Yesterday Michael said “we will all grow old and die, and that’s if we’re lucky”.
There’s been some difficult news around me recently of those who haven’t been so lucky. The premature death of former classmate Laudan Nabizadeh Fariborz, our friend’s newborn struggling to survive in the ICU, a relative’s loss of a baby in the second trimester, and a close friend’s struggle with a chronic and difficult health condition.
I recently said to someone that these types of things are not “fair”. Yet the statement felt trite and inappropriate. The truth is, words are very poor at articulating complex emotions, and for those of us who maybe live a little too much in our head, we can trap ourselves trying to “think”/verbalize our way out.
In times like these, I find tremendous solace in relating to things symbolically. Recently, I’ve been struck by the symbol of water – washing things away, renewing, giving life, yet sometimes dangerous. I was lucky enough to get to a yoga class today, and as I lay in Shavasana, we listened to the sounds of waves crashing…my mind began to wander. I remembered lying on the beach as a young child, just far enough in so the waves could push my legs around. And I imagined letting myself be carried out far to sea, and finally surrendering and letting it wash over and around me, yet feeling safe as I was buffeted about by an increasingly rough sea. Somehow it is only from this place that I feel prepared to finally relate to everything, and simple words have absolutely nothing to do with it.