Flow

I once had a close call in the water.

There is a river near where I live in the South of France, which dries out in the hot summers to a slow trickle amongst the boulders. In the Spring it swells with the rains into a wide, deep and fast moving river. One March, a few years ago, I stopped off there with my daughter and some friends. I was amazed how high the water was. The sun was warm and the water sparkled.

“We should be careful,” I said to my friend as we decided to get in. “That’s a strong current.”

The water rushed noisily over the rocks. We walked along the bank upstream, past the blue and yellow butterflies flitting amongst the brush and willow. We stripped off and stepped into the river. The water was cold on my legs, and the current strong. We laughed with exhilaration as we gaily sailed downstream and were deposited onto the beach.

“So much fun! Let’s do it again,” we agreed. We made our way up the grassy track and entered the water another time. My friend had the good sense to stay close to the bank. I, however, drifted closer to where the current was deepest and fastest. Again we squealed with joy as we were carried downstream and my friend landed on the beach. I made to follow her, but the current swept me right past her. I went from laughing to gasping as I missed first the beach, and then another landing spot. I tried with all my strength to reach the bank, but I was being carried fast downstream, my shins knocking against the boulders as I tumbled this way and that.

The mighty weight of the water against my thigh rendered me suddenly weak, as in one of those dreams where all your power ebbs the very moment you need it. I was aware of my friends running along the bank beside me, shouting and calling. I knew of course they could do nothing. In the same moment when I drank my first gulp of water, I heard my daughter’s voice ring out clear and strong above the noise of the rushing water.

‘Mum! DON’T PANIC.”

She had the presence of mind not to panic herself. Years before she had done a demanding survival course in Utah, and she knew exactly what I needed to hear, for as I was gulping water and crashing against the rocks, I had started to panic; I was doubting my ability to make it out alive. The playful river had become a tiger.

I responded to my daughter’s direction, and, calling on some vital power hidden within me, I set my eyes on a low hanging branch fast appearing on the bend. “I’m aiming for that,” I thought, and I stopped fighting.

The current drove me towards the tree, and with everything I had, I reached and grabbed the wood, my arms and legs shaking as I pulled myself up and heaved my weight onto the bank. Trembling and laughing and crying there on the grassy earth, I gave thanks for my life.

Afterwards I faced my friends’ relief and my daughter’s fury with me for behaving irresponsibly. It was a humbling experience on every front.

I was reminded about how closely life and death are entwined and I was left full of respect for the power of water.

I remember this because recently I went through some strong times. I don’t usually think of myself as particularly anxious, but it was taking all my focus to manage the symptoms of a nervous system that had grown and developed in a state of fight, flight and freeze. The fear and anxiety which for decades I had managed to control and keep at bay, was now making itself known.

Over five weeks I befriended and tended my own anxiety, day by day creating safety, relaxing and softening the rigid encasing which had served to protect me for over fifty years.

As each day I breathed through my own fears, I noticed that many of my friends, my coaching clients and some of my relatives were also undergoing their own intense fears. Some were navigating serious health issues; another was utterly broken hearted amidst the wreckage of a break up; one was bowled over with grief at the loss of a partner; another grieving her father. One friend was made redundant as the company she worked for went bankrupt. Another was frozen with terror as she faced a financial crisis. Others were, like me, feeling the fear and anxiety which had been building up in their system over the years.

What I found was that the anxiety and fear in my body were a portal to peace. Feeling the fear and breathing into it has made me feel more peaceful, alive and connected than ever before.

My sense is that collectively we are in a strong current, whether it be that we are becoming aware of our own anxiety, facing health issues, feeling financial pressures, social injustice, racism, or waking up to a system which feels more oppressive by the day. Then of course, the climate is changing. The very air we breathe is changing. The ice is melting, the waters are warming and they are rising. The water we drink, the rain which wets the soil, or the rain which doesn’t fall, leaving the parched soil cracked, all these remind us that the Mother we live on is changing. There is something different in the wind.

Some lessons the water taught me come to mind and I share them with you in the hope that you might also find them helpful when going through strong currents.

First of all: DON’T PANIC! Relax and say yes to what is happening. It’s counter intuitive, I know. The instinct is to fight the current. The best way I know to relax is to breathe more slowly and evenly. (With your mouth closed so you don’t gulp the water!) Being kind to yourself and hugging one’s own body for at least ninety seconds helps; one hand on one arm and the other tucked underneath the other settles the nervous system surprisingly quickly. Hugging someone else you trust is also great. Restorative yoga and Tara Brach’s embodied meditations have been my best friends here. (See below for links to resources.)

Set your focus on where you are headed, rather than on the thought that you are not going to make it. In other words you may be going through a rough patch.
Notice that very often the current throws you in the direction you want to go, especially once you have set your focus there. Once you stop fighting it, the current tends to work with you.
Call on your inner strength and guidance to help you. It can be helpful to remember other times you have got yourself through difficult patches.
Whilst your friends, family, coaches and companions might not be able to pull you out of your situation, know that you are not alone. We are in this together. Look out for other bright lights. Listen out for the very thing you might be needing to hear. You will recognise it as truth.