Coming Toward A Port

Hello there. It has been a little longer between posts this time around. I have been feeling stuck and this feeling or rather idea of ‘stuck-ness’ (I don’t think I was actually stuck but deep in process) has been impeding the flow of words. 

It wasn’t until earlier this week, when I was engaging in some alive and thought-provoking material in a course I have just begun titled ‘Re-Wilding Mythology,’ in which a discussion exploring how myths move and how in our hyper-visual world we might ‘wake up our ancestral faculty of listening’ in order to sing back what we have heard, musing on ideas of resonance, water and flow, and the reciprocal nature of the human being in relationship with the more-than-human world, that I was invited to go and sit by a stream of running water.

One of the presenters Josh Schrei, offered a reflection on Orpheus; his head in the river still singing to us all these years on, in the voice of the stream flowing out of the cave, the cave our own skulls and the stream our own tongues, offering this very simple practice of going to sit by a stream of running water to listen. The invitation, if you feel stuck, to find things within nature that are moving. This invitation that had landed in my lap could not have been more timely, and once there it seemed so obvious and thankfully for me, accessible. 

I am very blessed to live quite close to wild, natural space, with a plethora of running streams close by. That day Kunanyi, the mountain I look upon each day from my window, had a surprising sprinkling of Spring snow, with low temperatures returning us to Winter. For me this was no deterrent, but rather an exhilarating boost, in which I donned my boots and left my desk, to find a stream with which to converse.

Sitting by the stream I returned to a musing I had left sitting weeks ago about being adrift in a metaphorical sea and ideas around the flow of opportunity. It is a curious thing. When out in the middle of the sea one starts to think of coming in to shore, of solid ground. As time passes, one stands on the shore to look out at the endless expanse of sea, longing to be back out in the blue. These past weeks I have been out at sea, with what feels like no anchor and no oar. When I find myself here, I try to remember that, no matter how far down, there is a solid sea bed underneath and I can invite myself to feel into it’s presence. 

Similarly, when grounded on the land I know it’s solidness is an illusion, as deep in it’s core a red sea bubbles and flows. Standing on it’s thick weighty crust I remember that I am too am mainly water. If I get quiet, I can connect with the sea that is inside of me, and like a mermaid dive deep, deeper still. I am a being of both land and sea. In my home I live with boys who astrologically are all water. One is a wild, rushing waterfall and the other is the very deep, still part of the ocean and they are teaching this earth, mountain goat a lot about water. 

It was of course just as I had pronounced that I was on high and dry land that I suddenly found my small canoe of self back out, navigating expanses of water in which I felt adrift; a liminal space in which I wonder what direction the next shore or solid piece of land will be found, what might call to me; this way. Being within this swirling, liminal space can be uncomfortable but I know that it is here that I experience a part of my voice further forming and the whisper of a new song coming to form. 

It is a dance with the divine, a meeting of two things in which a third is created. I work to stay open, to be present to this shared rhythm, of how both it and I want to move. I bring myself fully to it but allow space for how it wants to move with or through me. Each time it is different and it feels almost miraculous when the third thing does indeed come forward and through, looking, feeling and sounding completely different to what I had thought, or envisioned. It is a magic of sorts, a surprise and delight, to meet the creation, to hear the song coming forth that is so much bigger than you. 

At times I am incredibly resistant to heading out into that liminal sea, or I don’t feel worthy of the dance, but that’s part of an old song that doesn’t need to be sung anymore. Instead I aim to lean into trusting the unknown, trusting life and trusting myself. I know that life looks completely different from this place and it is here that both magic and opportunity arrive. 

I have been musing on this idea of  opportunity, as one came my way recently, seemingly with no effort, no seeking or reaching, no planning or pushing; it simply knocked on my door and laid down it’s invitation. I only had to open my palm to accept and open my stream of voice to say, yes. This may sound simple but it can be hard to open a palm that has been gripping tight to hold on, or to open the voice to say yes when it’s trembling a little and a part of you is afraid of it’s resonance and the possible reach of it’s vibration.

But did you not in fact call the opportunity in? Lay the foundation and do the ground work long ago which has supported the surfacing of the opportunity, remarkably timed and aligned? Its arrival reflecting your embodiment of the lessons learnt and the spells whispered of what you have been wanting, singing, asking? It can be hard to meet what you have called for, as its largeness can be a little overwhelming now present, now felt, now saying; here I am - where are you?! 

I’ve been thinking a lot about this dance with opportunity. Of needing to be in the arena, present and willing, but not over-reaching or pushing, seeking or looking too hard, for you will often miss the very thing you are looking for. For a long time we have lived with a dominant paradigm of pushing, striving, creating opportunity, again possibly an element of this is necessary, you have to show up and working hard can be fruitful and life-giving but I also believe that opportunity is something bigger and involves that divine dance, which is hard to fully articulate but it finds you, in it’s flow, like water, like wind. 

I love etymology and looking up words to find out their origin and how they have shape-shifted over time, I looked up the word opportunity to discover this;

Late Middle English: from Old French opportun(e), from Latin opportunus, from ob- ‘in the direction of’ + portus ‘harbour’, originally describing the wind driving towards the harbour, hence ‘seasonable’, from the phrase ob portum veniens "coming toward a port.”

I’ve arrived back at water, in my canoe paddling toward a new shore but open to where the current and wind may take me, working toward a destination but open to a new direction. Too open and you will just move around in circles, too focussed and you may miss the opportunity to come into port. 

Perhaps opportunity travels on the water and on the wind and neither of these elements can be controlled, but rather experienced. One must be present and willing; the embodied port for opportunity to come towards, but more and more I learn it is when I am in full trust, in steady presence, that my ship comes in, laden with unexpected gifts. 

It comes, it goes, I receive, I let go. This way of being offers more surprise and spontaneity but also requires one to be with the rhythms of waxing and waning, of the ever changing tide and flow of water, wind, moon. Here I learn to receive, to be with what is and to listen, to sit by the stream to hear the song, in order that I may sing it back. 

I leave the safe harbour and sail out, knowing at some point I will come back in to ground, so one may secure and anchor the beautiful boat of opportunity when it comes into port, but for the time being I am leaning further into the life and joy of the flow. Drifting in my little canoe I was reminded of this poem by Mary Oliver which I love. Happy listening, singing and sailing dear readers. 

Bard. x

IF I WANTED A BOAT 

I would want a boat, if I wanted a

boat, that bounded hard on the waves,

that didn't know starboard from port

and wouldn't learn, that welcomed

dolphins and headed straight for the

whales, that, when rocks were close,

would slide in for a touch or two,

that wouldn't keep land in sight and

went fast, that leaped into the spray.

What kind of life is it always to plan

and do, to promise and finish, to wish

for the near and the safe? Yes, by the

heavens, if I wanted a boat I would want

a boat I couldn't steer.