This Moment Matters

And how the fishes saved me

The world is alive and bonkers —in the best and worst possible ways— and it is startling how often I forget that, stumble and collapse into the dark river of thoughts. This clearly happens when I take myself and my experience too seriously.

When I curl up like a roly-poly unto myself, bracing for impact.
When I get so caught up in things that are absolutely out of my control.
I fall into a pit in the shape and size of my childhood and disappear until something nudges me out of the trenches of this bitter and lonely trance-state.

Until the world reaches out, knocks on my door gently and says, “Wake up sweetheart.”

As it happened it was one of them days, I was deeply triggered by something which I perceived as a threat to my wellbeing. I decided to take a walk by the sea and eventually found myself sitting on a bench, breathing and repeating the “This moment matters” mantra of the Presence Process¹ to calm down.

And then quickly thereafter my mind screamed, “This moment is SHIT!”.

Sitting across the beautiful blue water, I was grunting and snorting under my breath when a group of elderly people walked by right behind the bench and stopped very near me, pointing to the sea with loud sounds of astonishment. I was super annoyed and ready to give them a nasty look; how dare they so valiantly interrupt my fabulous sulk & snarl session?

But instead I let my gaze follow their wonder in the direction of their fingers and I saw them … fishes!

the fingers point
to the fish that glint
my misery evanesces

I counted three fishes. Large-ish. Just a few meters in front of me, swimming in shallow water. I had folded into such oblivion, I did not notice them the whole time I was on that bench, including during my attempts of conscious breathing, repeating the mantra, and journaling.

They playfully swirled down below, nefer fully surfacing and making themselves visible, they remained an elusive presence, leaving the rest to my imagination.

And with the fish arrived the presence I’ve been longing for. The gentle, mischievous hands of life caressed my cheek and pulled me out of my self-pit-y.

I remembered the school of fish that surrounded me this past summer, tiny little fishes jumping above the water in a flash of silver as if to bless me as I prayed for my life. I remembered those few naughty fishes who nibbled at my legs and feet unashamedly, reminding me that I am alive, and free.

I glanced at the people still standing next to the bench; one of them spoke out loud in utter amazement, “I wonder why they (the fishes) are hanging out right here on this spot?”.

I smiled. I knew why.

The fishes had come to save me.

Paintings by Hiroshi Tachibana

The Fish

The first fish
I ever caught
would not lie down
quiet in the pail
but flailed and sucked
at the burning
amazement of the air
and died
in the slow pouring off
of rainbows. Later
I opened his body and separated
the flesh from the bones
and ate him. Now the sea
is in me: I am the fish, the fish
glitters in me; we are
risen, tangled together, certain to fall
back to the sea. Out of pain,
and pain, and more pain
we feed this feverish plot, we are nourished
by the mystery.

Mary Oliver

1. The Presence Process by Michael Brown is a self-facilitating procedure for gently integrating uncomfortable emotional conditions.