How I Find Heaven

Sometimes I get lost in a rush of words. My tone changes, becomes harsh, almost metallic. My language is a train relentlessly laying the tracks before itself. What I want most then is for someone to say, "Honey, take a breath. What are you feeling?" Most often it's fear. Fear is a skinny dude with big guns. I shouldn't personify by gender. Fear is like the dust in Phillip Pullman's marvelous fantasy triology. Like coal, settles in my lungs. Since I gave my notice at my job, have noticed more surges of speech. Breathing is the best thing. Since breathing deeply on my own is not my strong suit, swimming helps. I become amphibian. Last week, spent forty-five minutes by myself in a huge hotel pool in a Wenatchee, the water already warming. Lost myself not in words but water. How I find heaven.