Fighting the River Is No Way to Live.
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“Stop swimming, stop fighting.”
These words rang loud and clear in the ears of my beloved teacher, Swami Kripalvanand, as he was swept away by the monsoon-swollen river Yamuna in India more than a half century ago. These same words, which came to him in the voice of his beloved teacher Dadaji, have lately come to me, if only from the old, familiar voice in my head.
“Stop swimming, stop fighting.” This simple admonition, which may have saved Bapuji’s life because he listened and let the water carry him safely to shore, might also save mine.
I am not, of course, about to drown in any literal sense. But boy am I ever at risk of going under in the mire of my own muddy mind! No question I am still struggling, mightily at times, to stop swimming and home in on the shoreline of freedom that Bapuji embodied and imbued.
I yearn for freedom from the fear fueling all those pesky likes and dislikes of mine. For as long as I’m in fear, I’m not in love, not living from the wellspring of the heart, the sole abiding source of our happiness and peace. I want freedom for my sake and I want it for yours. Because what I do for me, dear reader, I do for you. For better or worse, we are all in this sloppy soup together.
Somewhere in the depths of my seasoned being, I know the truth of Bapuji’s — and all spiritual masters’ — greatest teaching: that I am, and you are, already free, bound only by the limits of our restless, greedy minds. A terrific idea, but sadly only that until we come to realize it.
I am aging quickly, and so perhaps a little slower in my ways these days. That may explain why the words Bapuji heard while he was nearly drowning, words I have known about for years, have taken on new significance for me. It feels more urgent to listen up, but there’s something else.
As I sit more often in the stillness of my own being (now in peaceful Nova Scotia), I have extra opportunity to watch the workings of that monkey mind of mine. And what I’m seeing is that, in my unconsciousness, I have been fighting and swimming against the ebb and flow of life far more frequently — and in more subtle, ridiculous and damaging ways — than I had realized.
When I am willing really to look (and, despite increased commitment, that is not as often as I’d like), I am shocked at what I see. The depth and breadth of my preferences — to have this little thing and not that, or wanting some minor experience to happen my way and not yours — is pretty disturbing. Honestly, I am hardly ever okay with things exactly the way they are.
Thinking about it now, I am laughing out loud. And, yes, laughing at — or with — ourselves is a good thing.
In fairness to myself and to Yoga, my once spiritual path, I have made progress in accepting life as it manifests. The weather used to utterly undo me when it didn’t cooperate with my desire for constant sunshine. Okay, I could have, but didn’t move to Palm Desert. Instead, I’ve learned to stop fighting the reality — and necessity — of rain.
Also, there are people I had trouble being in the same room with whom I can now talk to pleasantly without ruffled feathers. A significant victory, I promise you. No doubt Yoga and meditation helped soften and open me to what is.
Weather and relationships are big, noticeable arenas of likes and dislikes, and while it’s great, I am easier with their unpredictability now, that’s not enough. It’s the minuscule, moment-to-moment stuff I see I still sweat, fret about and need to get a handle on.
Trond, my Norwegian husband, doesn’t like the non-gluten cookies I bought him? Instead of saying “So what?” and letting it go, I feel annoyed and express it, and he feels sad. The neighbor’s dog goes on another barking jag and I go on a rant. My writing isn’t going well, and instead of stepping away, taking a walk or meditating, I push on.
I swim against the stream of feedback from my body-mind that, however much I may want to finish this article, it’s a fight to write right now. Give it up, Suzanne, give it up.
If I decide to pay attention, I can feel the hit my heart takes every single time I don’t like something that is going down.
Freedom from fear and my capacity to live from my heart fly out the window the second I resist what is, however small the thing or my level of resistance. Fighting the river is no way to live, Suzanne. So what is? Thanks to Bapuji’s inspiration, I have a thought or two.
The trick, I think, is simple if not easy. It’s to stop and take the time to look, to see and to feel. Transforming fight into surrender, fear back to source love, begins, Bapuji suggested, with observing what happens in our lives with keen awareness. “Like a scientist,” he added, meaning without judging what we find.
If we can look closely enough to see, and then be willing to feel the physical hit, the painful tightening of our heart when we start to resist something, we have a leg up on letting go more gracefully into whatever happens next, whether we like it or not.
Accepting life as it manifests, we are far freer to love and be loved — all that really matters. I may have a chance to practice now.
Trond is about to come up from the boatyard, interrupting this writing time that hasn’t felt quite right. Although I can’t yet see him approaching, I already feel myself gearing up to fight the idea of stopping so I can visit with him. Since he’s been gone a while, that’s what he will want, what I want too, and what’s in the natural flow if I stop fighting.
Okay, out of the window, out of the corner of my eye, I see Trond walking toward the house. I stop typing and notice the expected contraction of my chest as the door opens and he comes in behind me. I am taking a minute to observe myself resisting, to feel the heart-rending physical sensation of fighting against what is: my dear husband home again and wanting me to join him.
Of course it doesn’t feel good to have my heart contract! But if I let myself stay with the tight, unpleasant feeling, if I close my eyes and breathe deeply into the left side of my chest, I feel the blocked energy around the heart start to release, creating the space to make a choice. It’s a bit of a struggle still, but I am able to let go and choose to go with the flow of what’s calling me.
Slowly, still somewhat reluctantly, I get up from the keyboard to be with my returned beloved.
Am I alone here, people? Or do some of you struggle with too often swimming against the stream and feeling your heart shut down? What’s that like for you? How do you deal with reclaiming your source from the grasp of your monkey mind? Please do us the honor of sharing your experience here and of sharing this article elsewhere if it moves you. Thank you!
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Suzanne Grenager is a sister-seeker, awakener and scribe with a well-honed gift for helping people see, appreciate and express their particular greatness. Off to teach and travel in India before the Beatles, she followed a breadcrumb path starting as an Annenberg School NBC Scholar and Philadelphia Inquirer columnist. A breakdown following the death of her oldest friend led her to Kripalu Yoga, which she practiced, taught and wrote about in Yoga Journal and at SpiritSite.com. Certified in the body-mind Rubenfeld Synergy method, Suzanne was an early transformational life coach. And in 2012, she screwed up her courage, held her feet to the fire and published Bare Naked at the Reality Dance. It’s her achingly honest book about what it takes to wake up, fall in love with ourselves, and make the difference we’re born and dying to make. She hopes you’ll visit her blog.
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