He hates the water. He hates the darkness. He hates the box. He hates the time. But he knows it makes a difference.
People notice it at work.
I push into the center of the tank, buoyed by skin-temperature water. My body finds its natural position, my left arm bent toward my rib cage, my fingertips a light reminder of physicality, while my other limbs splay and vanish into nothingness. I listen for my lion's breath. Nothing, only the vague physical awareness of my rib cage rising and falling, displacing the fluid on my stomach. I slow my breath, making it shallow.