The
Ebb and the Flow
“Everything
flows.”
Heraclitus
When
you think of “flow” what is the first thing that comes to mind? Air, water, a
creek, a river, rain, the ocean tides, the ripples on a lake, the flight
pattern of butterflies, a murmuration of birds, the flow of blood through our
veins and arteries. Through our hearts. Flow brings up images of freedom, lack
of boundaries and limitations. We love the idea of flowing. We love to spend
hours in the flow of ideas, of conversation, the flow of people through a day,
or a year. For most of us, as long as the flow of our lives is unimpeded, we’re
pretty happy.
But what
happens when the flow is impeded? Rocks fall into the stream, impenetrable fog occludes
the path forward, our flow is interrupted by a sudden change. What happens when
an unavoidable event requires us to stop and wait, and perhaps, not act at all?
What happens to us when the ideas stop flowing, or the flow of activity is interrupted
by injury or illness? What happens when our flow ebbs and then stops altogether?
We avoid it. We try, like water, to go around it, or over it. Sometimes we
simply forge ahead, blind, uncertain of direction. That usually ends badly, but
we humans are a determined lot; we are compelled by ego to force the flow whether
it’s wise to do so or not.
There
is a Zen saying: “Sitting quietly, doing nothing, spring comes, and grass
grows by itself,” The ebb may be the most essential part of the flow—the part
where we stop long enough to absorb and integrate, the time we need to connect
the dots, to experience our understanding, our consciousness, expand a little
bit. Ebb is not the enemy; it is a natural part of the flow. Even migratory
birds eventually land.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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