When The Tide Goes Out…We Learn The Kind of Warrior We Are
by Alfonsina Betancourt
We couldn’t have chosen two more perfect days. The weather was glorious: hot and breezy, clear skies, end-of-July warm water, perfect for one night camping in an island off the Long Island Sound.
I had not been able to swim for two weeks and I was determined to make up for it. Summer is short in New England after all, and the water is not usually that warm for long. So I swam as I had not done in years, up to the middle of the cove and back. I floated, I glided, I felt the delicious water surrounding me, the taste of salt, the heath of the sun setting over the coast, and seeing the reflection of a clear blue sky turning orange over the flat surface of the sea. Once the night set in and the sight of the first starts appeared, I swam again under the moonlight. The water surprisingly warm and the sensation of small fish coming to greet my legs. Growing up on the Caribbean imprints you with a natural draw towards the ocean, I guess. I had been in so many pristine beaches of crystalline, turquoise water and white, powdery sand, but that swim under the moon has been one of the most delicious and surreal experiences of my life.
The night did not disappoint. The Gibbous moon, a show of planets including Jupiters, Saturn, Venus and Mars and even a few shooting stars delighted us while we stayed by the fire. With only one hour of sleep, we woke up to enjoy a beautiful sunrise, the sound of a multitude of birds in the background.
Although I am a very active person, I was surprised by the incredible amount of energy I had. I barely stay still and don’t sleep much anyways, but I am not usually as awake with that scarce amount of sleep hours. After sunrise, a yoga session by the shore followed by mediation and more swimming. Could you ask for more?
That kind of experiences are always appreciated. The power of nature to bring us back to the present, to our senses, does not cease to amaze me. But that time it had a very special meaning. The last few months had not been easy. The kind of eras that shake you to the core and force you to stop, reevaluate and grow. Stillness is not available while we are forced to be moved and transformed, even against our will.
That beautiful immersion in nature allowed my body to release every resistance, to let go of stress accumulated on my cells, on my muscles, on the depths of my jaws. It was extremely healing! While I let nature do its trick, I let my soul surrendered. I was able to meditate on the process I am going through and also see it from the perspective of the eagle: from far away. At the same time, I was able to commune with it at a short distance, like an ant: working through it with a short vision.
To say that I was extremely grateful with the experience and all the revelations and healing it provided is quite an understatement.
As the moment for our departure approached, the heat and humidity set in. I wanted to desperately to swim once more. I wanted to recreate the experience of liberation I had felt throughout our stay as a closing ritual. By that time, the tide had recessed considerably. I approached the water enthusiastically only to discovered that by then, the shore had become a black, muddy mess. My feet buried in the sticky mud, but I kept going because if I hoped that farther from the coast I was going to be able to swim, which is all I wanted. But I kept walking for a long time. The water never raised up my mid thighs and with every step my legs were buried in the sand up to my knees. It felt like quicksand; the effort I had to make to release my feet in order to keep going was getting strenuous and definitely not pleasant. Quite a workout! I thought maybe I could float somehow until I got to the middle of the cove. My belly was encountered by the mud as well so I raised and tried to keep walking. Definitely not a good idea! I am not sure how many feet away from the shore I went, but I never found enough water to swim; only black, sticky mud. Swimming was not possible so with lots of efforts I returned to the shore.
If the night before I experienced one of the most delicious swims of my life, that moment, only hours after was by far my most unpleasant swimming ever. There was no swimming actually.
Throughout my latest process of awakening I have tried to ride the wave. Stop resisting the change, trying to stay afloat when I know I can’t go far. Float as much as I can, even if that is an hourly effort. “Riding the wave” has practically become my mantra. Maybe that is the reason why swimming felt so good that day. It was the perfect analogy: let myself free in the water, without resistance.
What happened the following day was just the perfect metaphor to how problems sometimes feel like. It does not matter how much we want to keep afloat, there are times where the water is just too shallow. Underneath, that is where the quicksand plays its trick. It draws us to the deepness; it makes it hard to keep walking; it sucks our energy; it soils our bodies; it becomes this nasty, sticky surface that does not let us go.
When we are forced to face growth opportunities and when reality hits us with the strength of a powerful lighting, we have to be prepared to deal with both: with the wave and with the quicksand. We don’t grow in the pleasant water. We grow by relentlessly making our way through mud, by realizing that even when the sand wants to suck us in, we make the impossible to slip out. We can wait for the tide to go up and we can clean the mud out of our bodies, but even when the water raises making it possible to have a great swim, the quicksand remains in the bottom, even when we don’t see it. When the tide recesses it just makes it obvious.
Nature is extremely wise. When I don’t know how to solve a problem I observe it and find out the answers I need. That day, drunk on beautiful sights, sand and stardust I received the gift of healing, of letting go, of accepting what it is. At the same time, filled of mud, I received the gift of understanding that there are things meant to be and worth fighting for. Sometimes fighting feels quite unpleasant, but necessary, nevertheless. There will be times to swim on warmer waters, to float under moonlight, to received the gift of healing. I got a taste of that before experiencing the depth of unpleasantness.
If there is a lesson I got from all of that is that quicksand only bothers us when there is no water to float. The good news? Tides are just a proof that sooner or later the mud will be hidden under delicious water. Water worth swimming in, bathing in, taking in and healing in. And that is a swim worth waiting for!
Cockoneo Island, CT
“Only when the tide goes out do you discover who’s been swimming naked”
— Warren Buffet