Portugal is pulling me again . . . there have been some interesting experiences here over the years and there are more to come . . . maybe . . . this story I tell because it is not everyone's good fortune to look death in the face and return . . .
Three years ago, at Easter, I found myself with time and money to spare and had the idea to visit a friend in Portugal. She lives there still and I hope to see her again in a month or so.
Having booked flights to Faro, fifteen days apart, I recalled a community in the Alentejo, Tamera, and wondered about a visit. Checking their website, I saw they had an introductory week, starting the day after I landed. Participants invited to arrive the day before. Synchronicity.
Halfway through the week, on Easter Sunday, there was a free day. A group of us decided to take a taxi to the beach. Four German therapists, an Italian teacher of Biodanza, an Austrian manager of an arts centre.
At Zambujeira do Mar, the sky was clear blue, the sun warm, the sea wild. Alfred and I went to the waves, felt the exhilaration of diving through them as they broke before us. After a while I noticed my feet were no longer reaching the sand and Alfred was further away. I was in a current and on my way out to sea. I called to Alfred, waved . . . the poem, not waving but drowning, came to mind . . . off I went, using energy to stay afloat between the waves, knowing to swim against it was impossible, not knowing that swimming sideways sometimes works . . .
Back at the beach, high anxiety, as I later heard. Lifeguard alerted. I was unaware, focused on my own predicament.
After five or ten minutes I felt my energy fading, found myself far out, no sign of help arriving, considered the options. There were none. I went to a neutral zone, impossible to describe. There was nothing. Not fear, not peace, no flashbacks of my life, no family, friends, no regrets . . . nothing . . . and into that nothing, one word entered my consciousness.
Surrender.
I laid on my back, arms outstretched, looked at the sky and waited to die. It was all fine. Zero. The only phenomenon to report was the sky was orange. No idea why. There I floated in timeless zone.
Francesco was on the cliff with the young lifeguard. They saw me coming round with the waves into the next cove. Twenty minutes or so, he said. Also, "look, he's fine, just floating". The lifeguard replied, " believe me, that's dangerous down there, people die." Which was why he was staying on the cliff, I suppose.
Then, suddenly, I was on the rocks . . . a moment to consider, the undertow took me back . . . either was fine . . . back on the rocks . . . hang on this time. A little blood, surface scratches. Lifeguard comes to guide me back to my friends. Every cell of my body is shaking, but I feel fine, lie down, the therapists get to work, I wonder whether I really died and this was heaven.
Then a half hour silent meditation, a reunion with the waves and that was it.
Beautiful.
Walking with the Austrians last week, Julia spoke about not knowing what the end of this life would look like. I shared the story. It spoke to her deeply. She cried. Me too.
A special moment.
When Sophie and Emily heard I was wandering to Portugal, they told me to stay out of the sea. Not likely. I know all really is well, life and death a continuum, to fear death is to fear life and to live without fear the greatest gift.
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