The Still Point

"At the still point, there the dance is." 
- TS Eliot

I started writing about this a few months ago, after making a connection with someone and becoming aware of this 'still point', which in that case took the form of calm company in the social storm. It was an echo of something I had not yet realized I had fully lost, and had not yet released into the ether.

This week I became aware of another type of still point. I was seeking, and did not honour in the moment, the calm quiet place that lies at my centre. I am not weaving metaphors when I say the seas were churning around me, in a place called 'the snake pit'. An amphitheatre of swell engulfed rocks, body and boat breaking forces, confused seas. I ended up there because I allowed the quiet voice to be stifled within me; my feet moved, my hands gripped the paddle shaft as I launched myself and 5 others into the surf; I left my soul behind and blinded my senses for the sake of a test. I was trapped by my own inexorable movement across transition after transition. Tent to beach, beach to surf, surf to swell, swell to boomer-choked maelstrom. I crossed the threshold of my tent that morning riddled with anxieties borne of a poor nights' sleep and bad dreams, and 10 more thresholds later there I was, still ignoring the silent scream of resistance, better judgment and fear. Whatever vision I normally possess lost in the struggle. I labeled my misgivings as irrational, dream-bent perception, ignoring or putting aside my own truth in the matter. Paralyzed myself in the process. The quiet truth of gut instinct and good sense clamouring in frustration, straining to be released. Vocalized.

There is no doubt that there were earlier thresholds crossed, that I don't yet recognize.

The pressure was behind, in front, all around; external and contrived, but internally it felt real, compelling, almost inescapable. There was an exam to pass, money spent, an ego to protect. There were people I wanted to prove wrong, to revise their understanding of who I am. Other people I wanted to prove right, about me, and what I am capable of and who I am supposed to be. I had even forgotten that I never really expected to pass, had heard others' assertions above my own. An un-winnable battle on many counts. Playing by the rules of others can steal the truth from our lips.

Escape. I say it was almost impossible. To utter a refusal, or a change of plan away from the directive of the examiner, would have been a simple enough act. Just the opening of my mouth, the loosing of the voice that I own, the utterance of what I knew was the right thing to do. What I would have done in any other situation. But I remained locked up, unable to explain the dream, to validate this gut of mine and what it was telling me, loud and clear. Not to mention the intelligence and training and perspective that I know I have. While I paused numerous times, spoke up, timed out, my attempts were small, muffled, uncertain; requests for help rather than clear divergence away from a set plan. And I was blinded to the right line in the confluence of fear and stress.

In retrospect, I know that either way, into the pit of snakes, or away from it, would have had the same result on paper. I would not have been heard or admired by the ones with the pens and the power; a failing grade, a number written in ink below my name, a file filed, a retest. A judgment confirmed. But I would have voiced my own truth, heard myself out, respected and known myself perhaps a little more for finding the still clean line in the raging seas.

How strange is it that we can drift away from ourselves so efficiently? As if our lives didn't depend on finding, listening to and honouring the still points that lie within us.

It is not nothing. Our gut, fear, instinct and intuition is there for a reason. I need to hold myself more accountable to it.