The Sulphur Gates, in a remote part of northwestern Alberta, is one of the most dramatic river vistas in the Rockies. The stunning viewpoint of the confluence of the Smoky and Sulphur rivers, near Grande Cache, is from the edge of a cliff overhanging the boiling water 300 below where the two rivers merged.
Two rivers could not be more different. The Smoky River, aptly named for its murky colour attributable to its glacier origins, is much larger and has charted a much different path through the terrain. The main transverse of the Smoky can be seen for miles in a straight line up its self-defined canyon. With its powerful flow, it has essentially exerted its will on the landscape cutting a direct channel through the mountains along the side of the carved out canyon is displayed 300 million years of geological strata, a testament to its dominance and determination.
The Sulphur River, named after its headwaters in the Sulphur Mountain, is much smaller, crystal clear, pristine, a lightweight by comparison. It chooses a more opportunistic path of least resistance, carefully navigating the landscape, skirting around obstacles, and seeking out natural channels. Pristine, crystal clear, innocent, idiosyncratic, it follows the path of least resistance, playful, uninhibited. Its final fateful turn is down a natural fault canyon, where it bounces picturesquely to its end.
Where the two rivers collide presents a truly dynamic and striking stage. out from behind the canyon wall the Sulphur unsuspectedly gets swept up by the Smoky. The confrontation is tumultuous, the water convulsing with 3 meter high rapids. The frothing throws persist for several hundred meters until the Sulphur surrenders to the deeper, wider, murkier flow, drowned in a surge of debris and carnage and glacial water.
Waterways have always captivated my imagination, more so than say, mountains or forests or even oceans. I never pass a river without wondering whether it would invite an engaging excursion in a canoe. The fanciful Tennyson poem, The Brook, from my grade 4 reader loops in my memory:
I come from haunts of coot and hern,
I make a sudden sally,
And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley….
For men may come and men may go
But I go on forever.
Such innocence, gaiety, and purity of spirit. Nothing bad ever happens to this little creek. It never crashes headlong over falls or gets dammed or becomes polluted. It bubbles merrily through the meadows, greeting everyone along its way, seemingly immortal in an idyllic world.
That is not what I am seeing, 300 feet below. That is not what I have lived.
My life has been marked by tumultuous transitions: pushed through gates, down chutes, over precipices. Yes, there have been long stretches of happiness and good fortune, but it is the gates of confluence which are the points of deepest learning and to which I regularly return, welcomed or not.
Early childhood sexual trauma set the stage for a complex weaving of disparate traditions and attempts at healing: fundamentalist Christianity, Jungian analysis, trauma therapy, shamanism, and most recently the Tango and a nurturing, loving relationship.
My initial conscious attempt at separating myself away from family of origin dysfunction, came mid-adolescence where I lay my autonomy and free-will at the altar Christian fundamentalism. The Jesus connection – part of the deal – has remained an enriching element in my life to this day. Fundamentalism remains only as a perplexing memory. Nonetheless, the combination provided a significant channel for impulse control at a time when hormones were raging and healthy role modeling was not to be found.
Marriage and ordination in the Lutheran church was another attempt at establishing some normalcy and stability. Unfortunately, I was little suited to either. I attempted to maintain an emotionally celibate and dispassionate veneer in my personal and public life. But when children arrived, a tsunami of love flooded in, opening the gates to all other emotional currents. Sexual trauma from my childhood resurfaced. I fell out of love with my wife and in love with a parishioner. I left my family, marriage, and ministry to begin a new life on the street, destitute, and more than a little depressed.
A few years later, after extensive efforts to make myself socially presentable, I met my future wife in a quirky and enchanting string of events. This presented the challenge of blending relationships between work, devotion to my children, and new love, all separated by a distance of 300 km. Definitely a first-class confluence. It took over a decade to ride out that turbulence. We survived to tell, a little battle-weary and seasoned, but even deeper in love.
For the past ten years, marriage, meaningful work and rich family life have given me a solid foundation from which to tackle some destabilizing life issues. I continue to get triggered by past trauma (less often, certainly) which not only affects me but also those around me. This has intensified my focus on not only healing the past but on safeguarding the future. I have immersed myself in exploring the nature of confluence to make the compression not only less disruptive but actually to shape it into a positive, life-enhancing process.
I invite you to take this journey with me and explore some learnings along the way.