The overwhelm and the undertow…
- At July 16, 2011
- By Christa
- In Hope and Grace, Lessons for Life, Photographs, Strolls
7
Someday, after mastering the winds, the waves, the tides and gravity,
we shall harness for God the energies of love,
and then, for a second time in the history of the world,
man will have discovered fire.
~ Teilhard de Chardin ~
This week’s Sunday Stroll takes us to Long Beach, on one end of the Pacific Rim
National Park in British Columbia. These photos were taken on some hallowed
ground – the former summer camp of the local tribe – used, possibly, as late as
the 1950’s.
I’ve been noodling this post all week while battling the Summer Stomach Virus
and I think it will make sense to you now. I hope so.
I really want to show you what I see – the overwhelm and the undertow that is
both literal and figurative. We all feel it, every day – the pull of the tides, of the
moon, of who knows what else. If we are still enough, it is there.
Life builds up in just this way. Look at these waves grow in power,
in strength, in size – just as the daily-ness of life does.
Wherever you are, whatever you do, the every day neediness of
the things that run our lives begins to stack up on itself. It rolls over
and over, momentum growing…
until it crashes against what remains solid in you. Those walls you build,
the beliefs you hold, the stories you repeat over and over until they
become more real that what is, in fact, actually right in front of you.
I do it, too. We all do. It is part of human life on this planet. And
after the crescendo, if we have found a way to bring peace within
our selves, it begins to subside. At least a little bit.
Slowly, the waves move out and there is more room. Room to breathe,
to learn, to find a way to know that this will happen again, but that
we don’t have to suffer so much. Hopefully, we find room in our dailiness
to make space for the inevitable rising of the tides, for that flow which
turns the planet, and us, literally.
Still, it can stir everyone up and reorganize life in a way that can take
some adjusting…
Or it can leave us feeling pretty beached – high and dry, alone and
exposed until the next high tide reaches us where we are.
If you are lucky, we begin to try to find some high ground. A vantage
point from which you can see the big picture, and begin to see a new
way to look at things.
In any given day, there is both the overwhelm and the undertow.
It’s all in how you ride those waves. Or let them wash over you, knowing
all will be well, in the end.
Meredith Resnick
I just found your site and I am quite glad I did!
I enjoyed this post enormously. I have been struggling with grief; I lost my father nearly 3 months ago from cancer and he was just 63 years old.
Grief is just like those waves in so many different ways, and perhaps grief is simply a more extreme state of everyday life, of how we ebb and flow and act and react.
That Big Pictures (you write about) is key!
I seek for it to become a more paramount image for me because I know this larger panoramic shot well, at least in my brain, but fail to always feel it in my heart.
That’s what I explore on my blog.
Thanks for your blog!
Meredith
Christa
Hi Mereidth,
I don’t usually respond here (often not able to get back to all, not sure what to say, etc., as grateful as I am for all forms of feedback) – I typically email responses, if needed.
However, I love this analogy, and agree fully that grief is like life, only more so. I recently wrote a post – found here – http://www.carryitforward.com/the-gifts-of-grief/
- which links to a wonderful new free book you can download from my friend, Alana, at http://www.lifeafterbenjamin.com . I am one of several authors who contributed, but she wove it together with pure magic. I hope you will take a look at it… I figured it was worth posting here.
Thanks so much for being here!
pamela
Christa, this is so wonderful – the photos and even more so, the words.
the every day neediness of
the things that run our lives begins to stack up on itself.
I thought it was just me that was overwhelmed. What comfort to know this happens to all of us and that like the waves, it subsides.
Christine @ Coffees & Commutes
Oh my goodness. I’m breathless. Breathless. Thank you. xo
Alana
I love this. Sigh. You are amazing, even with the stomach flu.
MKCountryman
I will hold these images in my mind when it gets tough again, to remember the big picture, and that it all ebbs and flows. I love what you wrote about making room for the tides to come in. I think, maybe, that is what I am working on now. Instead of being at the max every day, where I flood when another tide comes in, I am working on bringing peace and space into my every days, so I can withstand the big waves.
Also, congrats on this post. You can also refer back to this when you are having a down moment (or the flu!)
magnolia
Oh yes, this is it, a capture of energy. Wild and free.