Love is Greater Than Fear
Between The Veil – It seems somewhat frequent of late, during these times of COVID, that I work with people who are questioning the not-knowing, and the longing to know, of this life experience. While we are dealing with significant changes, there is a knowing that can point the way, if we allow ourselves to acknowledge our fears, our deep sadness, and that sense of something Bigger, that something that takes us out of ourselves and connects us to the vastness of Being.
On a beautiful, sunny end-of-August-day, a friend and I decided to go paddle boarding out in the Bay. The idea of putting our paddle boards together, hanging out on our boards with our feet in the water, enjoying a friendly chat beckoned. I was excited! Paddle boarding was something I had always wanted to try but never had the opportunity. We paddled out in our tank tops, leggings and life jackets. The wind and the current became strong and in a matter of minutes we were carried to the other side of the Bay.
As hard as I paddled, I felt like I was going backwards, and turning in circles (being an unskilled paddler). I found myself trying to stay calm, focusing on not falling off the skinny little board I’d been kneeling on. (It was too windy to stand up by that time and it seemed like we had been paddling for hours.) My knees hurt, the waves were hard, and it was too far out and too cold to swim back. The word ‘hypothermia’ kept coming to my mind. It was a bit scary but I realized I couldn’t allow myself to go to fear. I concentrated on paddling hard and breathing rhythmically, one breath at a time.
And then, I found myself looking for the eagles who often frequent the other side of the Bay. I found myself having a conversation with my son who left this earth 14 years ago. It went something like, “Andrew, where are you? I need your help now!” No sooner had I experienced all of this than I became aware of someone paddling towards my friend and I in a kayak. He yelled across the water to us, “Wind’s pretty strong today . . . . need a tow?” My friend, some 20 years younger and better skilled than I, yelled back, “No, but she might! This is her first time paddle boarding!”
As this fellow water enthusiast paddled up beside me, I could see live crabs (his catch for the day) lying on their back in the hole I was meant to crawl in. . . . . I was a bit horrified at the thought of live crabs nibbling on my toes . . . .”You want me to climb in here”, I asked? “Yep! Just turn ‘em over”, he replied. (Hmmmm, I paused, in my mind thinking if these guys are right side up, they’ll have much better access to my bare toes . . . but here was my good Samaritan). I was able to quickly transfer my body weight and climb into his kayak without toppling either one of us over, and travel back to safety with live crabs crawling around my feet. At some point we are chatting as he was paddling, and a great warmth seeped over me as I realized I’d stayed on the board in rough waters, connected once again with my beloved son, and I turned 70 years old in July!
As I was stepping out of the kayak and thanking my Good Samaritan profusely for coming to my assistance, he looked at me and said, “My niece and her husband and my two 7-year-old daughters were overturned in their canoe not more than a half hour ago. A boat rescued them. I wanted to pay it forward.”
It has been 14 years since I was down on my knees with my heart breaking, after having received news of my son’s death, saying, “Son, I don’t know how to do this. . . You are going to have to help me learn to navigate living between the veil of physical and non-physical reality.” So many times since the year of his passing he has dropped into visit me. Either in the way of communicating a life-forwarding step or maybe just to spend a few moments ‘checking in’ and having ‘a cup of tea’. Of course, I still miss him and tears still stream down my cheeks sometimes when I am remembering and longing to hug him and feel his exuberant being in my arms but I am so grateful for his presence in our lives. We are all so interconnected. I bow to all that is greater than me.