The Angels knew it was about to happen. I had been swimming for a while now, and, emboldened by the smoothness of the journey, I started to believe I was the one in charge.
Swimming had been a perfect metaphor for life creative. Until I hit a bend in the river, that is. Unable to see what was ahead, gripped by a sudden fear, I tried going against the current. When that failed, I decided to build a house on the river bend. A solid house, for I was convinced that I knew how things ought to proceed. A house on sand it was.
The angels came bearing gifts, gifts a creative could only dream of: new ideas, new images, new ways, a fresh new start.
But my house was closed. I shut the windows and locked the doors. I lowered the blinds so that not a shard of light could get through. I was convinced I could go on doing what I had been doing. I refused to let go of the ways that had worked before. I refused to acknowledge they weren’t working.
The angels camped outside, waiting.
Part of me yearned for them to break through – they would not. Patience and compassion were more their style.
My defenses gave in, I slipped into mourning of ways long gone.
“Let it go, let it go,”- they whispered.
“No, no, no,”- I whispered back.
They proceeded gently.
“Yes,”- eventually answered my soul. I surrendered to their magic, letting go at least for now of control, my idea that I could control!
No, I do not, I control little if anything.
I slowly allowed myself to go with the flow, guided through the up and down of the waves, until the next bend in this river, and another visit from the angels.