“You cannot fold a Flood —
And put it in a Drawer —”
– Emily Dickinson
At a certain stage in this journey, there was a swimming. Sometimes with the stream, sometimes against the stream. Whenever it was against the flow, there was a drowning.
Now, totally engulfed in this flow, there is no longer a swimmer. There is only the flow. The I that I thought I was, drowned back there somewhere.
There is no longer any journey, nor any traveller. There is simply the whelm, this flow, and I am one with it. I always was, I just didn’t realise it before.
I am whelmed. Not underwhelmed, not overwhelmed, simply whelmed.
In this place, lies vast abundance. Unbounded.
Go with the flow.
Let go and be whelmed. it’s okay.
It’s better than okay, it’s perfect, and beautiful, and it is what is. Every last inch of this ugly, beautiful flow of life is okay.
Now there is no journey. There is just the ride.