The art of surrender.
Awhile ago my husband and I took an incredible all-day river rafting trip through the Rio Grande Gorge, in the Taos area of northern New Mexico. It was so incredible, I’ll never forget it. Six hours of beautiful seclusion within the arms of the rugged canyon walls, in some places over 600 feet high.
The power of it.
The first half of the trip was purely serene. We quietly floated below the haunting echos of screeching ospreys circling above us. We meditated to the gentle sounds of water trickling off oars as we paddled down the Mother of all Southwest rivers.
At lunchtime we ate sandwiches and potato chips on a white sand beach along the churning river’s edge. It became way more special when two female bighorn sheep, with a teeny tiny fuzzy brown lamb, joined us! The baby stared at us the entire time, peeking at her mom as if to say, “What are they, mama?” Then she’d get spunky and start jumping and kicking at nothing in particular; energized by our obvious adoration, inviting us to play. It made my heart hurt; she was so cute.
After lunch, the energy intensified x ten.
We hit the Rio Bravo section of the run, which is miles of class III & IV rapids. Challenging, to say the least. Through one stretch, we had over an hour straight of class III, with our muscles tensed and adrenaline surging the whole way.
The class IV rapids and waterfalls were of course the most difficult to navigate, and we all did our best to stay inside the boat. We had been given intensive instruction, prior to launching, on the dangers of finding yourself in the water through rough rapids. We had lessons on all the things you shouldn’t do unless you wanted to emerge from the foaming jaws of the Rio Grande without teeth, or worse–pinned underwater on the river bed, hammered by the currents while your broken foot remains wedged under some unmovable rock.
Suddenly the experience had transformed from soaring ospreys and baby bighorns to an all-out war with the water. At one point the river carried us directly into a rocky chasm with rapids and currents so berserk they nearly drove our raft straight up a boulder. Needless to say, when the going got really hairy, we all descended into terror until our guide masterfully steered us out of danger. Which he did, every time.
But he didn’t expect to get us out of danger every time.
He prepared us for it; that’s all he could do. In fact, he knew that danger was just a part of this river, an appendage of its form and function. The danger was something beautiful, something to be respected and honored. The danger is why he does this for a living.
It struck me as deeply profound.
While we were in the middle of a class IV, I had an insight. I realized that when the river became murderous I would immediately morph into a hyper-control state. My muscles got rock-hard, my teeth clenched, and I held on to my paddle so tightly my hands hurt. But right behind me I could feel the energy of my guide doing the exact opposite. I could feel his energy become loose and formless, relaxed, through the most killer of corridors.
He became the river.
It was spectacular to witness.
So I tried it.
Through the next intense stretch, I just observed how the river threw us around. When my mind started creating impending doom, I let go, focusing on our guide’s shouts–“Paddle left! Paddle right! Pull up your oars!”. I chose to surrender all the rest. I became a noodle, my body loose and relaxed. I stopped mentally rehearsing what I would do if I found myself pinned under a rock, and saw myself as an otter, loving those rapids, anticipating them with joy.
Every time, we made it through the gauntlet. Like a bucking bronco, the river tossed a few people into the foam, but only in places where it was fairly easy for us to pull them back into the boat! No injuries were sustained. In fact, the river became our ally. It carried us effortlessly through the most harrowing of experiences, human vs. granite boulder. The Rio Grande felt sentient; it knew what it was doing. It had intelligence.
The Spirit of Water.
At one point our raft threaded straight through the eye of a needle, narrowly scraping through two towering jagged boulders rather than taking the easy way around either side. Once we returned to tamer waters, my husband jokingly asked our guide if he meant to take us through that. It seemed the absolute most difficult route for the boat to find. The guide replied, laughing “Wherever we end up on the river, is where we were meant to go.”
I just can’t think of a more graceful living example of the awesome power of water, a force that so masterfully teaches us the art of surrendering what we can’t control, becoming one with the Universal flow, and the fearsome power of soft persistence.
Much Love,
Kristy
P.S. ~ 5 Stars for this rafting company. I can’t say enough about how much I loved these guys! If you’re looking for a Taos river adventure, I strongly recommend. (I’m not an affiliate.)
P.P.S. ~ Did you know that Highly Sensitive People have a harder time surrendering what we can’t control? It’s an internal process that needs to be deeply evaluated if you find yourself suffering from patterns of anxiety, burnout, or people-pleasing. If you find yourself needing a little help in this area, please jump over here to read all about my transformational coaching work.
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