Rowing in a thick fog a couple of mornings ago, I realized that being in a fearful state of mind can be much like being in a physical fog. From the inside, there is no visible limit, no perceptable end to it. The horizon is gone. The fog is infinite and all enveloping. Landscape features, other boats, channel markers are invisible. The vague outline of what you think you see morphs into something else, or suddenly disappears. Sounds ricochet, their direction indistinct and their source unidentifiable. Confusion becomes a dominant experience from moment to moment. Only the strident and frequent fog horn on the Golden Gate Bridge gives comfort, evidence of an unfailing presence reliable enough to guide you through the fog.
And then, all of a sudden, you’re out of it. Abruptly, you glide through that infinite edge beyond which, a second earlier, you couldn’t see. On this side of the wall of fog, the sun is bright. The details of the known world are sharp and clear. Distances, structures, relationships come back into focus. The sounds of things once again make sense, and it’s immediately discernable where and from what they emanate.
So, how do you exit the fog when it overtakes you? And, how do you reach through the fog to help another? Clearly, unless you are as formidable as the Golden Gate Bridge, it’s never a great idea to wade into the fog to save someone else. My rowing partner was just as lost as I, and, though we agreed to stay within sight of each other, neither of us was more sure than the other of the way out. We just kept rowing, letting the constant fog horn guide us back to our safe and sunlit harbor.
And, so, for yourself, while standing here in the sunlight feeling relaxed and calm, determine just what unfailing call you will follow when the fog envelops you. And, if you choose to serve another, simply be that strong and frequent resonance that confirms there is a solid and reliable world beyond the fog.