An insignificant significant moment & the choices we make from fear
I woke up full of anxiety this morning.
To clear my head I went down to the beach with the dog. It was 6.30am, cold in the air and still dusky. The sun starting to fight its way up through dark clouds and drizzle.
The waves were wild and the wind was blowing. Not many better ways to clear some cobwebs (maybe a cold dip in the sea, but swimming in the dark by myself seemed dangerous!).
As I was drinking in all the energy that nature was throwing at me I worked through a little routine I sometimes use in moments like this. This starts with a reminder of the different parts of me - the male archetypes and the emotions they are connected to. Lover & Sadness; Warrior & Anger. Fear is the Magician and Joy the King.
Speaking those out loud and welcoming the emotions in removes their power to control me. My anxiety was fading already.
I felt connected to the earth, the land beneath my feet. It was a wild spot and it was clear that nature was the boss. I looked up and was struck by the vastness of the universe beyond - this little collection of atoms that is “me” is truly insignificant in the grand scheme of things.
Some people tend towards nihilism in those moments; a sense that this is all pointless. Personally, I find it freeing. It allows me to drop concerns about how others may judge me and live more in the moment.
The thoughts that then popped up were interesting.
Images came into my head of those who had come before me. The long line of ancestors, stretching back thousands of years, for generation upon generation.
It blows my mind to think about that. It is a stark fact of biology that I - and you - only exist because of the simple yet extraordinary fact that our ancestors lived and had babies. Men and women who walked these lands centuries ago.
Men and women handling their own sadness, anger, fear and joy. Those emotions haven’t changed; they are foundational to the human condition.
And, one way or another, those men and women made choices that were at least good enough. Good enough to have babies who survived long enough to have babies of their own. I don’t know much about them, but that much must be true.
The other thing we know is that our ancestors told stories. Stories about their experiences, their adventures, their losses and their wins. Those stories have echoed across generations, some becoming myths and legends, some embedding themselves into our culture, communities and ways of being.
Those echoes of stories past impact how we live today. The structures of our societies. The nature of friendship, teamwork and family.
So, I found myself on the beach this morning, an insignificant collection of atoms in the vastness of a universe, giving thanks for the extraordinary luck that I am here at all and wondering at the stories of my ancestors that still impact me today.
And with that my mind shifted forwards. To the future men and women who will walk these lands for centuries to come. People to whom I will be an ancestor.
The realisation was that this moment is truly significant, because it’s the only moment that matters. The only moment where I can make a choice to do, or not do, anything. To be ruled by emotions, or use them to inform me.
I woke up with anxiety - fear - this morning. Fear is a gateway to the Magician, the wise and intuitive part of me that is able to assess options and make an informed choice.
What choices do you have, in this moment or any other? You can strive to shape a future that is better than the past, or choose not to. You can try to change, or stay the same.
When I think about serving those future men and women, the choice becomes clear.
A Journey, by Edward Field
When he got up that morning everything was different:
He enjoyed the bright spring day
But he did not realize it exactly, he just enjoyed it.
And walking down the street to the railroad station
Past magnolia trees with dying flowers like old socks
It was a long time since he had breathed so simply.
Tears filled his eyes and it felt good
But he held them back
Because men didn’t walk around crying in that town.
Waiting on the platform at the station
The fear came over him of something terrible about to happen:
The train was late and he recited the alphabet to keep hold.
And in its time it came screeching in
And as it went on making its usual stops,
People coming and going, telephone poles passing,
He hid his head behind a newspaper
No longer able to hold back the sobs, and willed his eyes
To follow the rational weavings of the seat fabric.
He didn’t do anything violent as he had imagined.
He cried for a long time, but when he finally quieted down
A place in him that had been closed like a fist was open,
And at the end of the ride he stood up and got off that train:
And through the streets and in all the places he lived in later on
He walked, himself at last, a man among men,
With such radiance that everyone looked up and wondered.
From “A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry,” edited by Czeslaw Milosz (affiliate link)