Love & Life Drifts Upon an Open Sea

We give. We take. It's often a school of hard knocks because it seems that we're experiencing the take more than the give part.

If I look at the big picture, I'd have to say that I'm a giver. Not like a giver in the sense that I'm one of the Chosen. Rather, that I give of myself, my assistance, or my generosity, my heart, or an ear, or a present or two or three or four for a holiday or birthday. I probably 'shouldn't' as it often makes the receiver uncomfortable to receive a pile of gifts. Yet, when it comes down to it, I'm really thinking of her and what she actually gives to me without really knowing it.

Life is a gift and it seems we take so much for granted -- or is it that we take love, affection, interaction, patience, kindness, thoughtfulness, time, effort, desire to overcome adversity, peace to such an extent -- that we often only see what doesn't occur or the difficulty in the moment. We let go of the fact that more often it is laughable, engaging and simple such that when the hard shit arises, that's all we hold onto: the impenetrability and extremity of it all.

A ship sails the sea. Days and days it glides over the ripples. The sun shines, fish and dolphins leap and dive. Clouds form and dissipate, wind blows and fades. All is gentle, manageable, we are flowing over time, taking in all the rays, the moon, the clear and opaque life and beauty that surrounds as it should be.

Then, seemingly out of nowhere, high seas wall up, water pounds and plunges the deck, sails flap and tear. The rudder trips port, then starboard, then port, then starboard, completely out of control. Fore and aft we lose ballast. We try to right ourselves, yet minimally, only seeing the darkness in that moment ahead instead of the placidity that preceded. The moments become hours, darkness overtakes and we lose our way -- stars, our once coveted guiding lights are obscured or forgotten.

We let go, fall to this temporary force by feigning ignorance, inability to guide through, or lack of desire to bond and labor a bit through this unseemly power. It's too much. It's too vast, overwhelming (because of its newness or distant familiarity from storms past?), as it seemingly instigated and pushed us to a level of instability that's determined to be too far; we cannot come back, recover, settle down. This surge is too foreign; it is scary.

When the squall moves on, all we see is the destruction, the bent floorboards, the lack of direction, the loss of movement, the tattered sails, the difficulty. The thrashing. The absolute defeat. Nothing is what it was before. What's worse, though, is that we see only this - the pummeling, the lack of forward movement. We don't see that we can suture taut the canvas, that we can counterbalance this temporary disruption. Overlook the pummeling as what it was: a transitory incident. It is deduced that more will come thus it is better to abandon ship altogether. No sense in learning during the calm, during the blue sky moments.

We take for granted what such natural phenoma can offer: the struggle that presents us with the gift of growth, awareness, the ability to come together, fresher, more alive, more connected . We disengage because it's easier. Let go of the rope, don't bail its water that might appreciate its strength. Just leave it adrift and never look back or reflect on what happened.

I've lost a lot this year. More than I could ever say here. Much is my own doing (or undoing?), my own unraveling and allowing for an unsteered course. However I've discovered that 50% of which I'm responsible and for which I've repeatedly apologized has been countered by an even stronger 50% to abandon ship. And though my confidence wavered in these hammering storms, not having had any experience from which to draw any skill over these tides, I'm willing to find an emotional sextant and learn and try to locate a path, something that charts us towards tranquility and not torrent.

Sadly, this simple, yet ancient tool is seen as beyond difficult to comprehend as it is far too new or different to conquer another possible rough sea ahead. It is tossed overboard, and again, that which housed so much life and potential is abandoned without any regard. We took for granted all that we learned, the stillness and harmony and only give this life, this experience a half-hearted nod and headshake; no sense of bailing out water (overlooking the fact that it's worth the effort especially as time and sun will dry out that which remains).

Gave some, took a lot. Unwilling to give more and take less.

I gave a lot, received even more. I am willing and already do provide an open heart and hand so that part of the ballast is restored, strength in the steerage is coordinated such that a passageway is sought but needs another's sail, another's hand and heart to see us through.

Instead, love remains adrift, floating and abandoned.

Given this, I wished that the other would recall and believe and embrace what Maya Angelou wrote, "Love recognizes no barriers. It jumps hurdles, leaps fences, penetrates walls to arrive at its destination full of hope."

A rather rare, albeit workable, rough sea - even those which may seem unexpectantly horrid - should not be a barrier or wall or reason to walk away from love. Truth, patience, willingness to examine and change and hope are reasons to sail through. There have always been other rough seas, but now there's something better, a port to which we may reach and find safety and comfort: love. There is always hope.