What makes us swim in the dark?”

What drives us to enter the sea at night?
Even knowing that the body will react. Even knowing that the mind will try to create stories.

At first, all I could see were the lights—small, glowing buoys floating in the dark water. They felt like safety, something external, there to guide and protect.

Before entering the sea, there was preparation. A walk with conscious breathing, attention to the senses, an invitation to slow down and truly arrive. Then, yoga: stretching, warming up, creating space in the body. It wasn’t just about warming muscles. It was about creating internal conditions to move through something uncomfortable.

Entering the water at night is a shock. The body responds. The mind tries to predict. But once the first moment passes, something changes. The darkness is still there, but it no longer dominates.

The rhythm, the breathing. The fear wasn’t real. Trust. Not fighting the sea or the darkness, but moving with them. Letting the waters outside meet the waters within. Returning to the center.”

There, swimming wasn’t about performance. It was about continuing. And often, that’s what life asks of us. Not big answers. Just to keep going, feeling.

At some point, I realized those lights weren’t there to mark position. I thought of bioluminescence—simple organisms that light up when they feel threatened. The light doesn’t appear to push the darkness away, but as a natural response to life in motion. That night, our glowing buoys were doing exactly that. Each person with their own small light, and together, we made the darkness less lonely.

Maybe it’s the same with us. When we feel vulnerable, when fear appears, something in us can light up. Not to deny the discomfort, but to remind us that we belong. That we are not alone. That we can make it through.”

“And then there was the other—the group. The quiet care, the clear sense of companionship. The lights didn’t compete with each other. They added up. The shared vulnerability created something rare: real connection.

In the end, I realized that those lights I thought were coming from outside were, in fact, a reflection of what was happening within. Small lights shining in the dark, not to banish it, but to keep going.

Perhaps the question isn’t why we enter the dark.
Maybe the question is: what lights up within us when we enter?

Beatriz Dale