Margaret Dulaney: The Current
I met a man recently at a dinner party, warm southern wit, charming, socially confident, enough so to be able to recite a poem he had memorized while we were dining. Perhaps this wouldn't seem so surprising, given his personality, but a year prior to this dinner he had suffered a wicked-powerful stroke, leaving much of his left side no longer in communication with the rest of him. I hadn't known this man before this episode, but what seemed apparent to me in our brief evening together was the clear accessibility of his soul. If the majority of us allow only 40 percent of our true selves to show, this man revealed a good 90. How rare and lovely, I thought. It must have been that trip down the waterfall.
Let me explain.
I like to think of life as a journey down a winding river.
There will be times when the river widens, allowing us to float along in placid peace, times when we circle around in little eddies, get knocked about through the rapids, and times when we hurl down waterfalls. The gentle polishing effects of water along with the obstacles against which we rub and crack are meant to smooth away the crust and barnacles we collect along our journey. The hope is that by the end of our passage, we will be as perfectly round and brilliant as new marbles, or perhaps more like the sun and moon that are made round and shiny by their spiraling journey through the heavens.
This river course is ancient and eternal, and the destination is the same for each of us. We will all eventually spill out into the deep waters of the ocean, into enlightenment, awakening, unconditional love.
We can hinder our progress, slow it down, by struggling against the current, we can tread water in order to stay in one place, grasp at overhanging tree limbs along the way, but we will travel on eventually. This is inevitable.
Unfortunately, no matter what lies ahead, or what sort of frightening water feature we happen to be navigating, we have to pass through it in order to pass beyond it. There is a way through, this much we must believe. There is always a way through.
I think we go wrong when we say, "This shouldn't be happening to me, to my mother, brother, lover." As if to say, "we shouldn't have to travel this section of the river, it doesn't suit us." When we do this we struggle against the current, we back-paddle, we get nowhere. Eventually we will have to let go, allow ourselves, our loved ones, to pass through the difficult white water, get knocked around a bit. Perhaps it's best not to postpone the inevitable.
When we focus our attention on the past, blame some episode, some other for the unpleasant scenery through which we are presently passing, we swim upstream, struggle against the current. It's exhausting and it holds us in one place, in the very landscape we find so unattractive. I say don't do it.
All of the great religions, along with those deep, lasting philosophers, ask us to have faith in this current: the Taoists with their lovely water course way, the Stoics with their perfect trust in what they call Nature, the Christians with their, "Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself", the Buddhists with their wisdom of letting go. All of these ancient wise ones encourage the practice of allowing and letting go. I suggest we listen to them.
Every year a popular belief system rises for a brief, flashy moment that suggests that if we could only learn the secret we might have control over the current. This philosophy is fleeting, filled with half-truths, and ultimately forgettable, allowing for the next book, film, interpretation of scripture to appear, suggesting that the secret has finally been found which will allow us control over the current. I propose we ignore such theory.
Instead, let us draw nearer to those who tell us to allow the current to have its way with us, to let go our struggles against this relentless force, and believe that behind its pull is the power of Love and Wisdom. Better to listen to those voices that encourage us to trust that this current is taking us somewhere beautiful, that the stretch of river through which we are presently passing is perfectly right for us. To believe that with every turn of the river, every tumble through the torrents, every hurling trip down the falls, a little more crust gets knocked off us, allowing a little more light to reflect off of our spirits, rounding and smoothing out our craggy souls.
When my mother was passing through the difficult waters of Alzheimer's disease, I had a dream about her. She stood before me completely naked, with sparkling jewels shining throughout her body. When I questioned why, I understood that we were all are born with these precious gems inside of us, but that the dust of life builds up after so many years and clouds these jewels. I understood that it happens to all of us. My mother's disease, I was told, was polishing these gems, and they shone with great brilliance. Watching my mother go through her illness was for me at times a circling eddy through stagnant water, and this dream was a welcome gift, one that helped to release me from my worrying spiral.
Perhaps, if we could trust that our lives are meant to polish us, we wouldn't struggle so. We might so look forward to our ultimate shining, to being one more bright stone in the collection of shining ones, that we would release our hold, float out into the middle of the river, where the pull is strongest, and trust.
There is a way through, believe this. The current knows the way.