Yoga Tales from Rural Maine: Out on the water

What's most amazing to me about the experience of becoming a first-responder is how I am much more able to find my courage in service to others.

I don't like boats, uncontained water, or, frankly, dead bodies--all three frighten my civilian self--but I did not hesitate this morning when I was asked to jump into a little rescue boat in the pouring rain on very little sleep, with no food, and what felt like not enough coffee, to troll all around the bay in choppy, cold, DEEP water looking for a body that would likely be grisly, it having traveled all the way down to the harsh surface of the water from the bridge so high above.

When I say I don’t like boats, I mean, I really, really don’t like boats. I once got seasick on an aircraft carrier—at port. That’s practically like getting seasick on land. I get a panicky feeling sometimes if you just say the word boat to me. I get all scared that you’re going to try and make me go on one.

I don’t want to go on one.

I also, by the way, generally can’t wear necklaces or turtlenecks because I feel like I’m being hanged—I can’t even wear halter-tops. I get all panicky and break out in a sweat and can’t breathe properly. Perhaps I was hanged in a previous life…and taken to my hanging in a boat. I don’t know. But that fear is deep and it is real, my friends. It is a deep, down visceral fear.

Did I mention I’m also not a morning person? And I’m terrified of bridges?

But this morning, having jumped out of bed at 5:55 a.m. to answer the call, when I was faced with the prospect of getting into a little inflatable rescue boat so I could zoom out into the Bay to look for the body of a man who had jumped from a really high bridge, I said “Yes.”

I didn’t have to. I’m a volunteer. I can stay home and sleep. I can say no to boats.

But when I was asked by an officer I trust, “Do you want to go out in the boat?” my answer was, “Yes.”

Because it was pouring down rain, and because the water in the Bucksport Bay is pretty damned cold, step one was to put on a gigantic and ill-fitting neoprene wet suit that made my hands and feet as dexterous as penguin flippers and which, due to being approximately six sizes too big, rode up at the zipper and pressed against my throat like two thumbs on my larynx. I was inside this choking, awkward contraption, about to go look around in uncontained water under a bridge for a dead body and I still got into that boat. And not because I thought I had to. I did it because I wanted to. I did it because when I was asked, my answer was honest-and-true, “Yes.”

The captain of our little craft—who makes his living on lobster boats--asked me once we were under way if I liked boats. “No,” I said. "I do not like boats."

I had only two questions. The first I knew the answer to, and I asked it lightly: “If I get sick, I should lean over the side, right? Not throw up in the boat?” 

The second question was not so light: “What was he wearing?”

I got the answer. And then I started to look.

When I teach yoga, there is a magic that runs through me. All my fear and doubt wash away, and I know how to help, I know what to do and say. Now matter how sick, tired, angry or frightened I might be when I walk in the door to a class, when I “step into” my teaching space, everything is calm and full of grace. (Currently, and not coincidentally, my literal teaching space, by the way, is the Orland Fire Department.) Even if my body is sick or tired, when I "become" a yoga teacher, I get strong and able. I know it may sound remarkable, but I have this same feeling when I am at a scene.

Today, I faced some of my worst fears all at once in service of this man who took his own life last night. And I swear to every god and goddess I know that I felt not one lick of fear or doubt about any of it.

I did feel really sad for a few minutes when I first arrived, staring out across that gray water and knowing what had occurred. But I am a yogi—and a first-responder—so I breathed, and I muttered soothing Sanskrit things from under my helmet. And eventually, I felt calm, centered, and totally present.

I trust my firefighters and I trust myself to show up and to listen, in the same way I trust myself to show up and listen when I teach.

Today was kind of awful. And sadly, I expect it’s not the last time I’ll get that call. Someone else found the body, after our team had left for the day. The family has closure. I still feel nauseous and tired.

And--yes--I would do it again in a heartbeat.

[If you struggle with suicidal depression, please put this number into your phone (1-800-784-2433). It’s the National Hopeline and there will always, always, always be someone there who wants to talk to you. It may not feel like it right now, but there are people who care enough about you and your loved ones to comb the deep and scary waters for your body, if you jump. Please give us the opportunity to care for you while you are still with us by NOT asking us to do that; make this phone call instead.]

Teaching yoga at the Orland Fire Department.