Cocoon

Every one needs to be pampered now and then. My turn. After all, it was my birthday. One particular item on the spa menu stood out. The “Aromatherapy De-Stress Cocoon” caught my eye. Everyone knows what a massage or a facial is. Relaxing, perhaps, but... blah. “I’ll take the cocoon thing.”

I didn’t even have to try to relax. Wrapped in hot, damp, salt-infused towels (that smelled like the ocean), and encased in plastic wrap (like some sort of special left-over) it just happened.

I was afraid the whole experience would be ruined by a voice in my head saying, “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE RELAXING. SO RELAX, ALREADY.” My mental coach going all neurotic on me. And then, of course, I wouldn’t be able to.... But no. That prophesy (thankfully) went un-self-fulfilled.

Cradled in my cocoon I puzzled, in an insouciant way, over what exactly had flipped the switch. Maybe it was the ocean thing. The smell, the sensation of floating... We humans have a profound love, indeed, an un-erasable longing for, the ocean (from whence we arose). After all, we carry it in our veins, pump it through our hearts. Zero point nine percent. Rhythm of the waves... Rhythm is our life. Our joy.

It occurred to me that at one time I had been completely encased in salt water. For nine months, to be precise. Maybe that’s what it is, I thought. I’m remembering that time. Delightful.

What it must have been like to leave. Maybe I’ll remember that, too, when the attendant comes to unwrap me. Maybe I was ready then. Much as I am ready now, I thought as my limbs grew tired of stillness and longed to move.

“I looked into the hospital nursery,” my mother had said, a favorite little tale she liked to tell on my birthday, “And there you were- moving your little arms and legs around, more than any of the other babies...”