The Cold Plunge
On shedding the need to prove, step-by-step releasing past obligations, and stepping fully into the void of presence.
A reflection from the archives on shedding the weight of obligation, stepping through a personal threshold, and meeting the cold water of the Vermont woods.
Snow has begun to fall, swirling, spiraling through the air. I gaze out my window and see the fluffy white flakes drifting through the cool space of the air and am lulled by the softness, lulled by distant memories of other winters when I gazed out similar windows longing for the future of this particular view I have now achieved.
Shocked to find myself here, finally worthy of this love, finally worthy of this voice, finally stripped of need-to-prove, finally bereft-in-the-best-way of obligation to serve, I settle into the new sensations of emancipation. And, in the middle of the forest at the edge of this rushing cold river, I strip off my clothes.
Does the chained-set-free know what to do with that freedom right away? No. Do the imprisoned-once-released know right away how to navigate the new territory they find themselves in? No. Does the perpetually-ill-now-healed understand how to embody a healthy experience? Not yet.
So I too must abide awhile with patience. Delicately, now-healed, now-freed, now-unshackled, I stick a slender little toe out into the frigid water before me and before I plunge all the way in, braced for the shock of the cold plunge, I inhale. Wafting to my olfactory delight are rich scents of someone’s Lipton’s Soup, musky pine boughs, delicate spicy essential oils and mouth-watering remnants of tomorrow morning’s home-made chai.
I lower my whole foot down into the water at my feet, the cold both intense and enthralling. There is a shattering sound nearby, and I look over my left shoulder to see that I have accidentally knocked a blue bottle to the ground, the shards bouncing off of the rocks. I will have to be careful where I step next, but the beauty takes my breath away: a sliver of light from a passing car has decided just now to pierce the thick wintry forest and reflects, dazzingly off the broken glass.
Turning back to my now-frozen foot, I decide to wait no longer. I cannot prolong this, I must plunge in, all the way, thrusting my naked self into the frigid November night river.
There is a rushing sound, like 10,000 waterfalls crashing all at once over rocks beaten round and smooth below. I am not sure if the sound is actually the sound of the breath being shocked out of my body by the freezing water, or if it is the actual sound of cold water pummeling frozen rocks below.
Time slows down and I can see flashes of many memories pass before my eyes. I see all the tender moments when I was longing for release, for recognition, for liberation from the cycling chains that bound. I can see, vividly, all those moments I felt stuck, trapped, abandoned, betrayed. I can see, achingly, all those moments I tried so hard to please, when I overworked so tirelessly to prove and served selflessly through desperation for acceptance. I can see, wretchedly, all those moments of invisibility, all those moments I fought so hard to make change where it was needed, only to be castigated, denigrated, derided.
I see each of those moments passing through my mind now, and as each one passes through, it rises to the surface above me, distinct like little gas bubbles in slowly frothing seltzer. When they hit the air, they explode into the light of the night sky, their power and potency released, relinquished, expunged. No longer weighing me down, all that longing. I feel, for just as long as the moment lasts, the thrill of this vivid cold, this moment of residing at the rich center of the void.
Time crashes back into focus and I find I am arriving at the bottom of the whirlpool. My toes hit cold stones and reflexively, I kick against the solid ground, pushing down hard so I can bounce back up to the surface and climb the fuck out of this freezing water. But the thrill is inside of me. Every surface of my body is tingling, vibrating, shivering with miniature explosions of heat and cold, cold and heat, my whole body cascading with the rippling of thunder.
My heart is hammering, my breath gasping, my eyes wide with wonder, my mouth stretched as wide as can be with yawning glee. I’m jumping out of my skin just as I begin to jump out of the water.
But it was worth it.
The cold plunge.
I can still feel the sensation of the water pulling off of me like an elastic blanket, like a thick syrup of molasses, like hot wax pulling away from cool skin, like wakefulness splashing sleepiness, hesitation and fear into oblivion.
I can never un-see the beauty. I can never un-know the profundity. I can never un-do the potency of having tasted the void.
I am, officially, it seems, unshackled, uncorked, un-done. My grave shall go unmarked now, for I have achieved that great moment of singularity: I am alive, and that is all.
Hear me: that is all. Not, that is only, that is tiny, that is small, that is nothing. No, this is, quite literally, everything.
Released this way, the only question now is which direction to place my next step, but that decision shall be answered by the moment in which my leg maneuvers to make that step, and I need not fear the process of deciding any longer. No longer reactive, I am allowed to pause in discernment until just the right moment. No longer repressed, I embody a bravery and confidence before achingly longed for, which now kindly ensures each footfall shall be nourishing.
I bend, reaching for the thick towel I am grateful to have remembered and dry the last drops of river off of me, treasuring the rippling sensations still coursing across my skin. Skin that clings to pulsing muscles, my body feels vividly alive, my mind tracing each tiny fraction of sensation, my heart pumping vigorously to re-warm frozen limbs.
Everything sparkles. Tears freeze to icicles on cold cheeks and laughter resounds when I stick out curious tongue to taste salty droplets of ice.
Quickly now, I towel off, eager to reclaim heat, but in solidarity with the cold, still-flowing water, I bow to her power, thanking her for the cleansing, purifying plunge.
Replacing my body inside warm clothing and retracing my steps carefully across the broken shards of blue glass, I clamber stiffly yet ecstatically into my waiting vehicle, put her in reverse to turn away and gun the engine outta there. Eagerly, I return to dark highway and trace the remaining miles north and into the lights of the city.
I do not yet know what delights are waiting for me there on that beckoning horizon, but I know that I go with my whole self, I know that I am available to strategize each stage of the journey, am willing to engage the discomfort and ride the razor’s edge with precision. I shall never again waiver. I shall discern the yes’s from the no’s and wield the great sharpened sword of wisdom before I speak. I shall, at long last, envision the world in which I wish to live with peace, dignity and worthiness. My path unfolding quietly and gorgeously in front of me, I shall harness the resources I require and be only-as-generous as needed.
I shall return again and again to the cold plunge when I need to awaken all my senses and return to the great vast fullness of the void at the center of all things. I shall taste the sun when she rises and ride the moon across the sky.