim recovery work,
Bringing up lifeless bodies from the depths,
Stiff and damaged, found by groping in the dark,
Pulled up into the light as a horrific sight.
I can only imagine what it is like being down there,
All alone, blind, pulled along by the currents,
Guessing where you might be, guessing
How much time you have left before you must surface.
You who journey to the underworld so often,
You become a guide as one who knows well the murky waters,
The tidal currents of the unconscious carrying our surface thoughts along,
As if the conscious mind were in control.
You must know yourself and be secure in yourself
To make those dives down to meet your fears.
You come back to us a changed man
As one who has been put to the test and kept your grip.
I have never faced the challenge of the dark depths.
I don’t know if I could do it.
You have my respect and admiration.
I am proud of your accomplishment.
