I was kayaking with a friend on the Huron River, just below Barton Dam. From a distance, the water tumbling over the dam looked fierce, fast, like a current you’d be foolish to challenge. My friend hesitated, concerned the flow might be too strong. I could feel her pause. Her apprehension was real, but the story it was based on, wasn’t.

We moved in closer. As we entered the water, it became immediately clear: the current, though dramatic in appearance, quickly softened. The river opened wide and slow, offering a slow current. The kind of place that reminds you to breathe. A blue heron stalks the bank with the poise of an old mystic. A bald eagle circles overhead like a benediction. The fear faded. The river revealed what it truly was.

How often do we do this? Stand at the edge of a choice, a path, a relationship, a new beginning, and freeze, not because of what is, but because of what we think is?

How many moments in our lives have we misjudged because we believed a story that wasn’t true?

The moment on the river brought me back to the beginning of my own spiritual journey. Sophomore year of high school. I picked up a copy of Be Here Now and felt something awaken inside me. “That’s it,” I thought. “He gets it”. Ram Dass clearly articulated his own spiritual awakening in away that felt like he flipped a switch on in me. That was the moment the veil first parted.

Since then, I’ve followed the thread through meditation, yoga, ashrams, psychedelics, shamans, South American jungles, spiritual communities, and back again. Full circle. And soon, I will be going to a meditation retreat in Ganeshpuri, India, where some of those early seeds originated from.

Looking back, it’s clear: all of it, the seeking, the surrendering, the grasping, the letting go, was the fire. The crucible. A slow, holy purification.

But here’s the thing: I spent years searching for something I was never without.

That’s the great cosmic joke, isn’t it? We go looking for God in the forest, in the desert, in the ceremony, in the arms of another, only to find, eventually, if we’re lucky, that what we were seeking never left us. Not once.

Truth Emerges in the Stillness

Back on the river, that morning stayed with me. The contrast between the illusion of danger and the reality of calm. The way the mind projected fear, and how quickly it was quieted by presence.

It’s humbling, really, how quickly we believe our stories. How quickly we build barriers made of thoughts. And how gently life keeps inviting us to return. To the breath. To the body. To the moment.

Letting Go, Even Now

Even now, with my partner, I continue to learn the same lesson, over and over: letting go. Of expectations, control, the need to understand. Love, when it’s real, doesn’t ask for certainty, it asks for presence.

And so, I find myself in this tender part of life, not as someone who has figured it out, but as someone who is finally willing to stop figuring. To trust. To float more. To paddle less. To let the river teach me what’s next.

A Gentle Invitation

Where in your life are you mistaking turbulent appearances for truth?

What stories are keeping you on the shore?

What might open if you dared to test the water and found it kinder than you imagined?

Here’s the invitation: Let the moment reveal itself. Let the current surprise you. Step beyond the fear of the dam and into the stillness that’s waiting.

I’ll meet you there.

With curiosity and an open heart,
Gary

If you have any questions, please email me at garymerel@gmail.com or call 732-208-2836. Also, please visit my website at leanintoyourlife.net

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