Lifeletter #197: Become a Lake

“Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large, I contain multitudes.”

–Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself”

Sometimes, when I am working with a client, I simply invite them to step into their future self. I ask them to just move their body a few small steps forward into a new space, in which they can tap directly into the energy of who they will be in the future, when they have evolved beyond where they are now. This is not a mental exercise-it has nothing to do with thinking about your future. It’s an energetic practice of attunement, of being deeply receptive to what is unknown and ready to emerge, in your mysterious life. It’s astonishing to watch what happens to people when they open themselves up to this vast space of possibility, which is an actual realm, not a fantasy.

The other night I was watching someone take this kind of step. Just before the person moved I received a flash of insight about how relentless the force of evolution is. I could feel in my cells that the nature of life is to expand continually, to move beyond its own limitations. And yet, how frozen that electric current of evolution and expansion can become, how paralyzed and shut down. Evolution doesn’t happen in a straight line. There are long curves that can take us down into winters of darkness and despair. When things are overwhelming, too painful for us to feel, when we choose to turn away from life and hide, we cut ourselves off from the sacred flowing energy of life. It’s such a natural thing to do, to close down in order to protect ourselves. How could that response be wrong? It’s simply instinctual and conditioned. It needs to be liberated, not cursed.

When my clients step into their future selves, I notice one thing that seems to happen to all of them: they get bigger. I’ve had the same experience myself, when I attune to the next step in my evolution-I become much larger, and at the same time, more grounded. I feel wider, taller; I take up a lot more space.

Trying to work with our fear, our pain, our distress, when we are in a small closed space is very difficult. Einstein said it well: we can’t solve problems on the same level we created them. It’s the same principle with healing and transforming-we can’t really find a good way to relate to what is troubling us from that space of contraction. No matter how hard we try to be strong, brave, determined, our efforts don’t bring us what we are longing for. This can be very discouraging-it can make us lose hope, and want to give up. It can even cause us to take our own life.

There is a great story about how this works, told here by Nicole Daedone.

An aging master grew tired of his apprentice’s complaints. One morning, he sent him to get some salt. When the apprentice returned, the master told him to mix a handful of salt in a glass of water and then drink it.

“How does it taste?” the master asked.

“Bitter,” said the apprentice.

The master chuckled and then asked the young man to take the same handful of salt and put it in the lake. The two walked in silence to the nearby lake and once the apprentice swirled his handful of salt in the water, the old man said, “Now drink from the lake.”

As the water dripped down the young man’s chin, the master asked, “How does it taste?”

“Fresh,” remarked the apprentice.

“Do you taste the salt?” asked the master.

“No,” said the young man. At this the master sat beside this serious young man, and explained softly,

“The pain of life is pure salt; no more, no less. The amount of pain in life remains exactly the same. However, the amount of bitterness we taste depends on the container we put the pain in. So when you are in pain, the only thing you can do is to enlarge your sense of things. Stop being a glass. Become a lake.”

 

How do I become a lake? Bit by bit. I become a lake when I learn to breathe with my whole body. I become a lake when I find the courage to feel what I am feeling and share it with you. I become a lake as I learn to welcome more and more of what I have left behind, what I have exiled, back into my heart. I become a lake when I become soft enough to hold the pain inside me with gentleness, at last. I become a lake when I dare to be so vulnerable and present that what you say to me ripples right through my heart.

I get bigger when I learn how to reach out for help, when I can weep deeply and laugh freely. I grow larger when I listen to the impulse, deep inside me that wants to connect, to be a part of everything. When I have enough space inside me, everything changes. The lake is generous, and full of grace, in ways that are simply impossible for the glass.

There is a lake,
Lalla Ded sang, no larger
than one seed of mustard,
that all things return to.
O heart, if you
will not, cannot, give me the lake,
then give me the song.

-Jane Hirshfield

with love,
Shayla