When I was a young girl, my parents sent me for swimming lessons at our local YMCA. They decided it was a good thing to know. I got a new swimsuit and towel, nose clamps and a pool pass! I was primed and ready! The problem was, I was terrible at it! Whenever I was in the water, I clung to the sides of the pool. I would never venture out into open water but was content to hang around the edges. I can still see the frustration on the face of the instructor after several weeks of me being no closer to ‘swimming’ than the day I arrived.

And yet, I was having fun! Who cared if I could float or dog paddle or do the breaststroke? Not me! I share this because one day, in that happy ignorant state, I willingly and enthusiastically jumped off the high board into the deepest end of the pool during class! I can only imagine the terror the instructor must have felt when he discovered I’d jumped

I walked to the edge of the board, tested my nose plug to make sure it was secure and stepped off into air, never for a moment considering any possibility that this might be a bad idea. Down I went to the bottom of the pool. I bent my knees and gave a good old push to launch myself upward to the surface, confident in my little girl mind that all would be well. Unfortunately, all did not go well. Getting to the bottom of the pool was easy. Making it back to the surface? Not so much. An unwilling participant in probable death is not a pretty sight, whether physical death, death of a relationship, death of a loved one, death of a life we’ve always known, death in any of its forms. The terrorizing fight to not go down that road are very real.

There was that moment though, when I realized, no amount of fighting and struggling was going to save me. My battle against the inevitable was lost. In that feeling of utter hopelessness, because there was no where else to turn, I simply…let go. I stopped fighting and surrendered to whatever was happening because nothing I knew to do was saving me. Nothing. It was in that moment of complete and total surrender that I experienced absolute peace…and floated to the top in what I thought were Angels Arms.

My little girl mind thought, “Oh. So when death comes, all I really need to do is let go and all will be well.”

When death comes, in any of its forms, all I really need to do is just let go…and all will be well….

When I was a young girl, my parents sent me for swimming lessons at our local YMCA. They decided it was a good thing to know. I got a new swimsuit and towel, nose clamps and a pool pass! I was primed and ready! The problem was, I was terrible at it! Whenever I was in the water, I clung to the sides of the pool. I would never venture out into open water but was content to hang around the edges. I can still see the frustration on the face of the instructor after several weeks of me being no closer to ‘swimming’ than the day I arrived.

And yet, I was having fun! Who cared if I could float or dog paddle or do the breaststroke? Not me! I share this because one day, in that happy ignorant state, I willingly and enthusiastically jumped off the high board into the deepest end of the pool during class! I can only imagine the terror the instructor must have felt when he discovered I’d jumped

I walked to the edge of the board, tested my nose plug to make sure it was secure and stepped off into air, never for a moment considering any possibility that this might be a bad idea. Down I went to the bottom of the pool. I bent my knees and gave a good old push to launch myself upward to the surface, confident in my little girl mind that all would be well. Unfortunately, all did not go well. Getting to the bottom of the pool was easy. Making it back to the surface? Not so much. An unwilling participant in probable death is not a pretty sight, whether physical death, death of a relationship, death of a loved one, death of a life we’ve always known, death in any of its forms. The terrorizing fight to not go down that road are very real.

There was that moment though, when I realized, no amount of fighting and struggling was going to save me. My battle against the inevitable was lost. In that feeling of utter hopelessness, because there was no where else to turn, I simply…let go. I stopped fighting and surrendered to whatever was happening because nothing I knew to do was saving me. Nothing. It was in that moment of complete and total surrender that I experienced absolute peace…and floated to the top in what I thought were Angels Arms.

My little girl mind thought, “Oh. So when death comes, all I really need to do is let go and all will be well.”

When death comes, in any of its forms, all I really need to do is just let go…and all will be well….

Recently I listened to someone share their utter despair of the life they were experiencing: life-threatening illness, break-up of 20+years relationship. Another person shared their debilitating addiction to prescription meds and alcohol and the trickle-down effects those were having on their life. Someone else talked about the depth of loneliness and despair they were feeling from all the isolation and distancing they’ve been enduring for the past year and a half. They all said they were at rock bottom.

The dreaded rock bottom, where all seems lost, all options gone, where everything seems to teeter on the edge of life and death. Physical pain. Mental and emotional anguish. Spiritual hell. I suspect we’ve all been to those places in varying degrees of intensity at different times in our lives. I certainly have.

Hitting rock bottom sucks. There is no pleasure or joy in that fall, no moon-beams or unicorns as a booby prize once we’ve arrived. There is just this endless unknown that, more often than not, we fill with every worst-case scenario our thoughts can dredge up. Sometimes those scenarios playout. Sometimes they don’t. No guarantees.

I’m not sure there are any answers, but lately, I’ve been wondering if maybe befriending the rock bottom we keep hitting might hold the relief we seek. Rocks have a lot to teach us: to listen, to be still, to wait in silence, to trust the solidity and strength the rock offers when we’re lying there, on our back, with no where to look but up.

While hitting rock bottom is a terrifying and miserable fall, maybe rock bottom itself, is the safest place to be. Maybe being on that rock solid foundation makes everything else just clouds in the sky, coming and going. Clouds that may demand our attention but can only be wisely dealt with from the position of rock bottom. Everything is much clearer when you’re at rock bottom. You’re not lost in the clouds of thoughts, trying to figure it all out. You’re resting on that unchangeable place that allows for complete surrender because there’s no where else to go.

However horrifying it might be to sometimes suddenly find ourselves there, I wonder….could it be that the dreaded rock bottom, once we’re there, is actually the best seat in the house?

When I was about 4 or 5, I stood with my brother at the well pump outside, hand-pumping water into a metal bucket for the cows my Dad was milking. When it was full, we each grabbed hold of the bucket’s handle and walked, side by side, carrying it to the barn. In that small stretch of time, an Inner Voice somehow conveyed to me that this, this tiny experience of life, this simple task shared with another, this was what life was all about. There were no loud bells or whistles, no fireworks or mind-altering visions, no grandiose plan laid out before me showing what I was supposed to do with my life. There was only that sweet, simple, quiet moment of existence that was revealed to me as the essence of life.

I forgot that quite often over the years, lost in mental chatter, wandering off-road in my mind onto twisted, gnarly paths at times or sometimes walking right into quicksand and thrashing about for awhile til I’d remember that the only way out was to let go. And sometimes I did remember that innocent feeling of just being in peace with the moment, seeing the beauty and wonder of carrying a bucket of water with someone I love, holding my tiny son in my arms for the first time, the final kiss to the brow of my Dad and then my Mom when they let go of this life, the laughter and joy of my nieces and the voice of my brother telling a story, of hearing a bird sing or a cricket chirp, seeing the colors of a sunrise and sunset or fall leaves, feeling the coolness of water in a stream over my bare feet or the wind on my face or the roughness of bark on a tree, the smell of spring rain or a pine forest, the taste of fresh berries from a hedgerow.

Within those moments there were no pressures or deadlines. No demands or shoulds. No dogma or doctrine or how-to’s I had to follow. No worrying or suffering. No threats of punishment or promises of reward. Only the sweet, simple, quiet moments of existence…

My mind and thoughts can whip me up into a frenzy sometimes, trying to fix/solve/save myself, others, circumstances. It can seem so damned important, this compulsion to get mine and everyone else’s ducks-in-a-row. So much trying and striving, struggling and straining against life, convinced it has to be a certain way…my way, and that somehow all is lost if it isn’t. Yet all along, everything I’m looking for with such intent, is right here, in this moment.

The unassuming moment is the treasure, the gift, the pot of gold I’m so desperate to find. As A.J. Muste said, “There is no way to peace, peace is the way”. It seems that there is no way to the precious present moment either. The precious, sweet, simple, quiet present moment, whatever it holds, is the way…