Shipwrecks

I sometimes don't trust myself, but I am arriving more deeply to knowing that I can. My worst crime I am discovering has been not to listen to my own wisdom. I have had this feeling of late that I have dodged a bullet, or chosen to get off a doomed ship before it sailed. In different ways over the past few years I have been moving towards an understanding of the ground where intuition meets discernment. To discern is to "judge wisely and objectively", whereas to intuit something is defined as going by feel and instinct. Of late I have been richly rewarded, if not always immediately, for trusting this emerging combination of elements that show me the right path. In some cases, the affirmation of right choice or action has been an internal one, a sense of heightened peace or calm, in others it has come in the form of external accolades, or exoneration and reprisal. Both have been extremely powerful in their different ways.

The art of departure, leaving something or quitting has always been tricky for me. To climb back out of a hole when we fall in is sometimes the best but hardest thing to do. In matters of the heart or intellect, I tend to be someone who likes to see things through to completion or closure. The most difficult thing for me is to remove myself from something that feels unresolved. Instead of taking my leave when things get tricky, I am drawn to keep digging, looking for gold or other pay dirt. The impulse is to resolve, find understanding, look deeper, discover more questions to ask to come to clarity. I am also good at the art of wait, I can sit still a little longer and wait for peace or resolution, even in the dark. I don't like to quit, in part because in doing so I risk losing face; with myself and others. I am resilient, and infinitely capable of hard work, making the best of sub-par circumstances, moving through challenge, or just sucking it up and getting the job done. I value tenacity - it's part of the art of staying put.

But there are times when abandoning ship is the best way to 'do the right thing'. I am learning to pay attention to the space that lies between intuition and discernment in order to know when turning and walking off the gangplank is the better move. When the decks are awash with whatever dance is being played out on the bridge, but no one is piloting, its time to disembark. Sometimes I have had a sense of foreboding, can perceive there is a collision looming and can extrapolate the angles and trajectories, see a not so distant iceberg. Even when others are blinded to it's approach I am starting to trust this sense completely. But I have no way of knowing whether it will ever be acknowledged by anyone but me, or what shape things will take. 

I am not the captain of this vessel, so have no voice in navigating the passage. Anything I say will not be heard amidst the crash of waves in this tumultuous sea. Not until the swell pounding against this hull travels a hundred miles and then back again, refracting against the edges of the ocean. Only then will I and perhaps others, understand the small warnings that have been etched across the waterline. The tiny cracks in the hull ignored or covered up in the fervour and drama of the launch. 

We humans have a way of rushing in when our steps really need to be slow and measured, of forcing things prematurely into the world instead of waiting for them to unfold. We are so impatient, oblivious to the broken glass and sweet wine spilling across the pier in this hurried christening.

I am learning to remove myself when the seas are churning around me, returning to the safe harbour that I am. I understand that even my meagre ballast is having an effect on the course of the ship, and have no desire to remain clinging to these storm-tossed railings, knowing that by staying I could somehow become culpable, a party to this shipwreck. Perhaps my departure can serve to lighten the load, and grant safer passage. Anything is possible.

The act of stepping away is liberating, grounding, and life-affirming, even when it causes strife or discomfort. Even when it means abandoning ship, and leaving others at sea.