I spent too many years wishing I had done things differently, things that landed me where I am now--in an unhappy marriage, caring for three adult kids with disabilities, and feeling like there is no hope for anything to change in my life. Then, little by little, I let go of the things in my past, things I can't undo or go back and change. I began to recognize the blessings that are right in front of me, even though we, as a family, are struggling with many challenges. I also began to think about time--the time I have left, which is a complete unknown--and how I should cherish every moment as sacred and special. Too many thoughts of the past were keeping me from moving forward and being present.
I love, so very much, this idea of the river moving towards the ocean. But for me, without fear. The ocean has always been the place where I feel I belong, the thing soothes my soul and calms my mind. Having this image of a river flowing to the ocean, fearing the vastness that lies before it, resonates with me. I often just wade into the ocean, looking out over its expansiveness, feeling in awe, and feeling something so deeply spiritual. The place of my longing. Thinking about the river meeting the ocean makes me visualize my whole life as a river flowing towards that vast ocean, but without fear. I'd be coming to my eternal home.
I’m struggling to understand my dad’s death. He has been gone almost two years yet at times I look at his picture and think “Are you really gone? Are your ashes all that is left of your body? We really can’t go back can we? I’m on the shore watching the river meet the ocean, experiencing inevitably! Thank you for that image. Somehow it comforts me.
Thank you so much for this Susan! As someone with a somewhat anxious nature who likes certainty and a sense of control, and struggles with the emotional unease of not having it, I am holding onto the first stanza as a beautiful reminder of the process and possibility on the path of trust.
It is so much better to reflect on the situations of the past try to understand the lessons you were meant to learn from them and after a good long cry, let it go. You can’t go back you can’t change what happened staying and ruminating only holds you back and blocks you from moving forward as a much stronger version of you than you were.
I like to think of our individual lives an evolving tapestry of our experiences, woven more broadly into life interconnected. Living in presence seems so important, especially in these challenging times. And yet, our past became part of our presence because it is part of who we are, now. The river and the ocean are the same life, although I appreciate the metaphors in the poem. I would not go back, would not change anything, "good or bad," because I would not be who I am now if I did, nor is it an option. It is through acknowledging our groundlessness and impermanence that we touch fearlessness and hopelessness, or rather allowing and accepting. We simple are as we are, as life will have and hold us. Our small selves and egos (shadows, parts, etc...they have many names) love to narrate past, present and future in a way that supports them. I think the past can be a valuable teacher, but only outside of those stories, integrated into a greater whole. Below are a few lines from a poem I have been working on called The Small Ones that tries to allude to all of this.....
aren’t we simply indulging
our small and divisive egos
privileged and loving and well-intentioned
when we create yet more stories and plights
about how we are good and right
because we admit our wrongs
we write poems and dance in prose
perhaps to keep the portal propped open
between our minds and our hearts
to let awareness that observes itself in
because the door keeps blowing shut
threatens to close us off
from the one infinite tapestry of life
of love and beauty and things words can’t touch
forces that live us and lift our souls into the wind
we sit at the same toadstools and tables
repeat the same lessons because we have not learned
play the same games with different names and different plots
with questions and agendas and thinking
about what can never truly be seen or known
unintentionally separating ourselves
from love and life currents that sustain us, are us
Hello to the writers on this thread; I appreciate your comments. Yet I find myself of two minds on the current topic.
My initial inclination is to embrace without pause or hesitation the vast and holy wholeness the ocean represents. The second is to contemplate what a return to the past, were it possible, might gift me with.
I have no interest, again, were it even possible, in changing what has been. But I would love the opportunity to observe what was with the hard earned wisdom of my current self - a self that hopefully would see with clarity what I was blind to "back then" - the inherent goodness of my soul.
In this regard, the ability to be a kind of silent witness to the past might occasion a forgiving and honoring love that would dress my merging with the ocean in an even deeper sense of the now-ness of all time - whether it be past, present or future.
This post made me think of "The Midnight Library" by Matt Haig, which I'm in the middle of listening to right now. The themes feel very connected—the idea of looking back at our lives, wondering about different choices, and imagining how things might have turned out.
What I appreciate about both this post and the book is the reminder that we can't actually go back. We can reflect and learn, but ultimately life keeps moving forward, and maybe the challenge is to embrace where we are rather than where we might have been.
Has anyone else read/listened to it? I'd be interested to hear what others thought.
Dear Susan and friends - these words of Gibran were sent to me some years ago after being read at the funeral of a dear work colleague and friend - I too saw the 'poem' then as denoting the pinnacle of the soul's journey and the merging of the soul's drop with the entire Universe. I now wish I had paid better heed to it, because I have gone back, literally, to where we lived some 14 or so years ago, and it has been a great mistake, for me. My husband is happy, he is settled. But I feel so homesick for my past life in a different part of the country, and so disappointed. I perhaps thought I would be going back to an earlier version of me, but now I find she has long gone. So, now I hold onto these words of Pema Chodron: "When there's a disappointment, I don't know if it's the end of the story. But it may be just the beginning of a great adventure". I hope so, and I'm staying open and curious to what may come, as best I can.
Thanks to everyone for their thoughtful posts here, it's a privilege to read them.
Thanks for another stunning piece of art and a thoughtful post, Susan. In the early days of my recovery from alcoholism, when I was faced with the wreckage I had caused, I told my wife, “I can’t undo what I’ve already done. I can only work on doing better going forward.” It is impossible to go back - actions that have already occurred and words already spoken - are history. So I am simpatico with the words written by Kahlil Gibran.
I heard you on Sam Harris's podcast (big fan!), and although I am probably more on the extrovert end of the spectrum, with very definite introvert recovery needs ;o) I quickly downloaded your book and subscribed to your Quiet Life. And all of that from someone who seldom joins anything!
I am particularly taken by your support for, and acknowledgment of, the solitude and contemplative periods many of us require to become, in my opinion, more fully formed human beings. Thank you for the insights that give us permission to trust our own instincts and rhythms resulting in a richer and more authentic life.
For a long time, I thought I needed certainty before stepping into what came next. I don't think that's true anymore. In some ways, I think I mourned much of what happened with and to my life before departure.
The fear of standing at the water's edge has taken a back seat. I can no longer unsee the curiosity and possibility in front of me and what that does for me.
Leave it to Kahlil Gibran…simple, succinct and undeniable. I will from now on even approach my summer swims in the ocean with greater regard and curiosity.
Without a crystal ball, some uncertainties remain as we face an impending loss and brace for the grief of a new, raw emptiness in the aftermath. As life happens, I accept the human condition - a river of no return - and I choose to forgive life, and not to resist the reality unfolding before me. While I pivot toward something redeeming that emerges from the experience, I may discover an expanded self rather than a diminished one.
A higher order of seeing goes like this: Viewing the river and the ocean as separate entities is an illusion. Instead, consider them as one inseparable body of water, similar to mist, fog, snow, or rain. The nondualistic mind perceives nature as cyclical, moving in a circular dance of different forms, yet it remains inherently and singularly a living whole. Thus, the ocean of life does not swallow every river in me when they merge; instead, I will befriend each stranger anew.
As a long time caregiver with my wife who has Huntington's Disease, there are times when I wish to go back to how things were before the decline and changes in her. This poem is a good reminder that there is no turning back. I need to continue to hold her with love and compassion and engage others in this journey. There is so much we are learning in the ocean.
Dear Susan - the paragraph about magical thinking prompts reflection on what I might need to let go of in my life, instead of trying to reconstruct and recapture. One is a relationship with a church that has had a central place in my life for years, the other is a family Thanksgiving tradition. I don't want to give either up easily, and have been looking for that magic bullet that will let me resettle into both of them - but that may not be what I'm intended to do. I'm still in discernment, and this was important perspective for that process. Thank you. Warmly, Julie
Susan, your recent post with Kahlil Gibran’s poem, “Fear” invited me to reflect on my life of 65 years. I can honestly say that I would not want to go back and change any part of how I have lived my life. I have no regrets. Nothing I would change. All my past experiences both good and not so good have led me to where I am today. Today, I am content with my life. Little by slowly I am understanding myself. My younger self was driven by a lot of fear but not so much anymore. I no longer let the fear drive my life. I let it come along and let it know that we are okay. I allow myself, like the river to tremble a little bit, but I have taken the plunge and entered the ocean and the vastness of life.
I spent too many years wishing I had done things differently, things that landed me where I am now--in an unhappy marriage, caring for three adult kids with disabilities, and feeling like there is no hope for anything to change in my life. Then, little by little, I let go of the things in my past, things I can't undo or go back and change. I began to recognize the blessings that are right in front of me, even though we, as a family, are struggling with many challenges. I also began to think about time--the time I have left, which is a complete unknown--and how I should cherish every moment as sacred and special. Too many thoughts of the past were keeping me from moving forward and being present.
I love, so very much, this idea of the river moving towards the ocean. But for me, without fear. The ocean has always been the place where I feel I belong, the thing soothes my soul and calms my mind. Having this image of a river flowing to the ocean, fearing the vastness that lies before it, resonates with me. I often just wade into the ocean, looking out over its expansiveness, feeling in awe, and feeling something so deeply spiritual. The place of my longing. Thinking about the river meeting the ocean makes me visualize my whole life as a river flowing towards that vast ocean, but without fear. I'd be coming to my eternal home.
I’m struggling to understand my dad’s death. He has been gone almost two years yet at times I look at his picture and think “Are you really gone? Are your ashes all that is left of your body? We really can’t go back can we? I’m on the shore watching the river meet the ocean, experiencing inevitably! Thank you for that image. Somehow it comforts me.
Thank you so much for this Susan! As someone with a somewhat anxious nature who likes certainty and a sense of control, and struggles with the emotional unease of not having it, I am holding onto the first stanza as a beautiful reminder of the process and possibility on the path of trust.
It is so much better to reflect on the situations of the past try to understand the lessons you were meant to learn from them and after a good long cry, let it go. You can’t go back you can’t change what happened staying and ruminating only holds you back and blocks you from moving forward as a much stronger version of you than you were.
I like to think of our individual lives an evolving tapestry of our experiences, woven more broadly into life interconnected. Living in presence seems so important, especially in these challenging times. And yet, our past became part of our presence because it is part of who we are, now. The river and the ocean are the same life, although I appreciate the metaphors in the poem. I would not go back, would not change anything, "good or bad," because I would not be who I am now if I did, nor is it an option. It is through acknowledging our groundlessness and impermanence that we touch fearlessness and hopelessness, or rather allowing and accepting. We simple are as we are, as life will have and hold us. Our small selves and egos (shadows, parts, etc...they have many names) love to narrate past, present and future in a way that supports them. I think the past can be a valuable teacher, but only outside of those stories, integrated into a greater whole. Below are a few lines from a poem I have been working on called The Small Ones that tries to allude to all of this.....
aren’t we simply indulging
our small and divisive egos
privileged and loving and well-intentioned
when we create yet more stories and plights
about how we are good and right
because we admit our wrongs
we write poems and dance in prose
perhaps to keep the portal propped open
between our minds and our hearts
to let awareness that observes itself in
because the door keeps blowing shut
threatens to close us off
from the one infinite tapestry of life
of love and beauty and things words can’t touch
forces that live us and lift our souls into the wind
we sit at the same toadstools and tables
repeat the same lessons because we have not learned
play the same games with different names and different plots
with questions and agendas and thinking
about what can never truly be seen or known
unintentionally separating ourselves
from love and life currents that sustain us, are us
perhaps if we are listening deeply
we feel in our souls
we are the woven
pulling threads from the weaving
taking the world apart
trying to bend it to our will
as it forgives and touches and heals us
as if we control or own our breath
as if it all could ever
be anything more or less
than it simply is
miraculous!
Hello to the writers on this thread; I appreciate your comments. Yet I find myself of two minds on the current topic.
My initial inclination is to embrace without pause or hesitation the vast and holy wholeness the ocean represents. The second is to contemplate what a return to the past, were it possible, might gift me with.
I have no interest, again, were it even possible, in changing what has been. But I would love the opportunity to observe what was with the hard earned wisdom of my current self - a self that hopefully would see with clarity what I was blind to "back then" - the inherent goodness of my soul.
In this regard, the ability to be a kind of silent witness to the past might occasion a forgiving and honoring love that would dress my merging with the ocean in an even deeper sense of the now-ness of all time - whether it be past, present or future.
In gratitude,
Vicki
This post made me think of "The Midnight Library" by Matt Haig, which I'm in the middle of listening to right now. The themes feel very connected—the idea of looking back at our lives, wondering about different choices, and imagining how things might have turned out.
What I appreciate about both this post and the book is the reminder that we can't actually go back. We can reflect and learn, but ultimately life keeps moving forward, and maybe the challenge is to embrace where we are rather than where we might have been.
Has anyone else read/listened to it? I'd be interested to hear what others thought.
Sincerely,
Suzanne
Dear Susan and friends - these words of Gibran were sent to me some years ago after being read at the funeral of a dear work colleague and friend - I too saw the 'poem' then as denoting the pinnacle of the soul's journey and the merging of the soul's drop with the entire Universe. I now wish I had paid better heed to it, because I have gone back, literally, to where we lived some 14 or so years ago, and it has been a great mistake, for me. My husband is happy, he is settled. But I feel so homesick for my past life in a different part of the country, and so disappointed. I perhaps thought I would be going back to an earlier version of me, but now I find she has long gone. So, now I hold onto these words of Pema Chodron: "When there's a disappointment, I don't know if it's the end of the story. But it may be just the beginning of a great adventure". I hope so, and I'm staying open and curious to what may come, as best I can.
Thanks to everyone for their thoughtful posts here, it's a privilege to read them.
Anne x
Thanks for another stunning piece of art and a thoughtful post, Susan. In the early days of my recovery from alcoholism, when I was faced with the wreckage I had caused, I told my wife, “I can’t undo what I’ve already done. I can only work on doing better going forward.” It is impossible to go back - actions that have already occurred and words already spoken - are history. So I am simpatico with the words written by Kahlil Gibran.
Susan,
I heard you on Sam Harris's podcast (big fan!), and although I am probably more on the extrovert end of the spectrum, with very definite introvert recovery needs ;o) I quickly downloaded your book and subscribed to your Quiet Life. And all of that from someone who seldom joins anything!
I am particularly taken by your support for, and acknowledgment of, the solitude and contemplative periods many of us require to become, in my opinion, more fully formed human beings. Thank you for the insights that give us permission to trust our own instincts and rhythms resulting in a richer and more authentic life.
More and more, I do not think I'd go back.
For a long time, I thought I needed certainty before stepping into what came next. I don't think that's true anymore. In some ways, I think I mourned much of what happened with and to my life before departure.
The fear of standing at the water's edge has taken a back seat. I can no longer unsee the curiosity and possibility in front of me and what that does for me.
I do not want to return upstream.
Leave it to Kahlil Gibran…simple, succinct and undeniable. I will from now on even approach my summer swims in the ocean with greater regard and curiosity.
Without a crystal ball, some uncertainties remain as we face an impending loss and brace for the grief of a new, raw emptiness in the aftermath. As life happens, I accept the human condition - a river of no return - and I choose to forgive life, and not to resist the reality unfolding before me. While I pivot toward something redeeming that emerges from the experience, I may discover an expanded self rather than a diminished one.
A higher order of seeing goes like this: Viewing the river and the ocean as separate entities is an illusion. Instead, consider them as one inseparable body of water, similar to mist, fog, snow, or rain. The nondualistic mind perceives nature as cyclical, moving in a circular dance of different forms, yet it remains inherently and singularly a living whole. Thus, the ocean of life does not swallow every river in me when they merge; instead, I will befriend each stranger anew.
As a long time caregiver with my wife who has Huntington's Disease, there are times when I wish to go back to how things were before the decline and changes in her. This poem is a good reminder that there is no turning back. I need to continue to hold her with love and compassion and engage others in this journey. There is so much we are learning in the ocean.
Dear Susan - the paragraph about magical thinking prompts reflection on what I might need to let go of in my life, instead of trying to reconstruct and recapture. One is a relationship with a church that has had a central place in my life for years, the other is a family Thanksgiving tradition. I don't want to give either up easily, and have been looking for that magic bullet that will let me resettle into both of them - but that may not be what I'm intended to do. I'm still in discernment, and this was important perspective for that process. Thank you. Warmly, Julie
Susan, your recent post with Kahlil Gibran’s poem, “Fear” invited me to reflect on my life of 65 years. I can honestly say that I would not want to go back and change any part of how I have lived my life. I have no regrets. Nothing I would change. All my past experiences both good and not so good have led me to where I am today. Today, I am content with my life. Little by slowly I am understanding myself. My younger self was driven by a lot of fear but not so much anymore. I no longer let the fear drive my life. I let it come along and let it know that we are okay. I allow myself, like the river to tremble a little bit, but I have taken the plunge and entered the ocean and the vastness of life.