It’s flood season here in Johnstown, PA. We’re famous for them. It’s a shame. There is so much more to Johnstown than a 140-year-old disaster. More on that in a later post.
This week the rains came, and kept coming until our innocent little rivers rose, angry and churning, biting at their ugly cement banks. They kept rising, and as I followed the Stonycreek on its winding path through town, I could see why the river has to live in that concrete ditch.
After several days of watching the river rise, I went to Greenhouse Park, a whitewater access on the Stonycreek River near Tire Hill, PA. While over its banks and clearly a roaring torrent, it had not yet flooded the low-lying park. (That came later.) Down at the water’s edge the kayak launch area defined by large river rockshad disppeared under the churning river. Staring into the torrent for a while made the world rush in the opposite direction when I looked away.
I saw something I’d never seen before. The river was bulging with urgency as it surged downstream. A larger press of water was piling up on top of the already swollen stream, trying to get ahead of itself. This phenomenon is in part responsible for the massive destruction in the 1889 flood. (See David McCullough’s 1968 book The Johnstown Flood, second edition, Simon & Schuster, Page 112.)
That sensation of ‘trying to get ahead of oneself’ is very familiar. Something urgent, racing, desperate to get ahead of the perceived disaster. Fueled by adrenaline and other neurochemistry, the body is on high alert, armed against a mortal threat.
As I watched that urgent river, with the threat of its enormous violence I saw an example of my own torrent of anxiety. In the ‘modern’ world where I once existed in traffic jams and office cubicles, no saber-toothed tigers to be found, this outsized and sustained panic was a problem.
and climate change.
When you’re in flight mode, perception narrows to the most essential, and details that help you navigate, like tone of voice and expressions, are largely lost. My tendency toward panic in daily life wreaked havoc on relationships, especially at work.
Some answers have grown clearer in recent years. The antithesis of ‘trying-to-get-ahead-of-myself’ is mindfulness, and living in the present moment.
These days I catch the flood early and manage my reactions. I never let it gain momentum, but instead choose to notice the beautiful world and anchor myself in its calm. The mountain is a great source for me. Its very presence in this living moment can hold me steady in a flood of emotion.
We can’t talk the river out of its rage – the water needs someplace to go. By the time you read this calm has returned to the rivers, a placid trickle has replaced the furious flood. But it’s wise to keep in mind how fast that can change. And in Flood City, we know this all too well.
Art-Spirit-Nature 