Going with the flow

It’s a wonder I survived my 20s.

My long-suffering Guardian Whatevers must’ve stayed awake nights, working overtime to keep me out of trouble.

Case in point: Ever hungry for new experience (no matter how ill-advised), I once agreed to go whitewater rafting with a group of stupendously unqualified rafting aficionados, unburdened as we all were, by any training, common sense, or proper safety equipment. Because what could possibly go wrong.

On a section of river called The Widowmaker, my tiny yellow raft capsized and the current dragged me far from any hope of rescue.

( I won’t bore you with the details; clearly I survived to tell the tale.)

I bring up this long-past, ill-fated adventure for two reasons. Although I was about as spiritually aware as a bag of cement at the time, a stunningly powerful spiritual knowing arose in me while I was engulfed by—well, technically, drowning in—those crashing, swirling whitewater currents:

There must be some mistake. I haven’t yet begun what I’m here to do.

This sparkling piece of info arising from the depths, was something way beyond that more typical, incredulous discovery of youth—y’know, that first time it occurs to you it’s possible you’re mortal and might not live forever. Or, like, even one more day.

This knowing, with its brilliant spiritual clarity, was on a different level entirely from any of that. And my dimly resonant recognition and wonderment, sent a little ripple out into the universe.

The second thing that happened, possibly in answer to the ripple, was that those aforementioned protective Guardian forces (whoever or whatever they are) lifted my spent body out of the water and flung it into the rescue boat when it finally turned up. I wouldn’t have made it in otherwise.

Guardian interventions aside, this kind of sacred informational interaction with natural water is not unique to me in any way. Given half a chance, it’s what water does. Although I had no idea of it at the time, living water—meaning, water not coerced into straight pipes or tidy concrete channels for our human convenience—holds incredible spiritual intelligence, and it’s yours for the asking. (Or the not-asking, as was the case with my rafting misadventure).

I’ve been pondering water’s role in humanity’s current awakening process quite alot lately. I think it’s more than the occasional sparkling message or inner knowing that arises when our body is immersed in an ocean, river, lake or waterfall—wonderful as those transcendent gifts are to receive.

I think water is something more all-encompassing than that. It’s showing us a model for how we’re meant to live our lives. Like an endless, changing river. Always recognizably a river, yet never the same flow twice. Every moment completely fresh and new.

Mindful, open-hearted observation of natural processes reveals to us that endless flow is the way the universe of Nature truly works: Abundant. Mysterious. And very, very sacred. Water, by simply being itself, is showing us glimpses of the underlying, free-flowing workings of the divine universe. If we care to notice, water offers us this luminous wisdom, in liquid form:

To flow like water, is to live a life beyond fear. A life unattached to all the future ‘what ifs;’ unattached to ancient grudges, old guilt, and the traumas (or happier times) of the past. Clearing out the stuck places in our lives—the old emotions and beliefs that no longer serve, the physical clutter. Giving and receiving freely, hoarding nothing. Trusting wholly instead, in the rightness of our present-moment belonging to All That Is.

In these transformational times, we’re slowly learning—yes, all of us—how to better align ourselves with that endless divine flow. Or maybe more accurately, how to stop aligning ourselves with what doesn’t fricken work anymore, and possibly never did: Staying in jobs we may or may not love. Making important life decisions based on fear of lack. As but 2 of the many possible examples.

It’s an agonizingly slow and messy process, for sacks of cement such as ourselves. Yet despite all of this frustrated fumbling, intimate belonging to wholeness itself is what’s on the menu, and it’s starting to show up (in unexpected and sometimes highly uncomfortable ways) for us all. Ready or not.

We do, however, need to empty our buckets and shed a great many musty old things, in order to welcome it in.

Is that easier said than done? Yeah, just a bit.

Before we even figure out where to start, we need to address that ‘living free of fear’ thing. Our human desire for the familiar, for predictable sameness, for grasping onto the illusion of unchanging stability. It’s what makes us feel safe—most of us anyway.

You might be alittle different, of course. You might not feel like the above statement describes you at all. Your life might already be pretty free-flowing. Maybe you’re somebody who naturally eschews attachments, who loves footloose travel more than possessions or a sense of community. However. You’re probably still pretty fond of waking up in the morning and recognizing your own deeply familiar personality self, the same you you went to bed as, the night before. Right?

One way or another, no matter who we are, we prefer certain aspects of life to be solid and unchanging. Yet that is simply not how Nature (or the universe) actually rolls. In fact we’re never the same person twice. And even the body itself is always changing, albeit in usually imperceptible ways.

Those with far greater spiritual and/or quantum-universal chops than me would tell you that your body—along with everything else in the world of form—vanishes and reappears countless times a day, newly created in each millisecond. Mini-deaths and micro-rebirths, in every infinitesimal moment of time. A trick of consciousness links those endless oscillations together, allowing the ephemeral and impermanent to be experienced as solid and permanent.

(No wonder you’re always tired.)

Okay so, let’s see what we’ve got so far: The universe and everything in it, is in an endless state of impermanent flux and flow. In order to ride that flow, we need to be like water? Completely fluid, and floating aimlessly with the tide, empty as a plastic bottle tossed back and forth on the surface of the waves? And just trusting in the universe to provide?

Um. Not exactly.

By taking water as our guide, we’re seeking to emulate Nature itself—which is anything but aimless.

Nature is wholly of the divine, and oversees all life on this planet. All life, which includes us. From the biggest billionaire to the most microscopic one-celled organism. Nobody is exempt. Align with how Nature works, therefore, and you’ll crack the code for taking your natural place within the sacred symphony of All That Is.

So how does Nature work, then?

We (meaning Western civilization) used to describe the intelligence of Nature’s handiwork in any given organism as a quest for homeostasis. Responding to environmental changes, yet always seeking return to a resting state of stability, or stasis. (Your normal body temperature always returning to 98.6F is a good example of this way of thinking.)

More recently, greater nuance and complexity has been recognized within Nature’s workings. Not homeostasis, so much as homeodynamics. A constant flux that seeks balance, not stasis.

Stephen Harrod Buhner (a spirituality and natural-science writer of phenomenal insight) describes homeodynamics using the example of a juggler. All the objects being juggled are in motion all of the time; the body of the juggler is also moving, swaying—constantly making slight shifts and adjustments to maintain the right balance, for keeping those balls in the air.

He’s in flow, responding to the moment-by-moment demands showing up before him. He’s never seeking stasis; the whole point of juggling—or of life, in its unfoldment on earth—is Nature’s constant intelligent response to change, always moving, flowing, adjusting itself toward greater balance.

So the juggler is not floating like aimless flotsam atop the water of his life. He’s purposeful in his flow. And his feet, although shifting and moving incrementally as needed to maintain that necessary balance, are solidly on the ground.

Flowing, yet grounded. Doing, and moving, only according to what shows up in the current moment. His past and future are not erased, they just have no particular hold or relevance in this now.

Sounds pretty good to me. What do you think?

I yearn to live my life in fearless flow, like that dynamic, yet liquid juggler. And it seems to me, it wouldn’t be such a big leap from that expression of being, to knowing oneself as the dynamic flow itself.

And isn’t that what we’re really talking about here. Freedom from fear and all of its myriad forms of stickiness; intimate oneness with all of life and the universe itself. Knowing our own true divine identity.

Yet at this point in our evolution, free-flowing dynamic juggling still seems more aspirational than doable, doesn’t it. It takes quite a bit more than a fervent, late-night ‘I let go of all that holds me back!’ type of declaration to accomplish it. Because untangling our own wiring, our survival-based imperatives for hanging onto predictable (delusional) safety, is something that requires divine help.

I mean it doesn’t really work, does it, to get under your own hood and dismantle your own fear-based predictability-safety engine. I know. Cause I’ve tried. You just end up with random bolts left over after it’s been reassembled, and the engine still doesn’t turn over in quite the right fluidly flowing way.

But we can (and should) take steps to get the process moving; clearing out both the literal and figurative closets, as it were. Getting the energy flowing again, in all those sticky/stuck places. Letting go of old beliefs or attachments that are ready to leave of their own accord. Clearing out the stuff and clutter, giving away whatever is no longer needed.

It’s an excellent way to start.

And starting somewhere, is becoming more important all the time. Because, in these days of inexorably rising frequencies, we’re all feeling that potent internal urge to grab our long-forgotten musical instruments and participate in the grand, chaotically discordant tuning-up process that’s going on all around us. Metaphorically speaking.

(Most of us don’t recognize this inner urge for what it really is, of course. It doesn’t feel anything like a magnificent coming together of divine players, testing out our harmonies and discords on each other. It just feels like noisy dissatisfaction or frustration with the way things are.)

It’s actually a persistent invitation to all of humanity, to join the epic orchestra of All That Is, which is already assembled; to take our places, resplendent in our individual talents and chosen instruments of joyful noise.

And when we’re ready, to start making gloriously beautiful improvisational music together: A great gathering of solo divinity, every one of us teaching ourselves and each other, how to juggle symphonic jazz.

I’m glad I made it through my 20s.

There’s so much I have yet to do.

Now where did I put that instrument? I know it’s in a closet somewhere.

Share