White Caps

So, I'm in my kayak and it's a sunny day, but suddenly, an unexpected rain comes. White caps form on the water. I must concentrate to stay afloat, unable to look up, putting all my energy into moving through this unsettling moment in my life, hoping to staying upright.
My uncle passed away. One night he went to sleep and slipped into that state of peaceful grace. As a child, he was my favorite grown up. His quirky sense of humor, wise counsel, his love and care, I will miss. He's on another journey now, walking on that old road that leads us back to love's essence.
But the sun returned and shone brilliantly as I traveled to my daughter's university graduation. She's a very bright young lady who will pursue her passion: studying marine life. My family spent a weekend basking in the warm yellow light of her honorable achievement.
A few days later, choppy water. Unpredictable skies. A storm of my own making. My semi-annual check up. Is the cancer still gone? I worried. I allowed fear into my psyche. For a little while, I stopped believing in my oncologist's strong reach for "cure," in my surgeon's skill, my radiology oncologist's razor sharp accuracy, my family and friends' prayers and a benevolent god. I was scared shitless.
Why is it so hard to believe in the possibility that everything is alright? Or maybe that everything is as it should be?
In her article, "Slipping Past Borders," (Oprah mag, June 2010) Katherine Russell Rich writes, "When you're swamped with fear, ask yourself: How are you right now?" When uncertainty threatens she says the answer is, "Fine. Stay right here, in this day, stay right here in your mind."
By the time I got to my appointment, I'd already begun to feel lighter. Apparently my own mantra, "good things can happen," had a sinking in affect in spite of my conscious disbelief.
Good things happened. The sun is back. I'm snug and dry, kayaking this river, my journey, able to look up, way up, enjoying mountain peaks on the horizon.
(photo by photographer Nelu Goia, Canada, can be seen at www.trekearth.com).