I’ve been trying to write about surrender. I want to write about the loss of control I’ve experienced this year, about how I found myself railing against Spirit. How I felt betrayed and how it felt like Spirit turned against me. About the struggles I faced when I fought against where my path was taking me. How I wanted to turn right, but my path turned left. About what an illusion all control is, anyway.
But I struggle to write without it sounding like a horror story. I end up sounding like I’ve lost my mind. I read what I’ve written and even I balk at what I’m saying – and I’m in it, I know what I mean. I understand myself, but when I read my own words, it’s hilariously wrong.
I’m trying too hard to think about Spirituality. I’m using my brain to talk about a heart-based thing.
But I’m drowning.
I was in this little boat, see? All alone on the ocean. I had paddles, and I was doing fine, riding the waves and going where I wanted to go. Heading in my direction. The captain of my own destiny.
But then a storm hit. And then the storm became a hurricane. My little boat was tossed and cracked, my paddles lost. I realized I wasn’t in control anymore – but I railed against that. I was going where I wanted to go, and humans and gods alike be damned before I’d release that control.
I bailed water out of my boat.
I screamed into the storm, raising my voice to the top of my lungs, shaking my tiny fist at the giant swirling clouds above.
I wept. I sobbed. I flung myself to the bottom of my boat and begged for help, pleaded with anyone and everyone listening to restore peace and balance, to give me back my paddles and let me go where I wanted to go. I know what’s best for me! Let me do what’s right for me!
But I was wrong.
But I don’t know what’s best for me.
But I don’t know what to do, not now, not while the storm is raging and rending my boat to shreds.
I was laying in the bottom of my boat, shaking and sobbing and railing against the injustice of it all.
When really, what I needed to be doing was drowning.
My boat broke apart. It was so beaten and shattered, there was no saving it. And still I fought, still I raged against the sea, clinging hopelessly to the last solid board.
Suddenly, everything froze. Time stopped. The hurricane paused in its destruction. The waves around me stilled.
I said, “Oh no. Oh fuck.”
And I knew.
I knew what to do.
I contemplated resisting. I gave it a good long consideration. But I realized that’s all I’ve done for years – resist. Fight. Struggle to keep control. And it wasn’t getting me anywhere.
So I let go of the board. I sank down, down, into the water.
I sank down, down past the farthest reach of the sun’s weak rays. Down past where the hurricane ends. Down into the icy cold darkest depths, deeper and darker than anything I’ve ever known.
I don’t know where I’m heading. But I feel it, the slow release of control. The continuing build-up of faith. A pause now and then where before there was rushing. A moment of quiet in my hectic life. A heartbeat, slightly louder.
I’m drowning. I admit, it’s terrifying. I’ve never been so scared. I’m letting go of control and holding on to faith. I’m sinking down down down to where Spirit waits, warm and light and safe and love.
It’s still unclear to me where I’ll end up. I’m not sure how the journey plays out from here. I have no foresight of my travels. This territory is uncharted for me; I’m on new ground.
And yet… and yet, I feel safer. Clearer. More peaceful. A sense of rightness that doesn’t seem to come from me.
Yes, I’m drowning. But I think I may just have to drown to open up enough to fully and completely embrace life.