Little Boat Without An Oar

What I'm trying to do is say lighten up and let life flow through you, and be on the waves as they go up and down. For me, a great image in mythology is Tristan of Tristan and Isolde. He's out there on a little boat without an oar, without a rudder, on the Irish sea . . . You float your way. You drift. The essence of my approach is to be extravagantly accepting and forgiving of yourself and others. Ride the waves and let life take you where it has good things for you." - Thomas Moore

Lately I am watching several close family members, the generation below me, struggling with how to do the real thing in their marriages: how to juggle those elusive components that create genuine intimacy. I am blessed now, in my fifties, to have a good and soulful relationship, but this arrived only after I found that floating, trusting place in myself. It is not that I did not enjoy the ride and the practice; I served as muse and inspired poetry and song, because I was good at the lush part of love and skilled at seduction. But I wanted the real thing. I wanted to find home with my mate and my children, to have the family that reflected deep trust and respect, faithfulness...lightness of being. When I was young I thought if I worked hard enough anything was possible. If I worked hard enough... if I kept a perfectly clean house... if I cooked dinner every night, was a goddess in bed, if I was perfect at every task I took on. But I had no instinctive roadmap for success; my parents divorced when I was little and carried great animosity toward one another. I simply had no earthly idea how to get what I wanted. I had desire, my faith and my determination and I expected that to work. It didn't. It wasn't what I expected. Which is exactly the point. And what a life of faith really is. Faith to leap into new places of trust. No, the answer, too long coming, and one completely beyond logic, was to let go. It was to float around in that little boat without an oar.