Monthly Archives: November 2015

Going Underwater

1940 Bruce Mozert

1940 Bruce Mozert

There are times when we dive underwater to explore what rests below; to discover what can be found at such great depths within ourself. And then there are times when we go under not from our own choosing, but because something forced us under; our fingers slipped, and without premeditation, we suddenly let go.

I’ve found that almost all of my answers can be found from looking within. Some answers I placed there years ago. Others surprise me with their appearance. Memories dwell inside us like colorful coral reefs. And when the time is right we swim gently around every outcropping, allowing ourselves to live in the memory.

If one is prepared to be underwater, then it is a place of beautiful exploration. Downed ships still retain some of their prior glory, even when shrouded in loss. But it is when we are there without oxygen; when we wake in the morning, to discover we’re already buried under the pressure of our worries. Those are the times when it is the hardest to swim.

As a writer I know that some of my best work has been brought to the surface due to these deep-sea excavations. Emotions so rich with life, memories so raw they haven’t lost their tangible feel. I gather them in my arms, and like a child I drop them on the shore to examine under the sun. Even painful memories appear different when cultivated with intention.

When one finds themselves there without the security of a chest full of air; those are the moments when one feels only that of the tide pulling them under. They see the light from the water’s surface grow smaller as they fall softly deeper. All is dark. All is quiet. And they feel completely alone. There is no glimmer of excitement held within their eyes. These are the moments that sweep through us all; some softly and occasionally; some with a repetitive force like a wave that never grows tired of arriving. Whether from catastrophic news, heart-break or loss, we go under. We notice a peculiar detachment between us and the world around.

I began writing my first novel while suffering from total submersion. That one book was the final gasp of air from my inner being, my soul. I often slipped under the water’s of my life; beginning as a child that used it for escape. The familiarity of being submerged felt oddly comfortable; like a coat that didn’t fit, but because I wore it so often, I knew it well.

Being underwater, searching one’s great depths, is a fantastical excursion when done with purpose and oxygen. When we go deep to discover our core truths, to make peace with our history, our hurts, then this journey is one that brings us into alignment with who we are. It’s a necessity when it comes to one’s evolving. But when one goes under not from their own choosing. And feels only that of water filling their lungs, then their world goes black. My soul chose writing a novel, for me to later read, as a way of taking its final breath; bringing light to my dark places. From that day on, I’ve become very adept at deep-sea travel. I know all that rests within me. Some things aren’t lovely. But they are part of me; they have purpose. I could either look at a downed ship as complete failure, or as a bold attempt; one that made me stronger in the end. I reshaped my entire life after writing my first novel. My soul didn’t want to drown, it wanted to swim.

So if you find yourself sinking. Open your eyes. Use your strength to look around. And then, when the time is right, come up for air. Fill your lungs, and never again, turn a blind eye to all that is within you. You’re strong enough to swim.

Sane

Originally posted on November 18, 2013

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A Delicate Nature

Photo by Sharland, May 1956

Photo by Sharland, May 1956

Good morning, dear reader. I hope this day is treating you well. More than that, I hope you are treating you well. I hope you are coming to see the All that you are and how important it is that your awareness acknowledges the many aspects that make you divine, singular, and important. It isn’t easy, is it? It isn’t easy to look at these things that seem to cause us struggle, or our heart to ache, and think good can come of them.

There was a time when I use to curse my own self. I use to look at my delicate nature and see it as that of a hindrance – especially in today’s world, where the need to be right comes before the need to love. Yet, it is this sensitivity in me that is necessary if I am to fulfill my life’s purpose. I couldn’t do it otherwise.

Over these many years, I found the courage and began the work necessary, to allow my gentle spirit to sit in plain view. I no longer stuff it under weighty coverings used under the misguided belief that I must protect my heart and my delicate inner being. Somewhere along the way it was shown to me that the soul, and the heart through which it feels, are stronger than any covering we use as armor. In fact, it is the strongest, steadiest, most stable part of our being. I spent the first half of my life very wrong about my understanding of my self. And that is okay. I needed those misguided years; much came from them.

Life is a dichotomy. Polarities are part of this world. With the presence of good comes the presence of that which rests at the opposite end. In other words, I did and do get pinged a lot. My entire lifestyle and those with which I surround myself has changed dramatically over these many years. At first, I use to force upon myself my old ways; they were what I knew. And the mind loathes the unfamiliar, uncharted and unknown. So I kept doing the same things I’d always done, all the while feeling uncomfortable. Feeling out-of-place. Feeling alone. Feeling bad afterward. Surely, I never felt nourished.

Now, I listen to the subtle queues of my inner being. I listen not to the voice that shouts, but to the voice that delicately whispers. I use to shake my fist at God and it’s soft spoken ways. Then I too softened. I decided to change my stagnant approach, mind-set and points of focus. Instead, I opened and broadened and became more flexible and allowing. And due to such it was shown to me that God speaks softly for two reasons: So we can always distinguish the voice of the Divine from the voice of fear, and because it requires of us to be still before we can hear.

I am no longer drawn to what is familiar, so much. Now I am drawn to the soft, subtle and delicate things in life. I see God in all things, yet I feel the purity within those things courageous enough to be kind. I like kindness. It feels good to me. It brings me joy. I love the kindness of the flowers that bloom outside my office window. They could be resistant, like unhappy children they could stiffen and demand that the environment cater to their wishes. But no, the flowers outside my window show up even when half buried under dead leaves. Their devotion to coloring life with their beauty is breathtakingly kind.

I step away from aggressiveness, chaos and demonstrativeness, and toward playfulness, equality and supportiveness. I love the kindness in those who give of themselves for another; those who hold the light and allow others to stand in its beam. Most of all I love the kindness within me; I judge less, allow more. I care about myself enough to be mindful of my surrounds. I love me enough to go silent and listen to the soft, subtle voice of the Divine which reminds me to hold gently the light of Love – always. It reminds me that there are those who have yet to discover their own, and the kindest, most compassionate thing I can do is hold mine upon them until they do.

If you are to embrace one thing this week – embrace kindness. Be kindness. It is the most courageous thing you can do. In those moments, you are the hand, the voice and the light of God.

Sane