I am lying at the bottom of a tide pool where the Pacific ocean meets the coast in Palos Verdes, California. I’m anchoring a sea urchin against the ebb and flow of the water. It’s cool and peaceful as the tide pool fills and empties, over and over. I reach out with my senses past the breakers, touch the deep ocean, and listen for the song of the whales and the messages carried by the sea turtles. I can also feel the busy hum of people and technology as I listen in the other direction. I am at the boundary connecting land and sea.
Not literally. My physical body is actually anchored to my couch. I am listening to a drum beat and holding a rock that I picked up from that tidal pool over 30 years ago. I’m taking a shamanic workshop from the Foundation for Shamanic Studies and doing an exercise to meld with the spirit of this rock. The rock is smooth in my palm and contains a perfectly round hole, a mark from the sea urchin. The steady sound of the drum, along with the instructions from my teacher and the energy of the other participants in the zoom class, make it surprisingly easy to connect with the rock’s spirit. In this moment, I am the rock. Time has no meaning; there is only the ebb and flow of the water. Calm followed by commotion, followed by calm, and so it goes.
With the surges of the ocean, the landscape of the tide pool changes. I know there is a lesson for me here as the landscape of my life - and that of everyone - has been turned upside down in the last couple of years due to the pandemic and forces outside of our control. At times, I want to hang on to the familiar and rail against those forces that feel so impersonal and disruptive. Can I find the inner peace shared by the rock’s spirit to accept the upheavals and trust my place in the process?
As I commune with the spirit of the rock, I feel my connection to the earth below me. Pachamamma’s heartbeat provides a steady beat that synchronizes with the tides. Peace and acceptance fill me as I feel the light of a full moon bathe the pool I’m resting in.
As I’m called back to my human body by the changing tempo of the drum, I feel the rock’s connection to the rhythms of the moon and tides settle into me. I, too, respond to the rhythms that push and pull on the earth. I, too, contain the ocean within me. In my work as a craniosacral therapist, I’m trained to feel those rhythms in my clients and help to restore the flow when it’s been disrupted. Now, I am attuned to the flow in a deeper, and curiously, more neutral way. My hope is that this gift from the spirit of the rock stays with me and informs how I offer service to others.
Before I release my connection to the rock, I ask if it would like to stay with me or return to the ocean. I feel a sense of anticipation as the rock asks me to take it with me next week on my Florida vacation. The rock spent part of its life in the Pacific and would like to experience the energy of its sister, the Atlantic. And so I’ll find another boundary for this rock to straddle.
Back in my human skin, I remember that I’m an active player in the creative process. It’s important that I call out deceit and injustice when I find it, and advocate for positive changes in the world. Thanks to the generosity and compassion of the helping spirit of the rock, I hope that I can better embody the Serenity prayer in the process.
“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
courage to change the things I can,
and wisdom to know the difference.”
Happy earth day!
