I took some time to gear myself up a bit, and swam out to the lava point at White Rock Beach. I had been practicing snorkeling in the shallows — never having been a water person, further and deeper can bring me closer to the edge of comfort, and unfamiliarity with the techniques and the gear kept me diving, rising, being pushed in by the waves, and drawn back out by the wave-return.

On my last dive in the sandy beach area, down 15 feet or so, I rushed toward the sandy bottom right above a small school of fish. This was the first life I had seen underwater, and though dull by Hawaiian standards, it was sharp and warm with delight: first contact, like a first kiss.

Wajih had told me that the rocky point at the end of the scalloped bay was a good place to dive, so I walked to the edge there, donned my fins and backed in through the waves. A few minutes' strokes brought me to the edge of the area, and I looked down…

Brilliant.

Maybe this was the second kiss, after the first surprise, the challenge, and finding it agreeable, you return for a deeper taste, a surrendering, a diving in… So here was an underwater universe, as though a whole sky full of stars had suddenly opened beneath me, a sky full of stars which were nevertheless within my reach! I took a deep breath and went down.

…

And though I could offer a litany of fishes and corals, anemone and shells, still the list would neither approach nor describe the experience. I understood. It is by taking yourself to the edge of the unknown you realize the unknown exists — and entering the unknown you take its measure.

You learn the measure of yourself as well.