Alternate title: My Octopus Teachings
It was one of those stunning Nelson Sunday afternoons. We had gathered as a family to celebrate two birthdays. We had a delightful lunch together at Founders Cafe, joyously watching the children spinning on the merry go round, chasing seagulls, and feeling oh so free and full of innocent playfulness.
Following lunch we headed down the road to Miyazu Gardens, Nelson's small yet special Japanese garden's. We entered the main gates, and headed around the meditaion hut, stopping to take in the sight of the eels gracefully swimming in the clear waters of the pond, lilies in bloom, sun dancing on the water. I was striken by how clear the waters were, grateful for the care that's been taken to keep it so pristine. My heart was gladdened to see the eels, clear confirmation of the health of the waters.
I then ambled onto the bridge, a simple wooden plank bridge; construced of two parallel boards, zigzagging their way across the pond; traversing the lily pads. At the far end of the bridge, my eyes alighted upon two pairs of dragonflies connected together in flight, and a fifth hanging close. The little girl in me was fully present, taking in all the glimmers in the world with a sense of wonder and awe. That part of me that was untouched by the challenges I faced as a child. The part that refused to acknowledge the pain that I'd suffered.
I was enamored watching these five dragonflys flitting about, connecting, then flying about mating in flight; in unity and connection. They landed on a lily pad. I was getting my camera out, ready to take video of them playing. I turned around to share the sight with my father, son and brother, who were also on the bridge with me. When I turned back, there was a man approaching from behind them, the man in the octopus shirt. He approached just behind Dad, and said "Bridges are great for walking across, not so great for standing on."
Immediately I had a response. I felt annoyed. I interpreted that he was somehow standing between me and my joy; my moment of pure pleasure and joy, taking in the little beauties in life, the glimmers that connect me to a life positive world. As he approached me, I said to him, "You know, if you just asked, we would have gladly stood aside." He passed on by and said nothing more.
And so I turned to go back to my moment, to reconnect with my joy again. Dad comes up, and he says something about it "That was a bit gruff" or something like that. I said, "Yeah, he got told off," and Dad says, "No wonder he's here alone." Ooof, I felt that, but let it go and went back to video my dragonflies. They weren't there. I turned to see if there were any on the other side of the bridge. I took one step. My foot landed in a crack in the bridge between the two planks that made up the simple bridge structure. It was very weathered and uneven. I set off balance. I heard myself saying, "Oh no, I'm going in!" Splash. I was in the drink. Sitting on my bum, in the bottom of the pond, in the muck - with the dragonfly larva.
I was feeling a bit sorry for myself, but at the same time laughing. It felt poinient, a poetic intant karma, I recognized it right away. Yet, I also heard myself say, "Universe, what do you want to throw at me now!?" Sufice it to say that I've had a tough go of it for the past year, not to mention a number of years previous to that. I lost contact with someone closest to me. I'd been in the dark night of the soul up until a few months prior, when I discovered breathwork, and came back to life. That's another story.
I took a moment to collect myself. My husband had approached by then as he'd been sitting in the meditation hut watching it all unfold, and was reaching down to lend me a hand up. I refused, as I heard my inner voice speak, "This is the time for me to rise up again." I've been in a deep growth process over the past three years. Now was my time to rise up as the dragonfly nymph does as she leaves her underwater world to take her place in the world above! So I hoist myself up, take a moment to drip dry, wrung out my clothes, then caught up with the family and continued on our walk through the gardens. I was consciously aware that this was a substantive teaching moment in my life.
My reflections came swiftly. The truth is, I wasn't very proud of myself in that moment. I didn't bring my best self, I felt regret and remorse for my words and attitude. There was violence in what I shared with Mr. Octopus. The words were not spoken to raise him up, but rather to cut him down, to put him in his place. Who was I to teach him in that way? That's not the me I want to be. I felt ashamed, humbled.
I connected with something in the symbolism of octopus in this as well. Octopus lives in the depths. They live their entire life, aside from mating, in solitude. They are instant adults, having no one to raise them or to teach them; relying on pure instinct. They are intensely self protective. They are also incredibly resillient, able to regrow lost limbs, and return from the brink of death. I learned a lot about octopus in one of my favourite films of all time, My Octopus Teacher.
Later, as we were driving out, I saw the octopus man sitting on a bench facing out to sea. Head down in hands, I saw a man in the grips of suffering. My heart burst open with compassion. I don't know this man's story. I don't know what drew him into this interaction. I don't know what paths led him to the gardens. I wonder if he saw the 'traffic jam' on the bridge and believed that I was holding everyone up. Maybe his words were an attempt to help move things along. Perhaps he was there to reflect and to seek solace. He may have been there to connect with a memory, a loss, or to seek connection to something greater. I'll likely never know what inspired his words.
The point is, I didn't know his story. I don't know why it was important for him to take the path across the bridge, despite the obstacle of me and my family blocking the way. It could be that there was something important for him in that crossing.
Seeing him afterwards with head in hands; I felt such deep regret, such intense compassion and empathy. I made a conscious choice not to stay in shame. I've been taught well by my mentors at the Institute of Woman-Centred Coaching, by Dr. Claire Zammit and Dr. Jana Smith; that shame is a barrier to empathy, and to growth and expansion. I learned to face into the difficult responses, the places where the gaps between who I am and who I desire to be are. I made a rapid, difinitively conscious choice to hold empathy for myself. My child Self was hurt so deeply, she learned that people aren't safe, that she needed to stay in protection. She learned to be Alone, where she felt safe. She believed that she was Too Much, and learned to hide herself out of fear of how others might respond to her. So I held Her in Love, and I acknowledged that that was not who I choose to be, not anymore.
I've learned that the only way through is to face into these gaps. I've learned to become a fierce warrior for peace. I had come to understand the sentiment from a deeper place, "Peace begins with me." I've come to understand the importance of acknowledgement. In staying out of shame, I can hold empathy for myself, see the disconnect, honour the teaching in the moment and humble myself in that learning. I am capable of making a conscious choice to do differently.
So, man in the octopus shirt, wherever you are, I want to apologise. I'm sorry that I didn't See you in that moment. Maybe I've Seen you since, maybe I haven't, but I've certainly Seen myself a little bit more. I want to thank you for that. I am commited to acknowleging my impact on others. I am making the conscious choice to be kind, to choose the path of compassion and Love. I am committing to Pause, and take a Breath. I will think before I speak. I will ask myself if what I am about to share is Life affirming. I'm not saying I'll always be nice, that's not always the way. I will be authentically honest, and I'll come from a place of compassion and truth' to the best of my ability. I won't be perfect. To err is human. We are perfectly imperfect. Thank you for being my Octopus Teacher, I'm eternally grateful.
If you were to zoom in real close, look closely at the central lily pad, by the tiny white blossoms and the decaying leaf; you might just catch a glimpse of an emerging nymph.
Perhaps this story has inspired you in some way. Perhaps you're ready to let go of that which holds you back from tapping into your full potential? One of the vehicles that has released me from the pain and burden that'd I'd long held was found in breathwork. I felt the call, and trained as a SOMA Breath® instructor. I'm just beginning to share this beautiful practice. You are most welcome to join me in breathing out the pain of the past and stepping into a new future - one you consciously choose. The doors are open, your first experience is my gift to your Future Self.
In Lovingkindness,
Omana
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