The journey down the river of life

The oars had been heavy for as long as John could remember.

For years, he had been rowing against the current of a grey, churning river. His shoulders tight and ached, his hands were calloused, and his mind was a storm of (if only’s) If only the current wasn’t so strong. If only he had started earlier. If only the river flowed where he wanted it to go. If only he had never set off on this journey in the first place? If only he could see his destination. if only, if only, if only.

He believed that if only he just pulled HARDER on the oars he could force the water to bend to his will. John was always a control freak, he could not Accept second best in anything. But to try to control the river was ludicrous.

But the river never listened to John’s cry’s. It simply raged, and John grew more exhausted, and on some occasions nearly capsized and he nearly drowned. For years he struggled with the roaring current of the river of life, the more he struggled the harder it was to row the boat in the direction he wanted to go. But in reality john didn’t know which way to go? That was his problem.

Day after day John rowed has hard as he could, but never seemed to get very far, in-fact the harder he tried the less distance he traveled. But there was no going back now it was too late. He was in the thick of all the Bulrushes of Anxiety and Brambles, they were growing all around him. The stinging of the thistles were causing scars to form on John’s mind and body.

One year, a thick mist settled over the water, it stayed there for months swallowing the banks entirely. John couldn’t see where he was coming from, nor where he was going to.

Panic tightened in his chest. He pulled violently on the left oar, then the right, but the boat only spun in frantic, meaningless circles. He was fighting a losing battle that he knew he had already lost. This vicious cycle of anxiety seemed to overwhelming for John, so he decided to Accept his fate and let whatever happens, happen!

The realisation hit him not like a lightning bolt, but like a quiet sigh. A sigh of relief that the responsibilities he once carried on his shoulders had been immediately lifted.

He didn’t mind the current being so strong anymore. He wasn’t bothered he had started too early. He Accepted that the river flowed where it wanted it to go. He was glad that he set off on this journey of a life time. He didn’t mind that he couldn’t see his destination. All the (if only’s) seem to have disappeared into the thick mist that was surrounding him.

John started to think in a different way to how he used to think!

I know now I cannot change the river, he said to himself.

So John just stopped rowing.

John didn’t give up.

Nor was he frightened any more.

But he stopped rowing so hard.

So he just let the boat float down the river and let the water take him to where it wanted to take him to.

John wasn’t giving up, in a negative way by any means.

In-fact John seemed more positive than he’d been for a long time.

He knew something magical was happening, but he didn’t know what it was?

The silence that followed was deafening.

The raging river wasn’t angry anymore, it seemed to calm right down to a stillness that John hadn’t seen before?

Slowly, deliberately, he lifted the heavy wooden oars out of the rowlocks and laid them flat across the bottom of the boat.

He sat back, closing his eyes, bracing himself for the crash, the capsizing, the disaster he had spent a lifetime fighting against.

But it didn’t come? For some reason it did not come?

Instead, the boat gently rocked. Without the violent resistance of his oars.

The hull aligned itself naturally with the flow of the water.

The constant, grinding tension in John’s shoulders began to unravel, melting away into the wood beneath him.

When he opened his eyes, the mist hadn’t cleared, but it no longer felt threatening any more.

It felt like a warm soft, protective blanket in the dead of winter.

The frantic spinning had stopped; the boat was gliding with a steady, rhythmic grace.

For the first time, John actually listened to the river.

It was no longer a roar of anger; it was a low, soothing lullaby that calmed and relaxed John.

He didn’t know where the current would take him, and for the first time in his life, that was perfectly okay.

The fighting was over, he felt as light as a feather.

In the surrender of control, John found what he had been rowing towards all along.

As the boat gently drifted on the calm water he captured a glimpse of what he thought was a clearance in the over grown bulrushes of anxiety.

But the more he did nothing the more the boat drifted further round the bend of the river.

Then John couldn’t believe his eyes.

At that moment, from the darkness of all the ‘bulrushes of anxiety’ came this blindness of unimaginable light it was one of those “eureka moments” that John had rarely had in his life.

In front of him was this Turquoise Tranquility sea of Acceptance that was as calm as a millpond.

Then this feeling of unshakeable peace and tranquillity came over john that he had never felt before. This warm velvet blanket that wrapped round him was protecting him from the thistles and brambles that was growing by the bulrushes of anxiety.

John had been fighting the river of life for so long that he had forgotten how to stop and just breathe and enjoy the surrounding of the country side, instead his mind was always set on the destination and how much longer he had to travel.

His mind was always obsessed by rowing as hard as he could to make the most of the day.

To stop and rest for a while was an unthinkable challenge for John.

It seemed a waste of time for John.

This realisation alone made John think about all the years that he had wasted.

If only he knew this when he first started out! The journey would have been so much smoother and enjoyable. Then he started to reflect ‘even more’ on all the wasted years he had spent fighting the current on the river of life instead of floating down it and taking him to where it ends, to the sea of tranquility.

But John knew if he kept on regretting and reminiscing and ruminating what should have been he would only disturb the sea of Tranquility and Acceptance, then the calm water would turn into small waves that would in-turn, turn into larger waves, then he would start rowing hard to try and control the boat, and because the boat was uncontrollable he would row even harder and harder then he would be back to the raging water scenario again. But this time it would be more dangerous out at sea.

Instead John decided to hang up his oars and give up the struggle and just find himself a lovely little quiet spot on the beach over looking the Turquoise Tranquility sea of Acceptance right next to a beach bar where he could entertain the customers with his guitar and bongo playing while drinking ice cold lager with his beautiful wife of 53 years who had traveled down to the beach along the smooth path of Equanimity that she had always traveled on all her life.