Raindrops keep falling on our heads here in the Virgin Islands. Buckets of water are cleaning the world, turning the hillsides green with foliage and my walls green with mold. The guts are raging rivers and everywhere I look, water is making its inevitable way to the sea.
As I follow the water coming down from the hills I notice how it turns where the grade goes down and the slope is just right, how it builds up and moves around a wall or seeps under a rock. While it doesn’t always go the way I’d have predicted, I know that each rivulet is finding its unique route and that it’s always the one that’s easiest and most direct. One stream merges with another or disappears into the bush only to emerge further down swollen with reinforcements, flush with the knowledge of where its going and confident that it’ll get there by any means possible.
When the bridge at Magen’s Bay washed out last year, the force of the water created a channel over the road, through the mangroves and into the Bay turning the turqouise water brown. There was no stopping it.
Things build up in our lives. We are flooded by to-do lists, feelings, worries and obligations. Taking my cue from the watery lines criss-crossing our island, I’m choosing the path of least resistance and enjoying a down hill journey. The more we honor our natural inclinations, allow ourselves to move freely and relieve undue pressure with outlets for pent-up energy (people to talk to, journaling, exercise, meditation and prayer, creative ventures, regular check-ups and check-ins), the steadier we flow. Trapped water will find a way and our own individual natures are no different.
Whether raging, trickling, meandering or streaming steadily, make like water, relax and head for the source. I’ll meet you there.
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