Let Me Be Like Water

How a song stuck on repeat, an inconvenient illness and several increasingly unsubtle encounters with water eventually got their point across.

Before I left for the retreat, my body seemed to know something my mind didn't. 

At first, it was a song that insistently echoed in my head day after day – Let…me be…like water…

A bit nervous after days of this, I found myself writing my facilitator:

So! I set my intention for the retreat: "I allow myself to be fully seen and expressed in my work and life. I release the fear of exposure and step boldly into the joy of my authentic voice, knowing it is safe and powerful to be me."

And in the past week or so, this song "Be Like Water" by Lo Wolf has started playing on repeat in my brain.

I don’t know if this is just subconscious preparation for the retreat or a calling to a deeper anchor of the journey.

I don’t PLAN to go full-mermaid or dive in the pool/waterfall unannounced but we know journey space is its own…unexpected dance.

I thought I should mention it in case an eye needs to be kept on me if I start wandering.

But also how cool would it be?

We were going away to journey with plant medicine, yes. But also to work on our businesses in like-minded community.

I spent days overthinking, scrambling to organize my business details, tweaking my "elevator speech," everything I could think of to make sure I could articulate myself clearly, to feel polished and prepared amongst the other participants.

Let…me be…like water….

Then came an insistent illness that swept over me days before my departure, knocking me off my feet.

An emergency trip to the doctor the day before departure.

Loaded up with all the meds. Her hesitant inquiry – did I have trip cancellation insurance?

Let…me be…like water….

As much as I hated the lesson, the illness was forcing me into stillness, surrender.

Let…me be…like water….

It wasn’t contagious – a sinus infection, caught early enough for the antibiotics to kick in – but it almost derailed the trip entirely. I wasn’t sure I could even make the journey.

Meds and mask at the ready, I boarded the plane for the first leg of my journey.

The layover I resented when I found I couldn't travel there in one long slog, the hotel I reluctantly booked?

It became my first cocoon of integration, an unexpected pause that allowed my body to heal just enough from the first flight to make the journey of the second flight possible.

Let…me be…like water….

I was the last to arrive, later than anticipated. I fretted a little about holding everyone up.

I was tired.

Lines were long.

And I got confused by the instructions to find the exit to where the group was waiting.

Let…me be…like water….

(that g*ddamn f*cking song…again)

Our facilitator patiently directed me in the group chat. And as I stepped out of the airport into the blinding sunshine, I spotted them waiting with warm hugs and smiles.

When she hugged me hello, I couldn't quite suppress the mini-collapse into her arms. I tried to mask it with a burst of humour: "I'm so f*cking done with being sick!"

They all laughed but they looked at me softly, with nods of understanding.

My experiences had taught me to fear exposing my vulnerability, but what I received from this group of humans was witnessing and unspoken support that told me: "you're here now, we've got you."

I felt something in me relax.

***

The next day, a few of us decided to brave the jungle a little ways to explore the small waterfall on the property.

Down a steep sun-baked track, ill-equipped with sandals and flip flops we went. Following the sounds of the waterfall up and down over the winding contours of a jungle trail, we marveled at the plants and trees.

But the insects! They were insistent and we didn't think to bring bug spray.

It would be a quick visit, just a dipping of the toes before turning back.

***

Later, it was time for the cold plunge.

We gathered offerings from the land and intentionally gifted them to the water.

The tub of ice-cold water stood before me, a challenge I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet.

I hesitated, feeling the gaze of the group, feeling my own vulnerability rise.

I waited, letting others go before me, unsure if I would step in at all. But when my turn came, I asked for help to enter, something that felt significant in itself.

The moment my body met the water, I resisted. My breath caught, my muscles tensed, my mind seized. But breath by breath, I surrendered.

I sank deeper, let the water and the gentle encouragement of the group regulate and hold me.

Soon, I could hear nothing but my own heartbeat, the rhythm of my body meeting the elements.

And in that stillness, I found something sacred:

I belonged here.

The moment I emerged, my body seized in a coughing fit.

Wrapped in a dry towel, I left the group to continue the ice plunge while I sought solace on a hidden patch of grass not far away.

Tears came.

The burning warmth of the sun on my unprotected skin.

My body shook, my lungs cleared, my energy shifted. Something had already begun moving through me, even before the medicine.

After the cold plunge had finished wringing something loose inside me, we spent a little time in the bathtub-warm saltwater pool.

This time, the water felt like an invitation, a gentle embrace.

***

Days later, after a journey that had taken me somewhere much deeper, I found myself back beside the pool.

My attention was caught by the oracle cards on the journey altar. I pulled out three different decks and impulsively plopped myself down into a delightful game of inquiry right there on the pool deck.

Turning to the Self-Care deck one of us had just purchased in town, I rested my hands on it. I was about to draw a card when a mischievous sense of whimsy overtook me – I pressed my hand to it instead and inhaled their energy instead of drawing one.

Because why not? If everything was energy, why limit myself to one piece when I could absorb it all?

Then I laughed. A real, belly-deep, alive laugh.

Because I could. Because I was still here.

Because I had gone to the depths, and I had risen.

The pool shimmered, beckoning.

I went to a facilitator.

"Do I need to put on a swimsuit?"

She gave me a quizzical look and a raised eyebrow. "No?"

"Good."

And I walked straight into the water with a smile on my face, fully clothed.

Lísa sitting fully clothed at the edge of a pool, smiling with one leg in the water.