The art of surrender.
Awhile ago my husband and I took an incredible all-day river rafting trip through the Rio Grande Gorge in Taos, New Mexico. It was so incredible, I’ll never forget it. Six hours of beautiful seclusion within the towering arms of the rugged canyon walls, a landscape so awe-inspiring you are forced to truly see the smallness of humanity.
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. The scene became even more special when two female bighorn sheep, with a fuzzy brown lamb, joined our picnic! The tiny baby stared at us, peeking at her mom as if to say, “What are they?” Then she got spunky, jumping and kicking at nothing; energized by our 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, otherwise known as the Taos Box due to the 800 foot-high basalt cliffs on either side of the river, only accessible by raft. This stretch is sixteen miles of class III & IV rapids, known for its stunning scenery and technical difficulty. 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, but he doesn’t claim to have any control over it.
It struck me as deeply profound.
While we were battling 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 the river 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 and humbling to witness.
So I tried it.
Through the next intense stretch, I simply observed how the river threw us around. When my mind started creating catastrophe, I let go, focusing on our guide’s shouts–“Paddle left! Paddle right! Pull up your oars!”. I surrendered 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 instead saw myself as an otter, loving those rapids, riding them with abandon, anticipating them with joy.
My surrender was my freedom.
It wasn’t about giving up, it was about giving in…to the pure experience.
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 to safely pull them back in. No injuries were sustained.
In fact, I started to see it all differently. This wasn’t at all a war with the water.
The river was our ally. I watched as it carried us effortlessly through the most harrowing of experiences, human vs. granite boulder, vs. current, vs. gravity. The Rio Grande felt sentient; it knew what it was doing. It had intelligence.
Our guide wasn’t conquering the water; he was devoted to it.
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 do that! It seemed the most treacherous 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.
May the wisdom of the water be yours, my friend. None of us are in this raft alone.
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 practice.
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