In the midst of the storm, I feel small and helpless. There is fear that the storm will overcome me.
I know of the danger in advance, but I ignore the warnings to back away. Instead, I hunker down. That is when the floods start, conflict swirls in all directions and visibility is reduced to nothing.
My heart pounds. I struggle to catch my breath, to make logical choices, and to know how to care for me and those around me.
And then I remember back to the time when as the hurricane developed I watched it from above. I saw it’s wild bands expanding, its dark center churning. From above I could see its boundaries. From above I noticed clusters of calm, bright sky swirling in the darkness.
In every storm since, I have acknowledged that I have a choice to turn away and even when I neglect that choice, I can find calm within the bands of chaos if I can just remember flying above it.
Instinctively, as I get caught in the tugging, dragging, pulling pressure of the rip tide, I tense, tighten, and fight for control. I can’t see it but I struggle violently against this force that seems bigger than me. Then, just when all seems hopeless, I let go. I allow the tide to carry me.
Suddenly now I am floating on its surface instead of kicking against its hold on me. Instead of feeling I have lost control, I trust the waters to carry me.
Just then the fighting stops. When I release the resistance, I gain my freedom.
The current carries me farther and farther out but I relax more and more into the rocking motion of the water and the excitement of going somewhere new.
And then the current changes. I gradually float closer to the shore. I arrive not in the same place but still me, having lost nothing by giving up that control.
I stand at the water’s edge now wondering what other hidden currents are calling me to let go of resistance in order to arrive at some place new.
There is a tendency for us to focus on the negative in the situations that are unfolding around us – to see the hate, the violence, the suffering, the injustices. We may see where we are and what is happening around us as a time of struggle, hopelessness, despair, darkness. We worry about what life will be like tomorrow. We may even fear hardship for our children as if the world around us is falling apart.
But our children are not afraid. They have confidence, perhaps just like we did when we were younger, that they are simply learning and evolving. They have a deep knowing that where we are today is an opportunity for them to succeed tomorrow. Those who are following their internal GPS are filled with hope.
So maybe instead of fretting about the politics, being angry about the hate and violence, and focusing on what is wrong or lacking, we are meant to relax into this darkness so that we can discover the light and have confidence in our children to know the way. Maybe what we see happening around us and to us today are actually the stepping stones our children need to lead us all to happiness, peace, and universal love tomorrow.
When out of balance, my body knows suffering, strain and illness.
It goes along with the plan for quite some time until systems become so taxed that it begins to breakdown, accelerating the natural limitlessness of this container.
And still I push on, the ego shouting louder about value and emotions crying for purpose.
Desperate for ease and repair the body collapses.
Foolishly, I believe that this is the only way.
Until I start to listen.
I hear my body’s call for balance now long before exhaustion.
I put down the baton and slow the doing.
I rest.
And I rest.
And I rest.
Sometimes it’s hard to turn off the voices of the doing, the voices of the wanting.
But it is in the space of rest where the tiny voice inside of me reminds me that greater value and purpose is born of nurturing.
Of nurturing this body, this mind, this heart.
Not just feeding, but honoring and loving, all of these aspects of me equally.
In this space, the desire to do and be something blends with the peace and stillness and then it becomes crystal clear that I need nothing more.
It is in the quiet space of rest where I am most powerful, most beautiful, and undeniably most complete.
Snowflakes are gently falling, wet, heavy, cold. The air is still. Yet, as if aligned with a predetermined path down, they fall, curling and dancing on invisible threads. How beautifully and carefully they weave the fabric of the newly formed blanket of white.
The landscape now changes. Familiar objects and colors fade as I grasp for their memories. Each flake masking more and more of what I know, as more of my roots and my foundation fade.
They blur my vision as they spin and race to weave the blanket. They only create the illusion that what I know is no more.
For when I pause to breathe, I see. These dancing flakes inspire a new kind of looking, as if through a clouded window that needs to be cleared. My breath the cloth that wipes the window clean.
Faith reminds me that I know where I am, who I am, even as all I know disappears under the blanket.
And then, almost as quickly as the storm started, the flurry ends. Almost as quickly as they appeared the flakes melt away.
With this new moment, the sun shines. With this new moment, rays of light now dance on the same threads that wove the blanket.
Once more I am reunited with the familiar. Finding my roots and the landscape just as I had left it – once buried, never lost.