2. Zen in the art of dangling

Every morning I climbed down into the pool, every morning I shivered as i entered the cold (28C!) water. Grimaced as the weight of my body coaxed my twisted spine and memory locked muscles towards their long lost healthy curve. Sighed as I resigned myself to another boring hour.

There is no order of difficulty in miracles. One is not "harder" or "bigger" than another (ACIM)

You may well ask why I persisted on this course. I was convinced that nothing I had done thus far had had the desired effect (and I promise you I had tried many talented healers and therapists). I was all out of smart ideas. One year lying on my back had hit me with a tidal wave of despair (topped off with the spume of providence) and given me the humility to trust someone else and follow their guidance.

It was humiliating and annoying to drag my sorry arse into that pool each morning. My self image had never been outstanding, but being the modern day incarnation of the Hunchback of Notre Dame took me to a new low. I had become familiar with the pattern of a brief improvement with a new treatment preceding a subsequent relapse. It was different with the hanging and floating.

Healing was slow and barely perceptible. Some times the only way I knew it was helping was when I missed a day and the slight relief I experienced late in the day was reduced. My osteopath had told me that I needed to forget doing any work for at least a year and that I would never be able to lift heavy weights again. Some big lessons I hadn't wanted to learn, but was learning now, were about commitment, surrender and patience.

Now the best part of a year is a long time to be floating daily for an hour in a swimming pool. Boredom, resentment, ennui, burning tingling nerve pain, envy, funny stories, dull muscular aches, anger, whining self pity, floated in and drifted away again. Did I mention total despair, devastation, depression and self hatred? Some of these stayed for days or weeks, some for a minute and a few, (usually the best, most poignant, profound or witty) would flicker and wane in the blink of an eyelid.

For some years I had had a morning practice. I'd gone through phases of affirmation, divination, of moaning, complaining and petitioning the lord with prayer. What some called daily meditation I renamed sitting down and worrying about stuff- and I was a skilled proponent. Now I'm not really a  slouch when it comes to the inner journey, I had learnt, practiced and taught psychological and spiritual healing techniques, energy work, Ho'oponopono and more. Not to mention taken more mind expanding drugs than you could shake a stick at.

Every step that you take could be your biggest mistake, It could bend or it could break, That's the risk that you take (Coldplay)

But physical pain has undoubtedly been one of the best teachers I have had. Years earlier, I had learned to observe, dis-identify with and release the debilitating pain of migraine headaches. With this the practice intensified. The stakes were higher. The material I had to work with was better than ever. I had little more to lose and somewhat more to gain.

I had hours and hours and hours (and hours) of time to spare and nothing better to do with it than to relax, focus on the breath, deeply accept the (apparent) fact of chronic physical, emotional and spiritual pain. To recognise the relationship between these different levels of human experience. To see the process of healing unfolding inside me in a more profound, practical and prosaic way than ever before.

And to watch people swim.