End of Summer into Fall: Surfing the Edge
Photo by Mark Tegethoff on Unsplash
September is, no doubt, a month for transitions. As I look out onto Moosehead Lake from my family camps, it looks so still and peaceful. Technically, we are still in summer season in Maine and we have the near 90 degree days to prove it. And yet, inside I feel a rumbling. We are quickly approaching the peak harvest season at the fall equinox on September 21st. Until then, we are in this liminal space, an in-between time. Summer continues to call us to enjoy and feel grateful for what we and the earth have created. Right now, my garden is full of tomatoes, peaches, and peppers. Pretty soon, we’ll be overflowing with apples and pumpkins. The fall of summer asks us to anticipate what’s left to do and to harvest all we can. For many, this point signifies the beginning of the ‘dark half of the year,’ where we begin preparing for and surviving the winter season.
Finding our way through the seasons can be hard enough, but this year it seems like there’s added weight. With the Delta variant of COVID-19 surging, ‘back to school’ season feels scary. I hear a fearful internal voice saying, “Are we on the edge of another wave?” There is a fear diving into the rough waters.
“The moment in between what you once were, and who you are now becoming, is where the dance of life really takes place.”
When I am grappling with something difficult, such as transitions and fear, I like to look to the land to see what it has to teach me. In a recent conversation with my dear friend and fellow ecotherapist, Corie Washow, I was reflecting on how it felt to be connected to land in Maine as opposed to land in Virginia during my recent trip there. The land in Virginia felt gentle and nurturing. It taught me about softness and allowing myself to be held. The land in Maine often feels hard and some quality that’s hard for me to explain. “Maine is edgy,” Corie said. “The mountains and coastline have hard edges.” This felt like a revelation.
In Maine, we are always on the edge of a new season. On the edge between rocky land and ocean. On the edge of hot sun and cold water. And we love these edges. Our beautiful lighthouses are perched just on the rocky edge of the wide open sea. There’s something daring and wild about it. How do we live on the edge? When I think of those who thrive on the edges, I think of birds soaring on a strong gust of wind. I think of surfers keeping their balance on the edge of a wave. They find the momentum and they use it to steer themselves where they want to go. They also learn how to fall well. So, I wonder, is it possible to think of navigating transitions like surfing a wave?
“Wiping out is an underappreciated skill.”
Explore for Yourself
Breathing through Transitions
Find a comfortable position either seated or lying down. Exhale all of your breath. On your next inhale, count to four. Pause at the top of your breath, just a brief hold. Exhale for a count of four. Pause at the bottom of your breath, just a brief hold. Continue this rhythm for yourself. Start to bring awareness to the still points between the inhale and exhale. Notice what that feels like in your body. Notice if there are any emotions or thoughts that come up.
If it feels useful, you could extend the holds to a count of 4 so that you are practicing square breath. How does it feel to be full of breath? How does it feel to be empty of breath? Is one more or less comfortable? Imagine yourself riding the wave of your breath. Can you find some balance between control and ease?
Surfing your Edges ~ Yin Yoga
In Yin Yoga, we often talk about playing with your edge of sensation. When you come into a posture, such as Bound Angle/Butterfly, gently come into the posture with minimal sensation or internal resistance. Allow gravity to move your body deeper. Notice when you reach a level of sensation that feels interesting or curious. It may be uncomfortable, but it is not painful. Notice whether that edge changes as you breathe into it. The intention is not to go deeper, but to ride the wave of that edge. That may mean coming out of the posture if you feel burning or pulling. It may mean moving deeper into the posture if there’s an opening or a release of tension. Notice what comes up in your mind. Do you notice yourself thinking you should go deeper or it should look a certain way? Do you notice emotions of fear as you let go? Be curious about your internal reactions to your edge and how sometimes we push ourselves too far or shy away from discomfort.
“When you reach your edge, soften. Soften until you slip through the constraints and can create a new rhythm, a new route, a new release. Water is soft yet powerful. Reach your edge, and soften.”
Floating on the Edge ~ Nature Ally
Find yourself outside. Look around with the eyes of a child. Find a nature ally with an edge. It could be the edge of a rock or a lake. Zoom in. When you look very closely, are there any other beings that interact with this hard edge? Moss, insects, or birds? How do they live on this edge? What helps them be resilient? Spend some time moving like these beings. What does it feel like in your body to live at the edge. Zoom out. How does this nature ally fit into the greater landscape? Is it part of a larger edge like a riverbed or the edge of a forest? How is it adapting and surviving? How does it help other beings survive?
For instance, I was observing the edge of the lake where the water meets the sky. I noticed a water bug floating along the surface. Skating right on top. I noticed how it is light and spreads its weight wide. I got into the lake and let myself float. I felt my back body cool underwater and my top body open to the warm sunny sky. It felt still, light, and quiet. When I zoomed out and thought of the whole lake, I felt small and brave on this vast edge that is home to so many creatures.
When I look to the land, I see that many creatures thrive on the edges. They teach us about resilience and adaptability. So, how do we find more ease in transition in our own lives? When I zoom in or zoom out on an edge that feels harsh or extreme, it often softens. The edge of the lake suddenly feels more permeable and gradual when I zoom in, like there is a lot more space between air and water. The edge of summer and fall may seem sudden and uncomfortable in my system, but if I zoom out I realize that the seasons are always moving and changing and there’s a comfort in that rhythm. Like a surfer, our best bet is to move with the momentum of change and breath through our internal resistance until it softens. Our survival depends on our ability to adapt. May we all soften and adapt in the face of ongoing change.