When I was five years old, I fell into a pool while all the adults in my family had their backs turned to me. My mother describes it to me as hearing a slight “thunk” in water, and suddenly my uncle was diving into the pool to pull me out.
Whenever I have heard my mother tell this story, I always imagine what it must have been like in my child mind during the seconds I was floating in the blue waters, devoid of sound and air. I picture myself with my hair floating above my head, skirt drifting around my face and my skinny arms and legs suspended in this peaceful cerulean space between moments.
I have no memory of this incident. No regression therapy has ever pulled it out of me. It is destined to be a memory cobbled together from other people’s stories.
But I’ve often wondered what I felt and thought while I floated in this new sensation of being underwater for the first time, with no control. Only the ability to be present in my forced surrender, watching the light refracting through the water and dancing across the concrete bottom of the pool.
I’m in this dream world all alone. There is a wooden dock hanging precariously over an ocean or a large lake that reminds me of lakes in Montanas. So big you think you’re at sea.
The water looks so inviting. I climb down the dock stairs, and now I am in the water, fully clothed. It is the perfect temperature. I feel it warming me and cooling me in all the right places as I wade through with my arms.
It’s so easy to wade through. The water isn’t fighting me. The weight of my clothes isn’t pulling me down. I am gliding through it with my arms and covering great distances with very little effort. In the distance, I see some beautiful mountains. I want to get closer to them to take in their beauty up close, so I keep swimming. Far, far out I go, filled with the pleasure of this perfect feeling water.
I am so happy. Teeming with joy. Grinning as the water glints off my face. I’m not thinking about creepy things under my feet that I can’t see, or random fish biting me.
When I get to the point where I’m ready to turn back, I do, and see that the dock is so far away I can barely see it. Suddenly, a thought enters my mind — and for a moment my body contracts in fear.
What if I swum out too far and I don’t have the strength to make it back? What if I drown because I went too far for my body to handle?
The fear is so potent it rushes through my brain covering it in a thick, grey cloud.
And then I feel it. A warm current rushes in from behind me and begins to rapidly pull me in towards the dock and the shore.
I instantly feel better.
Oh! The current is helping me get there faster so that it’s easy for me to get there!
I let my body go with the current. Accepting its help. The dock comes closer and closer in my view. I am feeling so loved and supported by this current.
But then the current veers into a swirling circle in the water and a memory from my childhood flashes back.
The moment I stood helpless at 12 on the shores of the beach in Panama, watching my grandfather almost drown. My dog had gone in first and had gotten caught in a strong current that resembled an underwater cyclone. My grandfather dove in to save the dog, but got caught in it himself.
As his head began to go under, I ran towards the water to try to help him but he shouted at me “stay out!”. I remember the suspended feeling inside of me while I stood there watching him fight with every last ounce of strength he had, heeding his command to let him die rather than help him and risk my life. I remember what his face looked like as he came to the realization he may not make it out. It is something I will never forget. That space of no control between moments where there are no thoughts, just presence, as you hang in the balance.
He made it out.
He lay on the sand for a while after that. I watched his hairy back heaving up and down as the sun evaporated the water from his skin. Knowing full well how different this could have turned out had he not been spit out from the current at the last moment. My dog shaking off and shivering, oblivious to the wrinkle in time we had just experienced. The fork which we’d come to with paths not taken that, when considered, made you shudder.
This memory is coming back to me in this dream now as the current pulls me into a circle and I panic for a few seconds thinking I might be caught and pulled under. But then, as if to assure me, the current spits me back out, gently towards the shore.
I arrive at the dock and climb out, letting the breeze dry me.
The Universe wants to help you, Lisa. She is conspiring for you, not against you. Let her carry you. It’s safe to let go now and accept more help.
I hear this loving, ancient voice speaking from within the caverns of my flesh and I breathe.
I’m in a huge field now. I look up at the sky, point my fingers and toes downwards and now I am 10,000 feet in the air. Somewhere in England, looking down at old stone farmhouses and sheep that are tiny dots to my eye.
I am flying, zipping all around, exhilarated by the cool air in my lungs and the way I can control the speed and direction of where I want to go so effortlessly.
I am grinning, letting the air currents take me where I want to go by using the sheer motor-power of my desire.
I touch down on the ground again and launch myself back up. But now, I can’t control the speed at which I go anymore. Instead I float, slowly, suspended in the air as my hair drifts above my head.
I am in this cerulean sky, the space between moments, floating in a forced surrender.
I try to push to go faster. But nothing happens. I get frustrated.
You are not powerless because you can’t control the speed or you’re forced to slow down.
What if you’re going slow because that is what is needed right now?
What if you trusted this is all perfect?
We are taking you where you need to go, no matter the pace.
Let us carry you.
We are conspiring in your favor.
The voice is here again, weaving her way up my lungs and soothing me.
And then, I let go. The frustration disappears.
I am suspended in this forced surrender, just watching the light refracting through the clouds and dancing across the green plains below.
A great peace comes over me and I breathe.
I don’t need to recall the memory of my five year old self almost drowning in order to know what was going through my mind as I sat there floating underwater in the seconds before I was rescued.
You are held.
You are held.
You are held.
No matter what.
It can be easy if you’ll let us hold you.
I hear the same voice that resounds from caverns of flesh, bone & sinew, through veins and heartbeats, from the beginning of time and all the way to the never-end.
You are on the cusp of something big.
You have been led to this moment throughout your entire life.
It has been woven by your soul and the unconditional love & life force that is in everything.
You have been held and loved even when you didn’t know it.
It is safe to step up now and step into the next level of your calling.
It is safe to show up in this new level of your power and leadership.
It is safe to pull back the curtain and show your raw, pulsating heart.
It is safe to claim this larger space and to fill it with your light.
It may not always look to be going your way.
Your ego may think you’re being led into an underwater cyclone to drown you, or an assured destruction that drops from 10,000 feet in the air to a loud, sharp splat.
But what if, for just a moment, you were to trust that you’re being led to the exact place that you need to be?
What if the currents of fortune are speeding you towards your desire?
What if what appears to your ego as true, is actually an illusion?
What if, as you step through the threshold in between two worlds, you simply trust this thin, golden strand which has inexplicably pulled you through the doorway and into the next level of your soul leadership in the world?
What if all you have to do is create the space for yourself to listen for the directions from within your own soul?
What might you discover or leave as a legacy in the world if you trust that you are held and let the current of your passion simply pull you forward?