Riptides and World Religion

Kathleen Ennis

Reading from The World According to Garp, by John Irving:

The Garps had gone every summer to Dog's Head Harbor, New Hampshire, where the miles of beach in front of the estate were ravaged by a fearful undertow. When Walt was old enough to venture near the water, Duncan said to him - as Helen and Garp had, for years, said to Duncan - "Watch out for of the undertow". Walt retreated, respectfully. And for three summers Walt was warned about the undertow. Duncan recalled all the phrases.

"The undertow is bad today."

"The undertow is strong today."

"The undertow is wicked today." Wicked was a big word in New Hampshire - not just for the undertow.

And for years Walt had watched out for it. From the first, when he asked what it could do to you, he had only been told that it could pull you out to sea. It could suck you under and drown you and drag you away.

It was Walt's fourth summer at Dog's Head Harbor, Duncan remembered, when Garp and Helen and Duncan observed Walt watching the sea. He stood ankle-deep in the foam from the surf and peered into the waves, without taking a step, for the longest time. The family went down to the water's edge to have a word with him.

"What are you doing, Walt?" Helen asked.

"I'm trying to see the Under Toad." Walt said

"The what?" said Garp.

"The Under Toad," Walt said. "I'm trying to see it. How big is it?"

And Garp and Helen and Duncan held their breath; they realized that all these years Walt had been dreading a giant toad, lurking offshore, waiting to suck him under and drag him out to sea. The terrible Under Toad.

Garp tried to imagine it with him. Would it ever surface? Did it ever float? Or was it always down under, slimy and bloated and ever-watchful for ankles its coated tongue could snare? The vile Under Toad.

Between Helen and Garp, the Under Toad became their code phrase for anxiety. Long after the monster was clarified for Walt ("Undertow, dummy, not Under Toad!" Duncan had howled), Garp and Helen evoked the beast as a way of referring to their own sense of danger. When the traffic was heavy, when the road was icy - when depression had moved in overnight - they said to each other, "The Under Toad is strong today."

I first read the John Irving novel from which this passage was taken as a freshman in high school, and have probably read it 5-6 times since then. I love it, as I tend to love most of Irving's books because of the way they celebrate equally both the bacchanalian joys and the profound tragedies of life.

In my inaugural reading of Garp - when I was 14 - the concept of the Under Toad was amusing. My mother and I are well-versed in Malapropisms, so I felt an empathy for young Walt's linguistic goof. From ages 16 - 18, encompassing, respectively, readings two and three, life was pretty much one big Under Toad. The concept of some "dark psychological undercurrent" threatening the tranquil surface of life was absurd: life was dark and psychological, there was no tranquil surface to threaten. It was only during my fourth journey through the novel, shortly after I was married, that I began to fully appreciate - and fear - the Under Toad for what he was.

As I claimed my life and it began to flower with love and adventure and creativity, I treaded gingerly at first, keeping one eye open for my amphibious friend. Yes, the waters were smooth and tranquil, but I new that somewhere, beneath the surface -maybe even far beneath the surface, the Under Toad was there, waiting. Waiting to thrust me back to that dark and psychological world I inhabited during my teens. But as the years went by, and my ankles went relatively unscathed, I began to relax. Treading gingerly gave way to skipping gave way to full- on striding as my life just got better and better. A husband, a home, a beautiful baby daughter, a profession I love, a theater, a UU fellowship, wonderful friends ...

They always say, "When you least expect it. Expect it." Whoever "they" are, they're right. He got me. The Under Toad. A little over a year ago I underwent a personal crisis of let us say "some significant magnitude." The details are mainly irrelevant. Like good literature, in good lives the plot is secondary to the theme. The theme of my personal crisis is fairly universal and went something like this: one day I went to bed secure about my role within the world - who I was, who made up my little micro-cosmic community, and what part I played in that community, and the next night I went to bed with all of that in flux. The world had some surprises up its sleeve, and these surprises challenged my identity. Many of the interpersonal foundations upon which I had built my life simply crumbled in one fell and absurd swoop, and I absolutely went under. Sucked down by the Under Toad in a gurgling whirlpool of frustration and anger and sadness.

I am up here today because - to my utter amazement - I was able to escape from him. I didn't drown. And when I realized - in the midst of this "personal crisis of some significant magnitude " - that I wasn't drowning but living and breathing and healing, and even growing, I was so shocked and surprised that I became obsessed with knowing why. And so I researched it. Because I'm a librarian and that's what I do. And because I'm also a teacher, and because I signed up for a sermon workshop, and because -this will make sense in a few moments - shouting the correct instructions to someone in trouble can save their life, I've decided to share my research with you.

My findings revolve around world religion and riptide survival. Now I figure the whole "world religion" theme is tailor-made for a roomful of Unitarians, but you may be wondering about the riptide survival element, so I'll start there.

You see: I'm a lousy swimmer. I don't like to put my head underwater, and in what can only be described as a colossal error of judgment, my parents took me to see Jaws when I was 7 years old. So there's that whole shark thing. And, literary metaphors aside, the whole concept of a riptide is a bit disturbing. The idea that one can be sucked under and virtually consumed by the sea has always bothered me. Don't get me wrong, I love the ocean. I love to see it, smell it, hear it: I just don't necessarily want to be in it.

When Jack and I went to Greece in 1993 I knew I was going to have to face my fears. I couldn't possibly frolic on white sandy beaches in the cradle of civilization and resist a dip into the Mediterranean. So, in the name of facing these fears I bucked up. For instance I learned that the last confirmed shark attack in Greece was 1981, and it wasn't fatal. And learned a bit about riptides, just in case. I learned that surviving a riptide can be accomplished in five easy steps:

1. Don't panic
2. Tell yourself, "I may be caught in a riptide"
3. Do NOT try to swim straight back in.(This part is very important!) Relax and let the riptide carry you where it will.
4. When it lets you go, then gradually work your way in.
5. Please remember, even just shouting the correct instructions to some in trouble could save their life.

When this Series of Unfortunate Events unfolded for me in December 2003 and I felt myself going under, I immediately thought of it in terms of being caught by the Under Toad, after all, I had been waiting for his arrival for nearly 2 decades. After a few days of going a little crazy, of desperately trying to shape and control an incident that could not be shaped and controlled, I decided to put the whole riptide survival thing to the test.

I stopped panicking and I told myself "Kathleen, you may be caught in a riptide." I stopped struggling against events and feelings and I told myself that if I was going to be the type of person who lived deeply and sucked the marrow from life, who lived life to its breadth and depth, then I needed to be prepared to embrace all of that life, not just the good bits. I let go of those urges to shape and control and just went with it. When I felt rage I thought, "Wow, you are really angry today." Isn't it interesting how your heart rate increases, your muscles tense up, your mind races? When I felt sadness I bought Kleenex and listened to Leonard Cohen songs and let myself be sad.

And to make a long story short, I found that by letting go, by accepting where I was in my life, I was released pretty quickly from the Under Toad's grasp. A month after I was sucked under I found myself stepping onto a shore that was brighter and richer than the one from which I had been swept.

This is where world religions come into play. A few months into 2004 I was telling my friend about my Under Toad experience. He looked at me solemnly and said, "God only gives you what he knows you can bear." And this totally pissed me off. First of all, it wasn't GOD, but GARP who saved my tail. Secondly, I resented the implied suggestion that my big epiphany, my Great Life Lesson of 2004, was not monumental but, in fact, some sort of Christian no-brainer. With my dander up, I began to poke around to find evidence to the contrary.

I began my research where I always begin any sort of religious research, with the Encyclopedia of Religion. I looked under "Suffering", and from that article moved on to articles on South Asian religions, cosmology, and myth. Since suffering is universal human condition, every system of belief has something to say about. Apparently my epiphany wasn't a Christian no- brainer, but just a general no-brainer. That said, I don't have time to go into all my findings, but I would like to share those that really clicked for me:

First, there was the Tao. At its most basic level the Chinese philosophy of Tao deals with human kind's cooperation with the natural world. Tao is often translated in "The Way", "The Flow of Things", or - my favorite - "The Watercourse Way." Taoists believe in following the idea of "wu wei" which is to let nature take its course. To live and survive by conforming with the natural way of things. Water - often used as a representation of Tao - is a perfect example of wu-wei because it always seeks the path of least resistance and follows it, yet there is nothing more powerful. Water will carve through rocks, steel, anything, simply by rising and using gravity.

Alan Watts illustrates wu-wei using a tree metaphor: the rigid pine branch will crack under the heavy weight of snow, while the branch of the willow yields to the weight. . . bending, bending until the snow drops off. Watts also points toward aikido and tai-chi as perfect physical manifestations of the concept of going with the flow, of trimming the sails to the wind, of stooping to conquer. He says:

Wu-wei is thus the life-style of one who follows the Tao, and must be understood primary as a form of intelligence - that is, of knowing the principles, structures, and trends of human and natural affairs so well that one uses the least amount of energy in dealing with them.

In the Tao Te Ching saying #43 instructs:

The soft overcomes the hard in the world
As a gentle rider controls a galloping horse.
That without substance can penetrate where there is no space.
By these I know the benefit of non-action
Teaching without words, working without actions -
Nothing in the world can compare to them.

I think your typical Taoist would fare pretty well in a riptide, don't you?

Buddhists are no slouches, either, when it comes to dealing with the Under Toad. Zen demands an immediate contact with life, what Alan Watts calls a joining of 'self and life.' No matter what that life is giving you. The first principle of the Mahayana is that all things, however vile on the surface are aspects of the Buddha-nature. Every being, every thing, every event must be accepted and even embraced. In his book An Open Heart, the Dalai Lama says: "In general, the difficult periods of life provide the best opportunities to gain useful experiences and develop inner strength." Suffering is one of the "noble truths". It is something all humans share, so the Buddhist approach is to reflect upon and embrace the experience of suffering, just as we do experiences of joy.

Watts says: "Zen is to move with life without trying to arrest and interrupt its flow." Zen is not our ideas and feelings about things; instead, Zen is the immediate awareness of things as they live and move. What we actors call "being in the moment." To illustrate this distinction between being in the moment and analyzing the moment, Watts uses the example of fencing . . . an art strongly influenced by the principles of Zen:

This - what may be termed the "non-interfering" attitude of mind - constitutes the most vital element in the art of fencing as well as Zen. If there is any room left even for the breadth of a hair between two actions, this is interruption (. . . ) If you are troubled and cogitate what to do, seeing the opponent about to strike you down, you give him room, that is, a happy chance for his deadly blow. Let your defense follow the attack without a moment's interruption, and there will be no two separate movements to be known as attack and defense.

Watt's goes on to explain that if "attack" represents life, and "defense" one's response to life, then that immediate contact he talks of earlier, that vital connection between 'self' and 'life' is destroyed.

This suggestion that life is to be lived without judgment is powerful. People, things, events and experiences are not good or bad they just are. This attitude is vital to Buddhist meditative practice. Last summer Helen Buchner and I attended a workshop on meditation. As we sat discussing our efforts at the end of one session, people complained about feeling uncomfortable during their practice, itching, cramping, aching, etc. Our instructor told us that when we feel itches, cramps, aches, during practice we should just note them then let them go. Hmmm, there's an itch. What does it feel like as it begins, peaks, ends? How about a cramp? She said the same thing about noise: let the noise register then let it go. We are too obsessed with analyzing and controlling and that stops us from being present, being mindful.

So the Zen approach to the Under Toad almost perfectly matches the instructions we are to follow: don't panic, recognize what is happening, then relax and just let it happen.

In the Hindu tradition the philosophical viewpoint revolves around the idea that life is a drama. The Supreme Being, Brahman, is basically bored because. . . well, because he is a Supreme Being. It's lonely at the top. And while full control over everything on the planet may be fun for awhile, knowing every single thing that is going to happen means a life without any surprises, any fun. So, for fun, Brahman falls asleep and dreams a world - our world, in fact. In this dream he plays all the parts: all the trees and flowers, the crocodiles and Siamese cats, me and you. He does this so he can once again experience that joyous myriad of unknown outcomes and surprises that define everyday life.

This philosophy lends itself to the notion that nothing is to be taken too seriously because, after all, its just a play. It also serves to underscore the value of all experiences - even the so-called negative ones - because in the end we are damn lucky to have them.

This life-is-a-play philosophy works well for encounters with the Under Toad. The next time he grabs you instead of struggling to escape, or trying to wrestle him under control, just throw yourself into the part, relish the meaty role, know that conflict is a necessary ingredient in any great play, and ultimately take comfort in the fact that no matter how tedious a scene may be. . . it will come to an end.

I couldn't possibly complete my research without checking in on the Transcendentalists.

In his essay Self-Reliance Ralph Waldo Emerson seems to promote mindfulness, though he doesn't call it that. He simply says: "Man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eye laments the past, or, heedless of the riches that surround him, stands on tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time. Emerson implores us to accept the place the divine providence has found for us, the society of our contemporaries, the connection of events..

A decade later we find Henry David Thoreau talking about living deliberately. He wishes to "learn what life has to teach", having no interest in living "what is not life." "If it proves to be mean," he proclaims, "then to get the whole and genuine meanness of it. . . "

So, I'm just about done shouting the instructions. And although even I am not vain enough to believe they will save your life, I hope they have given you something to reflect upon. If any of you are caught in some sort of emotional riptide right now, and if your usual M.O. - like mine - is to try to control the universe, I hope you will attempt to let go of that urge. A look at the rich traditions of Tao, Buddhism, the Hindu philosophy, and even our beloved Emerson reveals to us that letting go is neither fatalism, nor resignation; neither pessimism, nor helplessness. It is simply the capacity to accept and celebrate life in all its manifestations. It is the wisdom of being open for whatever may come. It is the genius of embracing life's challenges, and discovering the richness and joy hidden within them.

If you are in a good space right now, and I hope you are, then tuck these instructions away for later. The Under Toad is always there, after all, lurking under the surface. I myself no longer feel afraid of him. I no longer think he's particularly vile. He is just a part of life and life, after all, really is beautiful.

[Delivered 09 January 2005. Kathleen Ennis is a member of the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship of Stanislaus County.]

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