Lessons for Dark Times

There are treasures to be found if we're willing to go deep

Off the coastline of Japan, a group of women gather, waiting to jump into the sea. They are called the ama. The Sea Women. Women who will dive to extraordinary depths, pushing the limits of what we think is humanly possible, to bring up the ocean’s treasures.

They are not scared. They are not worried. They smile. They laugh.

They have trained for this moment almost their whole lives. They began as girls—some as young as ten—taught by their elders how to live in the ocean for several minutes at a time. Diving deep, searching, gathering, then rising. Diving deep, searching, gathering, then rising.

The women will do this for hours every morning. The water is cold. It is dangerous. They know this. They do it anyway.

It’s a tradition said to have lasted thousands of years. Its roots tracing back across times of mass migration, war, peace, stability, instability, and radical change.

They are women who can hold their breath, but not forever. There are limits to how long they can stay in the deep. As humans they need the surface to survive.

Inhale, exhale. But in between, dive deep. 

The ama’s numbers have dwindled over time, but they have also survived. For thousands of years, it was the only way to find the ocean’s hidden gifts. To surface them. To show them. To share them. 

But for the ama, they don’t dive merely for food, shells, pearls. The sea is too dangerous for that. They respect its power. Ama have died. 

They dive because they have a spiritual connection to the ocean itself. The life and nourishment its depths offer. The life they inhale at its surface. The life they exhale to return.

The dives end after an hour or two. That’s the limit. It’s understood. Any more than that and there’s trouble. Danger. You may never return. So the ama head back to the land. They celebrate and gather. They talk, they feast, they share what they’ve found.

It is a circle of discovering, offering, accepting, togetherness. 

In Robin Wall Kimmerer’s, Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous Wisdom, Scientific Knowledge, and the Teachings of Plants, she opens the book with the story of Skywoman Falling. A story of how the world began. A story passed down from generation to generation across the Haudenosaunee.

It goes like this: the Great Spirit sends his daughter to the Lower World—a place covered with water and clouds. He opens a portal and sends her through it with a gift of seeds—an offering to the world below. She gently floats down through the clouds and sky as the lower world’s creatures watch from below. They are afraid of her light, and yet, they summon the courage to help her knowing she cannot live like they do. She needs a surface on which to rest. So, they swim to the depths of the water to find small bits of mud. Land grows. To show her gratitude, she plants the seeds she was sent with. As the seeds grow she dances, she sings. Earth, as we know it, is born.

Like the ama, the earth’s creatures dive deep, search, gather, then rise. One after the next. They bring to the surface treasure in the form of fertile soil, which then grows into fertile land, which then provides nourishment for all. 

Our world. A treasure. A gift.

Most of the time these stories are told to teach us about conservation of our planet. Sometimes they are told to demonstrate the longevity of a culture. Oftentimes, they’re shared as way to live. They last because they tell us something. Something we need to know. 

For me now, they help understand the practice of going deep. And how it is not for everyone.

It is not for the weak, for you must be brave.

It is not for the unteachable, for you must be willing to learn.

It is not for the solitary, for safety is only found in community.

Every culture has a story like this. One that reminds us not to be afraid of the dark; it is where things are found. One that also reminds us to bring what we’ve found to the light to share, so we can experience and grow together. 

We are in dark times. There is no denying it. My hope is that we will find something in this darkness. Things that are hidden that we can bring back to the light—truth, justice, community, peace, beauty. Things that have been hidden from so many for too long.

Today, someone very wise told me the future is not written. It exists in the void; the dark. It’s our actions that bring the future into view; the light.

Dive deep, then rise. Dive deep, then rise. Gather what you find in the dark, and then gather with each other in the light.

Because yes, treasure awaits if we’re brave, teachable, and work together. 

Like the ama and the animals, I hope we can find it.