Big Water Life

Lessons in peace & passion

I begin most days now beside Big Water—watching boats trawl, seagulls bob, & waves crash.

As I walked along Gitchigami’s shore the other day, I realized something: She never apologizes. She is what she is. Period.

A Roaring Is-ness.

A full-throated Can You Feel All That I Am?

How I yearn for that.

And yet I often shrink from my own power.

Why?

Why do we continually murmur, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” for the energies that move us deeply, for our own wild churning?

Because we know wave & storm can wreak havoc, leaving behind the litter of devastation.

Our emotions, words & actions can do the same.

So what are we to do?

Work & work to be ever placid & pleasing?

No.

Just no.

We do not have to live like puppets—forever mouthing scripted words; hiding behind perfect, wooden faces; feeling empty inside.

And at the same time we have to remember that raw, unchecked power can—and does—lead to destruction.

Unlike Big Water, we get to choose.

We do not have to be big & wild & mind-less.

We can learn to dance. Now in chaos.

Now in stillness.

To live wild & boundaried.

To move & be held.

To be all hubba hubba to that tall drink of water over there, the one in whose ear we want to whisper, “Hey. Wanna lick my toes?”

We get to laugh.

And cry.

And choose.

Is it a good day to be in the light?

To float & soften?

Or is now a good time to sink into a dark Quiet that’s okay.

A Quiet that’s safe because it’s a chance to drop away from the outer churning.

To land in a fluid Center that holds an ancient Deep.

One ready to offer us important lessons in peace & passion.

Lessons in how to fall. And rise.

How to live a new day. Ride a new wave.

And wonder—where this Wild Mind might lead.