I never felt more alive that morning I almost died during the summer of 1983. I had driven from Columbus to Ocoee, Tennessee with a buddy from the ski shop where we both worked. We were stoked to participate in the Ocoee River Rodeo, the whitewater event where freestyle kayaking was born. This was long before the once almost-always-dry Upper Ocoee was engineered to become the 1996 Olympic Kayaking venue. An epic stretch of class III and IV rapids, the river was also super accessible, paralleled along much of the whitewater stretch by a road.
Ron and I planned to run the river not in kayaks, but in a tandem open canoe. We wore helmets and PFDs, had two throw lines and inflatable flotation to displace the water that would inevitably get in over the gunwales. Each of us had decent whitewater experience, but neither of us had tried anything as beefy as what we were about to attempt.
The vibe of the crowd was incredible. Paddlers and spectators lined the banks. Some were there for the paddling. Some were there to party. Some were there to protest the TVA’s plans to dam the river without consideration of its recreational value. As we scouted our run from various points along the road, we noted plenty of weed and booze. Folks on the shore wore halter tops and flip flops and Charlie Daniels seemed to be playing everywhere. Nature provided a warm, sunny day cooled by the river mist that rose from the rapids. We were part of something big, connected with people we’d never met before, and feeling both scared shitless and bullet-proof at the same time. We were ready. We were at our best. We were totally alive!
What happened next is largely erased from my memory. Ron had the stern and I was in the bow. The power of the river was immense, and we handled a few sets of rapids well. We had good communication, but we must have chosen our route poorly in one of the rapids and took on too much water despite the flotation. The boat rolled in a turn and we swamped. I don’t remember how far downriver we traveled, but my trip ended in a hydraulic downstream from a large boulder. As the water ran over the rock, it mixed with air, hit the streambed and rose to the surface again, moving back upstream toward the rock. The frothy water allowed no purchase, no way to move myself toward the shore. I was repeatedly pulled under despite the PFD, brought up to the surface, then dunked again. And again. And again. Breathing was a challenge, each gasp also bringing in some frothy water.
Ender!
This wasn’t the first time I’d clearly imagined the possibility of my death, but it was the most dramatic. I never gave up trying to free myself, but I was also filled with acceptance of the possibility that this would be an epic way to leave this world. There was a peace in that moment that I recognized as a friend. I was 9 years into my meditation practice at that point, and while I didn’t “see God” in the froth, I had a moment of clarity and connection like what I’d occasionally experienced in meditation. I knew that all was well. Then I felt something firm against my shoulders. It was a throw line that had been heaved into the upstream water from the shore by one of the spectators. As it floated downstream to me, I grabbed it and was pulled to dry land. Partly in shock, of course, I apparently collected my thoughts and was soon reunited with Ron and our boat. I don’t remember who saved me or the scene on shore after the rescue. I want to believe that it was a moment of entertaining excitement for the partying (and prepared for anything) crowd and that I thanked whoever it was that pulled me in.
We decided that our boat, which survived, was not up for another attempt. Surely our decision had nothing to do with the shit stains in our shorts! We spent the rest of the day on dry land, drinking in the energy of the day, feeling immensely, miraculously alive. Born again, humbled, and grateful for the air in our lungs. I grabbed my camera and took a bunch of photos. My favorite is one of Rusty doing an “Ender.” To bring his kayak vertical, he paddled upstream into one of those hydraulics that I got to know so well. As the bow hit the water flowing over the rock, it drove the bow down, popping the stern into the air. He held an extended moment of balance there before gravity and the flow of the river popped his boat out and downstream. Hydraulics, it’s now clear, can bring both joy and, well, whatever it was I’d experienced that day.
As our world grapples with the COVID-19 pandemic, many are dying and many more are afraid of dying. Thanks to several of these near-death experiences, a meditation practice that has served me in so many ways, and a lifetime of reading the works of enlightened humans, I don’t fear death. This fearlessness is not just the result of a choice to be “brave.” It is the result of having experienced the depth of my being and knowing that it is distinct from the body it inhabits.
Fearlessness arises once you discover that “I” am not this body. Neither am “I” the thoughts that come and go. I am the observer of those thoughts and that body. I am the drop of water that flows with the river, becoming the river and the sea it feeds, rising to the clouds, returning as rain to feed the forest. I am all that and more, beyond the limits of space and time. So is each of us. So - what’s to fear? Well, nothing. But what I seek to escape are the moments that I forget to live with complete confidence as a manifestation of divine consciousness (or whatever you’d like to call that Source of all that is). I seek to escape from the moments when I forget that love connects us all, and that the downstream journey of which we’re all a part is flowing perfectly.
As Ram Das said, “We’re all just walking each other home.” The life we’ve been given is just a loan, and it’s not even “ours.” It’s a gift that we collectively share. Think about how things would be different if you knew that you’re connected to everyone and everything; that you aren’t really “you” at all.” You’re really “us.” In Energy Leadership parlance, this is Level 6-7 thinking. It’s where intuition and creativity are born and it’s where those who are most successful spend as much time as possible. Appreciate how fleeting our time here is. Appreciate that we’re in this together. I’m grateful to be walking (or paddling) with you!
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