Kayaking as Peace and Healing

Sharing your story is one way to heal. Shared stories create healing both for the storyteller and reader. I wrote about my first kayaking experience in 2013 after I returned home from spending time at a breast cancer recovery retreat on Madeline Island. Madeline Island is one of the Apostle Islands in Lake Superior.

It was a cold and rainy day in July that many would want to forget. It became a story I wanted to share because of the healing properties of being on the water. The experience taught me I could do anything and be stronger because of the experience.

I was delighted when I discovered the piece had been passed on to a regional magazine and published. Well, mostly delighted. I would have appreciated it even more had the intermediary party involved told me it was in print.

At any rate, it was shared, and it may have contributed in some small way to someone else’s healing that read it. I hope by sharing this personal narrative again that it may be helpful to someone.

Kayaking: A Metaphor for Peace and Healing

Breast cancer survivors don’t understand the word no. We’ve heard it too many times. The cold gray sky said to stay inside. A steady mist fell. It definitely was not the warm, sunny, end of July day everyone expected while at our breast cancer recovery retreat. It was, however, our kayaking day on Lake Superior. The weather would not stop us – instead it would make us stronger. Everyone agreed to go. Each of us had faced, or still faced in my case, cancer and screamed NO at it with all our might. A little rain would not interfere with our plans.

Kayaking was a structured activity and part of our learning at the retreat. To be part of nature. To do something physical. To do something spiritual. To listen to the water and to listen to ourselves. Kayaking encompassed all these and more.

Lake Superior is a place of story and spirit, along with the islands that make up the Apostle Islands. Our guide took us to a beautiful inlet on Madeline Island that eventually led out to the much larger lake. The tranquility was beautiful even on a rainy cold day. The inlet protected us from the strong wind and rocking waves. Each of us was about to write more of our own personal cancer story upon the Lake Superior water.

A steady stillness surrounds you when you’re in your kayak and on the water. The oar slices through the water silently and your kayak soundlessly skims across the top. You are submerged but not submerged – on the surface but not on the surface. A kayak puts you in the moment more than any other activity I can imagine.

There is a peaceful oneness with the water. The rhythm of paddling along with the inhaling and exhaling of all that fresh air creates a meditative state.

Kayaking changes perspective. You see everything from the middle, not from the shore. You are almost eye level with the water. You have control over where your kayak ventures to and at what pace. There is empowerment in a kayak.

Kayaking heals. Cancer, surgeries, treatments, and medications take a toll on bodies and spirits. Fear creeps in. It settles in and eats away at your hope. Yet, water has its own purification and renewal powers. Water replaces fear with hope and life.

Water trickled down from the oar I held and onto my legs. The mist coming down, sideways, from every direction cleansed spirits. Kayaking connected the healing aspects of physical, emotional, and spiritual together. Every stroke made me feel more powerful and farther away from cancer.

When there is a storm, kayakers are supposed to raft up . . . to come together and hold on to the ropes of all the kayaks and ride out the storm. You don’t try to paddle anywhere. You just stay together, all in a tight bunch. The point is to make the group look bigger for large boats to see you and to rescue you.

However, there’s another point, too. In life’s struggles, don’t you want to raft up so you can help one another through the storms? You do. The concrete becomes another part of the metaphor.

After about an hour, our group came together to assess our progress and make decisions. One kayak was filling up with water and in constant need of the hand pump. The mist had changed into rain. You could see by the wind moving it slantways. We headed back in silence to reflect on our experience.

Kayaking proved to me once again I could conquer my fears. Not just conquer, but excel, in this new experience. Every inch of me was soaked, yet I felt fantastic! I was stronger both inside and out.

Once out of the water I started to shiver. Yet, I knew this was not the toughest part of my retreat. The toughest part for me was earlier that morning as I took an emotional risk when I shared scary parts of my cancer story with my fellow retreatants. Emotional risks are scary.

I will paddle on in the warmth and sunshine.

I may paddle again in the cold and rain.

I can do anything.

And I will.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Christmas Tree and Light

Many thousands of years ago, there were people who believed that evergreens were magical. In winter, evergreens stayed strong and green when all the other trees and greenery turned brown and bare. People saw evergreens as a symbol of life and as a sure sign that spring would return. Candles were used out of necessity, but were also symbolic of the light of spring triumphing over winter’s darkness.

Legend has it that the tradition of the first Christmas tree started with Martin Luther in Germany. He was a monk and church reformer who lived in Germany from 1483 to 1546. The story goes that as Luther returned home one wintry night he saw the stars twinkle through the tree branches. Luther was amazed by the sight and eager to tell his family about it. To help them understand, he went to the woods and cut down a small fir tree. Luther brought it indoors and decorated it with candles that represented the stars he had seen.

The custom spread through Germany and then throughout the world. The Christmas tree first appeared in England when Queen Victoria married Prince Albert, who was German. In 1841, he set up a Christmas tree at Windsor Castle to remind him of his homeland. Immigrants from England and Germany brought the Christmas tree tradition to the United States in the 1800s.

The Christmas tree with its boughs stretched toward heaven reminds us that Christ brought people everlasting life. The candles or lights on the tree remind us that Jesus is the light of the world.

I celebrate Christmas, so I take this opportunity to wish a very merry Christmas to those who also celebrate it. Christmas is very much about light. There are other celebrations this time of year that also celebrate light. Hanukkah is known as the Festival of Lights. For eight nights, Jewish families light a candle on the menorah to represent the miracle of oil lasting for eight days and nights when there was only enough for one after the Maccabees reclaimed Jerusalem from Syria. Diwali is a five day festival of lights celebrated by Hindus and Sikhs across the world. New beginnings, good over evil, and light over darkness are celebrated. The Winter Solstice is the start of the solar year and celebrates light and the rebirth of the sun. Children of all ages may relate to the light on Rudolph’s shiny red nose illuminating the night sky. Some might even say it glows.

All these examples share the magnificent outpouring of light. All light is love and hope. When we celebrate any of these special days, we’re ultimately demonstrating what we have in common with one another. We’re celebrating light, love, and hope. Light overpowers the dark. Our differences do not define us. Our similarities should bring us together.

I wish you all much peace in whatever way you praise light and goodness.