Swimming in the Deep End: Merging with the River

Podcast: Download (9.3MB)

Subscribe: More

Walking along the American River I came upon a tiny cove. I sat on some boulders near where the cove and the river met. In front of me the main body of the river rushed by at thousands of gallons a minute. It formed standing waves and white caps. But in the cove the water drifted slowly upstream. The downstream rush rubbed against the upstream, meandering, spawning dozens of whirlpools. Some were as narrow as pencils. Others were as broad as watermelons. Some funneled down a hand span below the surface. Some were gentle depressions. Some were wide enough to hold three or four little ones inside. Some winked out in a moment. Others lingered.

The effect was magical. I pictured river spirits dancing across the water leaving whirls in their footsteps. I imagined, “What if the whirlpools and the river were conscious?” If they were, the whirlpools would have little awareness of the river, their attention focused inward on their frenetic turning. They might occasionally glimpse the larger river-universe beyond: every now and then they might slow enough to notice the flows in which they existed. But mostly they would be preoccupied with their own dance.

The river, on the other hand, would be aware of the whirlpools. With so much going on in the river, and the whirlpools being so ephemeral, the river might not think the little swirls important. But it would have no problem seeing them.

As I watched, sooner or later each whirlpool drifted away, ran out of energy, spun itself out and dissipated back into the river. As it vanished, nothing was lost, just merged. The water of the whirls remained right there in the river. Even the energy that caused the spinning remained in the river, though it was more dispersed.

And as I watched I wondered what might happen if we embraced a shift of mind and heart that could be called “merging with the river—a little bit”: shifting from whirlpool consciousness to river consciousness, from wave consciousness to ocean consciousness. Like the whirlpool merging with the river, it begins when its energy relaxes and spreads out. For us, it begins when our identity shifts a little from the whirling inside to the currents that flow around us.

Unitarian Universalism is a child of the Western Enlightenment, with its emphasis on individuality and freedom. It’s no coincidence that our first principle affirms and promotes the “worth and dignity of every person.” This is where we began.

But we now belong to the post-modern era. Another consciousness has emerged that is more aware of complexity, ecology, systems and the power of connections. This consciousness acknowledges how we are embedded in an interdependent web. The river surrounds us and flows through us whether we recognize it or not. And we ignore it at great peril.

It is no coincidence that our seventh principle affirms and promotes “respect for the interdependent web of all existence of which we are a part.” So the first and last principles are opposite poles: individualism versus the web, independence versus interdependence, dignity of each person versus the reality of interconnection.

Today, most UUs value both. But we don’t bring them together in the same thought. After all, they are separated by five other principles. They are like cousins who co-exist but barely speak to one another. Today, possibilities and perils are greater than ever. Population growth, rise of technology, stress on the environment, strain on democracy, dysfunctional economies and so forth create more risks and opportunities than ever before.

To deal with these thorny issues, the two cousins must get together. We must ask, What happens when the dignity of the individual meets the reality of the web? What happens when the whirlpool merges with the river? We want a consciousness that integrates the worth and dignity of the individual with a realization that separate individuals do not exist. Without the river there are no whirlpools. Without the web of everything there is no single thing. To pretend we can protect our individual welfare without caring for the collective welfare is suicide—like a whirlpool trying to leave the river.

This shift of mind and heart can be hard to describe. But perhaps it can be illustrated by analogy.

Cup Illusion Have a look at the two images below. The first is Edgar Rubin’s two portraits illusion. If we see the white part of the image as foreground and the black as background, we’ll perceive a vase. But if we see the white as background and the black as foreground, we’ll perceive two faces nose to nose.

The second image may be less familiar, but it’s fun. If we see the white as foreground, we see a woman’s face. If we see the black as foreground, we see a cartoon of Bill Clinton playing the saxophone.

Woman Illustion If we only glance quickly at an image, it is easy to assume we know what it is without seeing alternate possibilities. If, away from the image, I call it a woman’s face and you call it Bill Clinton on the sax, we may each think the other is daft.

As the images shift from a vase to two portraits or from a face to Bill Clinton, nothing in the external world changes. The ink on the page doesn’t move. The shift is entirely in our minds. We change how we see, not what is actually there to be seen.

It is difficult to hold both the woman’s face and Bill Clinton in mind at the same time. As we become familiar with the image, it can flip back and forth quickly. But it’s hard to hold them both at once. However, it is not impossible. If we mentally step back and relax as we look at the image, we may be able to see them both at once. If our mind is tight, this is difficult. But if we are gently attentive, it is possible.

That is what this shift of mind and heart feels like: not shifting from one construct to another but shifting from one-at-a-time to all-at-once.

This phenomenon applies to more than parlor tricks. For example, is it more important that we save the spotted owl or that we retain jobs for people in the logging industry? Is it more important that we save fish in the delta or that we give local farmers water?

Depending on our inclinations, it is easy to take one position or the other—black or white—and think the other positions are absurd. But the real solution comes out of a relaxed, attentive, wider systemic view. If we cut down too much forest we’ll have neither owls nor jobs. If we destroy the delta eco-system, we’ll have neither smelt nor useable water. Real solutions require seeing the health of the system as more important than any elements within the system.

When one part acts like it is more important than the whole, we call it cancer. Health care, the economy, terrorism, job creation, legislative gridlock—all of these beg for merged, systemic, broad-view thinking rather than a black or white stance in one part of the system.

A shift to what’s called “flex and flow” systemic thinking is vital to solving many practical problems as well as to deepening our spirituality. Let me suggest an example:

Imagine your young daughter running up and telling you a joke. From your personal perspective, the joke is dumb. But she laughs with delight and you find yourself smiling easily. The delight did not arise out of your whirlpool. Your sense of self eased and spread out to include some of the river around you—in this case your child. You feel her delight as your own. Your mind and heart merged a little with this other being—your daughter.

This shift of mind and heart may not be profound. But it is a movement in a profound direction.

Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote, “Learn to detect and watch that gleam of light which flashes across [the] mind from within…” Pay attention to small glimpses of light, the touch of peace, the unbidden smile of delight, the glimpse of the river, the presence of the ocean.

When the worth and dignity of our individuality meets the interdependent web, our sense of who we are as separate entities becomes less demanding and more spacious. And the web of life feels less abstract or impersonal and more intimate.

And if we patiently follow Mr. Emerson’s advice, with time we feel less like a whirlpool in the river and more like a river with whirlpools. We shift from seeing peace to being peace, experiencing illumination to being luminous, from experiencing spaciousness to being space.