Sauna

I went to the sauna. Two rounds. Over 90 degrees. About 15 minutes each. Then the outdoor air, below zero. Half-frozen water reaching past the knees. A cold shower.

What remained was not the intensity itself, but how little resistance there was in the body.

In the heat, I didn’t feel “hot.” Warmth was comfortable. It was received, absorbed, used.

The second round of cold came more naturally. Not through effort, but because the body had become familiar with the rhythm.

Inside the sauna, I noticed my breath. Warmth entered low in the body. Moved upward through it. And left naturally through the top of the head.

No deliberate guidance. Just movement.

Heat was not an external stimulus. Cold was not a contraction to be fought. They came. Moved through. Left.

What remained was a quiet trust: when the body is not forced, when it is truly allowed, it knows how to metabolize intensity.