There's no real way to title this post. 'Learning to Swim', maybe?

When I first started this blog and named it 'Darya', I knew that it felt right. I've always loved words, whatever their origin- directly related to me or not, near or far. I find myself first asking, "What does it mean?" - and reflecting into what it could be a symbol of, for me in my life at the time that I have stumbled onto that word. Sometimes I impose the symbology, but other times, it just feels true. 'Darya' was one of those words that felt true.

So I named my blog 'Darya'- meaning 'limitless expanse of water' in it's Persian origins. For good measure and never one to shy from re-emphasizing a theme, I centered at the heart of her landing page, a Rumi quote that has always called to me. A quote where Rumi asks "When will you begin that long journey into yourself?"

That's a quote that called to me because I think I have always known that there was a long internal journey I had yet to go on. Even in all my broody melancholy, meditative alone time, even in my generally reflective nature, I've known for a long time that there were thick webs in depths of me that I could not reach to even attempt to disentangle and I did not know why. I did not know how. I wouldn't have even know what to call it or where to start.

I wasn't necessarily thinking about that in 2020 when I started this blog though. With not much else happening in the pandemic, I planned I would just share and pour out whatever came, no limits on what the reflections were or were not. And so I designed the website, setup the header, my landing page, letting Rumi's words circle Darya's meaning and together weave a fitting pair.

Well, the last 3 years since my last blog post, have thrown me into those very depths of myself and have left me swimming upwards and away, against the heavy currents of a limitless expanse of water, which as you can imagine- is quite effortful. Impossible really. Especially when you never even learnt how to swim.

I tried at first. I know theoretically what it means to swim. I've seen people swim, I'm aware of what it means. I swam a little as a little girl, not much since then but that should be something right? And so when the waves came, I willed my arms and legs to put into action what I had never really learnt nor practiced. I tried to apply what I had never understood, what I had never examined. I concentrated deeply and tried to pull into memory the scraps of 'knowledge' that I had gathered in passing about swimming. And for a little while, it seemed like it was working. Until it wasn't. Ofcourse it wasn't. Swimming is a skill. It's not a thought, not passing awareness.

---

Beginning that long journey into myself, diving into that limitless expanse were not choices I would have made. I was having a cushy time, believing I was sure of the things I was- and trying to understand them more, I knew that I knew the things that I knew, I had things by the name I was sure they were called. But as I strolled along, I wandered onto a different path- new, beautiful, and longer than I thought it would be.

But on it's path- an interruption, vast deep seas to cross. For a girl who never learned to swim. But for a girl who saw that it was the only way to more.

The first attempt at thrashing about in deep waters is as painful as it sounds. But it's either that or resolving to drown. And so in the thrashing, some strength is built, some harsh lessons are learnt and eventually, maybe a guide will come along and help you. And really help you see things for what they are, what they always were. Maybe they will show you where the webs inside of you just needed one strategic pull at the right thread to untangle themselves.

And sure enough, it is uncomfortable at first. You will feel untethered- the weight you held for so long isn't there anymore. What will ground you now, if not that? Feeling light as a feather, doesn't that mean you will be blown off with the wind? "Where is the weight to pull and keep you down? grounded?", you think. But in lightness, you suddenly feel peace, freedom, airflow in places you didn't even know had capacity to receive it. Maybe that is what is grounding. Grounding yet not crushing. Being guided into yourself, being loved into clarity.

Maybe? Maybe.

Yet you will wonder why they didn't come sooner. In the throes of it you had wondered if you would survive, if you would ever see the light of day or stroll beautiful paths again. Even now, you still wonder why you have to cross where maybe others don't. You still wonder why this was the only way.

But slowly seeing glimpses of the other side, you realise why it was.

---

So, with all the things I've had to learn and unlearn on this way,

with all the things I've had to release into the depths because I could not carry them on the way up with me,

with the experience of being whipped and thrown about the raging currents until I learnt to hold my own; I see that it could not have happened any other way.

And for that I am grateful.