Towards Stiller Waters
Finding a Lost Center in a Warm Spot
Cracking open a blurry eye, I stole a glance at the still pool of water gathering around my neck. Gazing out further into the foggy mist, I couldn’t see much else. It mattered not. I found my spot again and closed my eyes. With feedback coming in from all directions, I could feel I was centering. Convergence at last, in an unexpected place.
The tub wasn’t of my favorite sort. That would be natural hot springs tucked away near the feet of remote dramatic mountain escarpments. But it was of the next best class - small resorts that masterfully combine the essential elements of steamy hot waters in calm and beautiful settings with enough customs, protocols, and etiquette to remind you that you’ve arrived in a much different place.
Tucked away in an obscure spot on the outskirts of the city, I’d somehow stumbled across the hidden gem without even meaning to. Everything felt right. The water against the nape which at first seemed scalding but then felt just shy of perfect, the small half-washcloth half-hand towel draped over my head that crept slowly down the temple as it slowly gained extra weight from a glistening forehead, and a tub positioned perfectly within space to bring harmony to what would have otherwise been a collection of disparate elements.
Lazy streams of heat slowly wrapped around on all sides and gently lulled me into easier states. At such moments, when the remaining shards and fragments of the noisy, complex, broadband, high fidelity world around me start to soften, lose definition around their edges, and distill down to a set of basic amorphous shapes, I’m able to find myself again. I arrive all in one spot.
Having found center, I knew that if I were to let my mind wander, I could’ve easily transported myself in spirit far out across the sea and taken a mental plunge into one of my favorite soaks in Japan. Like so many other hot spots around the world, the tub I’d found myself sitting in that particular dawn must’ve seen its heaviest traffic late the night before, long after I’d gone to bed. But at that early morning hour, just past five, I had the place to myself. Capacity, many. Occupancy, one.
Despite a half-baked worry floating around the head that a long line of half-awake half-dead crusty old bed-heads would soon march in, it appeared no one else in that time zone had yet found themselves inspired to be up out of bed.
As for me, it had taken only one step out of bed on the way to the bathroom to know that there’d be no better use of the golden gift of time than to soak in silence.
With remnants of California blood still coursing through my veins, the 4 o’clock handle on the nightstand clock felt like a late start. Well along my journey out west across the Pacific, I’d resigned myself to the fact that there wouldn’t be much success in shaking it off. Long ago, I’d been recruited to the early riser club and, once admitted, it’s a lifelong membership. Latitude and longitude mattered not.
Despite not yet being able to make out some of the basic symbols and signs of the new language that had been laid out before me, I’d somehow found my way down to the right spot. Passing through a set of hanging dividers, an empty shoe rack greeted me on the right. Perfect. First customer of the day. Pulling off the ill-fitting house slippers that seemed to come in only three sizes too small, I couldn’t have been more thankful.
Beyond the threshold stood an empty room. On the far wall sat a rack of empty storage bins. I shed the rest of my earthly possessions, all but a small hand towel, and found myself ready for the next step, towards the frosted sliding glass door that’d separate earthly from the ethereal.
Gently sliding the door aside, the sight that lay before me was almost too perfect to behold. An immaculately clean entrance mat sat dry at my feet. A long row of sit stalls not yet tainted by others beckoned me over for a pre-soak scrub down without the need to negotiate even a single set of sloppy footprints crossing a spotless tiled floor. Sparkling clean, looking every bit as new, the facility had just been drained, mopped, scrubbed and buffed by an overnight crew. An immaculate tub sat beyond with an irresistible siren call.
The brimming anticipation of stepping through the gateway and into such blissful morning glory wasn’t enough to keep me from pausing though, if only for a few seconds, to take in the moment and fully cherish an untainted sight.
Bracing myself, in case someone had somehow slipped through without leaving a trace, I entered the room and closed the door behind me. Standing perfectly still, all was quiet. Empty.
After a pre-soak scrub down, I pitter-pattered over to pool, slipped in, found a good spot, and closed my eyes. With each slowing breath, I could feel my shoulders drop a bit more as each pulse of residual tension released from body, mind, and soul to ebb out into the surrounding waters. A few minutes more and old paths and circuits that had been long left for dead would be reawakened.
But first, some work needed to be done. A few lingering leftover bits and scraps still floating around in my head needed to be acknowledged before trying to let them go. Surely I’d find myself wanting to clutch onto a few, tuck away a couple thoughts for later contemplation, or if I was lucky, revel in an epiphany. But hopefully I’d be able to let all of those go too so that they could freely float away towards the drain at the far corner of the pool.
With time, I felt compelled to crack open both eyes. Turning my head slowly to the side, I could see that the sit-stalls over near the entrance had all the right signatures: short and squatty contoured plastic stools with finger slots on top, shallow wash bowls leaning up against the wall, backsplash-mounted mirrors, sets of three large squirt bottles (shampoo, conditioner, and body wash), flexible handheld shower heads, faucets designs that seemed to come standard with such places, and tiny little dividers that gave a little bit of psychological distance from your neighbors.
From the corner of my eye, I could see a few other vague shapes lurking out beyond. What were those dark masses looming up out of the fog over there in the corner? Opening my eyes wider so they could better pierce through the mist, I could just make them out. More tubs, more options. Mustering up the energy, I pulled myself out of the pool and wandered over to take a closer look.
With just enough space to shoehorn in, I pretzeled myself into one of the three small circular tubs and tried to make myself more comfortable. Despite all efforts to convince myself otherwise, I found my new home to be much too small for my liking. Just like the robe. Just like the slippers. I flung a few limbs over the edge and tipped my head back to rest against the back rim of the bowl. That did the trick. Easing up, I relaxed, sunk further in, and floated away once more.
After spending some time back at center, I opened my eyes again. From this new vantage point, I could see more clearly that the sliding glass door I’d passed through earlier was showcasing a few vague shapes through its frosted panes. Breathing a sigh of relief, they were unmoving. They were merely other fixtures I’d seen only a few minutes before that had mentally transported me back to Japan.
Just out of view sat a marble countertop with a set of large curving basins. Endowed with large inventories of facial tissues, Q-tips, blow dryers, razors, moisturizers, creams, and lotions, it put many other places to shame. It was perhaps a perfect score for those who rank such amenities.
Turning my attention back to the space I was in, I noticed a lonely but nice looking small pool sitting over in the opposite corner. Surrounded by a piles of rocks and back lit with the soft glow of some well-placed lamps, it looked quite atmospheric.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I pulled myself out of the barrel, took a few steps forward, and came to a cold hard stop. A shockingly slim figure stood before me. Clearly standing out in stark relief, the icy cold stare was impossible to ignore. The temperature gauge displayed a chillingly low number. A cold plunge. Clearly, it wanted some attention sitting over there in the cold dark corner alone, but was I really up for it? I started up again and made my way across the cold tiles to dip in a brave toe.
Yikes! Beautiful but shocking. Should I? Hmmm…I’d dabbled in such waters before. Quickly jumping in and out of thawed corners of frozen glacial tarns, dunking in frigid mountain lakes mid-winter, and plunging into freezing cold rivers and streams were not unfamiliar practices and had often proven to be aesthetic temptations too great to pass up.
But after such a nice blissful morning setting my mind straight and letting the hot waters work their steamy wonders, why would I want to make such a shocking pivot? Just to get my pulse racing and tighten up everything that I’d just gotten to fully relax?
I’d been here before. I knew what I had to do.
But then something made me stop cold in my tracks, again. Out through the slider, past the locker room, and out beyond, the world would change. I’d once again find myself fully immersed in a sensory overload chamber. I knew that there’d be an endless string of complexities to unfold and confoundments to unpack. It wouldn’t take but a few steps away from the tub to become increasingly tangled up in a new unfamiliar culture that was most definitely not Japan. That would be shocking enough.
I turned my back to the tub.
Instinctively, I knew that, at that very moment, I needed only one thing: to find my way back to center. To sink back in and float away again. That’s all that mattered. To stay and soak a little while longer, in the heat, so that I could find myself again.
