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The Icebreaker

By Clark Zimmerman, MAc.OM.

This weekend my daughter and I strolled through Lithia park during a lunch date. It was an especially cold day; as we walked past the lower duck pond, we noticed that it was encased with a thick layer of ice. My daughter was instantly pulled over to the frozen water. When we arrived to the shore, we noticed a plentiful smattering of debris, mostly sticks and small tree limbs, covering the ice. At first I imagined that the wind had knocked these off of the surrounding trees and blanketed the frozen pond. On closer observation however, I noticed some logs and large rocks mixed in with the sticks. I figured out that most of the debris was actually unsuccessful attempts at breaking the ice. My daughter made it her mission to reach the water underneath. She disappeared for a bit and returned with a long stick that she used to reach a rock that was on the ice just beyond her outstretched arm. She then threw the rock again and again until she finally smashed through the ice.

There is something almost magnetic about a covering of ice: Whether a lake, pond, or a roadside puddle, most children are especially tempted to try to shatter the surface.  I even find myself seduced to linger for a moment next to frozen water and see if my boot heel may be enough to break through. I suppose this is true for many people. Perhaps it is because we all know what it feels like to be frozen: Stuck in old ways, worn stories or limited possibilities.  Sometimes we mistake it for the truth. “That’s just the way it is,” we tell ourselves. This can be true of personal struggles or relationships, or with our beliefs about the world in general. We may resign ourselves to things remaining fixed in their broken state. This often comes with a large dose of resentment or grief. But something deep inside us beckons us to try to break through. Like the limbs and rocks on the duck pond, we may throw attempts at the frozen places. If the ice is too thick, our efforts can bounce off with a thud: A unfulfilling sort of violence that can leave us frustrated and defeated, and the surface littered with detritus.  Despite our sometimes fruitless efforts, part of us remains undeterred. Like my persistent daughter, the soul craves freedom. In fact freedom, open spaciousness is our natural state.  This enduring truth encourages us to find ways to remove obstacles. We stretch, we shake and we move when we are stuck in the body. We speak, we listen, and we ponder when we are stuck in the mind. We breath, we notice and we allow when we are stuck in emotion. There are so many tools to which we have access to break through the ice. When all else fails, we can can simply sink into the warmth of the heart and wait for the ice to thaw. The point is to know and trust in our natural state of freedom, and to invite in the things that can help to open up the parts that are stuck, even when it feels like a foolish endeavor.  

There was such a delightful hop of victory when my daughter finally broke through the ice. Just as the soul keeps nudging us to reach past the places where we tend to get stuck, her persistence and her desire to reach the fluid freedom of the deeper water supported her in her task.   Even if she had been unable to crack the surface, she could have rest in the knowing that eventually the sun would come out, and the warmth would thaw even the thickest layers of ice.