A conversation with the world

Discovering who’s the boss. *Hint - not me.

I’m parked up at the cut. Where the Kaituna flows into the sea. From the comfort of my car, it’s a beautiful scene. Earthy browns, whites and greys; a lone seagull fluttering against the wind. Dark, wet boulders create a barrier between the car park and the shore.

A lone fisherman stares out to sea, waiting for a bite. The rain seems to have no end, slapping the world a thousand times to wake up. The world growls back with crashing waves.

My heart cries out: “It shouldn’t be like this!”

Nature says: “What is, is.”

I cry: “But what if this happens or that happens?”

Nature says: “Yes”.

Life continues. Until it doesn’t.

It seems to be that the only issue here is me, resisting everything. Thinking I can control something. I’ve learned this over time. Resist your feelings and stay at a job you don’t love. Resist people who don’t think the same way you do. Resist peace. While crying out for it.

It’s lonely, sometimes, too. You don’t want to be out socialising when there’s a war raging inside of you. It’s exhausting, trying to smile over pain.

But let’s focus on the real issue here. Why is that gusty wind and cold rain not severely annoying that dude who is fishing? I am annoyed that I have to turn the key, to use the wipers, to see the pretty view. So I can feel moody while looking at a moody (but gorgeous) scene. Whoa, princess… it’s like I’m trying to make myself, and what I want, important instead of just yielding. Why would I do that? To avoid feeling so unimportant and unworthy, perhaps?

I understand that I am grieving. For my father, for the boy next door, for my childhood, even. Death is a part of life. I knew this, and I accepted this. But I see now that I resisted feeling the sadness. It felt too great, like an expression of Tangaroa that would sweep me away and leave me adrift forever. I didn’t want to lose myself as well. I was surviving, but not living. By resisting the experience of emotional pain, I was unwittingly prolonging it. I didn’t agree to this loss. The world didn’t run this past me first. I wasn’t ready! Don’t you know who I am???

I’m learning to yield. To stop damming the flow of tears that need to flow to wash the wounds. I can’t keep trying to dodge my feelings. It would be like trying to avoid being hit by the rain while out fishing - Oh. I see that fisherman in a different light now. Teacher.

So how does it work then? I’m thinking maybe I just point myself in the direction I want to go. I do all of the things I thought I couldn’t do (because what if this, and what if that?). And one step at a time, fully experience each moment. Yeah alright. I’ll try.

It might hurt. I might fail. I could lose something. But I’ll yield as much as I can remember to.

This is scary. I’m moving to a new town. I know maybe two people there. New job too. I feel like a fool, stepping off a cliff. I can see three potential outcomes right now. I could go splat. Land might materialise beneath my feet. Or I could sprout wings. I don’t have control of the outcome.

Where are my atua at? Where are my tupuna at? I’m going to need you for this journey…

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*Side note - I just noticed that I parked where the river meets the ocean. A nice little mirror for me meeting the world! Well, a world outside of my comfortable, familiar realm… These are little moments of magic for me. I savour them!

Oh, I think the world just spoke to me again…

“Be willing to lose everything. Let go of being a river, that you may become the sea. Your river stories were perfect for their time. Now let’s make some new ones!”

I’d like to extend a warm welcome to everyone who has subscribed to this newsletter. Thank you so much for being here. It gives me courage to share. I’m grateful for you!