…if you wanted
~ David Whyte, “Truelove”
to drown you could,
but you don’t
because finally
after all this struggle
and all these years
you simply don’t want to
any more
you’ve simply had enough
of drowning
and you want to live and you
want to love and you will
walk across any territory
and any darkness
however fluid and however
dangerous…
In 2013, I went to Hawaii for vacation and nearly drowned.
When we drove up to the beach, beautiful white caps were rolling in, crashing arcs rising up four feet to disappear into the sand. Against clear blue skies, the midday sun kissed the blue-green ocean reflecting a prism of dark light against the white breakers. Behind the wall of water, about a hundred people flittered as bits of color moving about in the water, crashing from here to there within the waves and creating a joyful banter above the roaring ocean.
As a Floridian used to calm waters, I was enthralled. I threw down my towel and headed in. “Are you going in?” asked my friend–a hint of concern that I could only hear on retrospect. “Yes!” I kept walking as a magnet seemed to pull me towards the joyful hum of people and water.
It was sheer joy to move and toss around in the water. The sun and sea held me in an intimate embrace. I treaded water as I drifted out to the edge where the colorful swimsuits of people became sparse and realized that I could not find the bottom. I decided to start back toward the shore. As I swam, the sea held me in her embrace. I inched forward and drifted back. The shore seemed like a distant dream as I felt a darkness drop into my stomach.
Distinct thoughts flowed through my head: I might die here. My muscles will fatigue. I could just let go. What’s the point? Would they ever find my body? I could just drift off and disappear into the deep dark ocean. Is there any hope? Life images flashed before me. Then, I remembered the people around me–bits of color making joyful noises. I tried again to swim, but the shore came no closer. I had moved just beyond the white caps. This is really embarrassing. Someone looked in my direction: a young guy on a boogie board. He moved towards me to hear what I had to say. I was yelling and gesturing to him. “Help!” He turned and drifted away leaving me in a slight panic, until I saw him raise his hand into the air to wave for the lifeguard. Moments later, someone came to me on a surfboard. Waterlogged, he dragged me to shore. I stepped onto the hot sand. Thanked him. Stumbled towards my friend who was laying out in the sun unaware of my ordeal. “What happened?” he looked towards the lifeguard, looked at me, and said nothing. I dropped down onto my towel, took another towel and put it over my face to cover me from the sun and the shame which the hot sun seemed to bake out of me. I listened to the drone of the waves, the shouting bodies, and the pounding of my heart into my ears. A few moments later, I heard a lifeguard announcement which was repeated every half hour. The water is dangerous. Do not go in without flippers or other floating device. I found out later that this was a popular body surfing beach, the bits of color enjoying the water had flippers, some had boogie boards, and all had experience. I had only the ignorance of a Florida boy eager to go into any body of water.
In the sea of life at the time, I also felt tossed around by my job as a physician except I could not see the shore. Where are you going? I’m not sure. Where’s the lifeguard? Is anyone here with me? I’m really good at treading water. It would be another couple years before I was thrown a lifesaver–the performance art of oral storytelling. I found bits of color, people rolling around in the harsh seas with a purpose, yelling and making noise, enjoying the ride. I found a community to help me stay afloat. They showed me how to put on flippers and stand up on the surfboards. The hobby has become an integral part of my life as a physician, a performer, a producer of events, a professor at college, and a person inspired to frolic in the waves but wise enough to sometimes stay on shore.
Sometimes you just get tired of drowning…
David Whyte on Facebook
THE TRUELOVE
—by David Whyte
There is a faith in loving fiercely
the one who is rightfully yours,
especially if you have
waited years and especially
if part of you never believed
you could deserve this
loved and beckoning hand
held out to you this way.I am thinking of faith now
and the testaments of loneliness
and what we feel we are
worthy of in this world.Years ago in the Hebrides,
I remember an old man
who walked every morning
on the grey stones
to the shore of baying seals,
who would press his hat
to his chest in the blustering
salt wind and say his prayer
to the turbulent Jesus
hidden in the water,and I think of the story
of the storm and everyone
waking and seeing
the distant
yet familiar figure
far across the water
calling to themand how we are all
preparing for that
abrupt waking,
and that calling,
and that moment
we have to say yes,
except it will
not come so grandly
so Biblically
but more subtly
and intimately in the face
of the one you know
you have to loveso that when
we finally step out of the boat
toward them, we find
everything holds
us, and everything confirms
our courage, and if you wanted
to drown you could,
but you don’t
because finally
after all this struggle
and all these years
you simply don’t want to
any more
you’ve simply had enough
of drowning
and you want to live and you
want to love and you will
walk across any territory
and any darkness
however fluid and however
dangerous to take the
one hand you know
belongs in yours.