Breaking Free

My guess is that anyone reading this blog probably considers themself to be on an inward journey as much as an outward one. I'm sharing my thoughts from a multi-dimensional perspective, knowing that all things are connected and affect the whole of my experience and are fundamental to my state of well being.

At a community dinner last night I shared a story about a solo vision quest I embarked on many years ago. One of the attendees at the dinner ask if I would be willing to write about the journey, so I thought I would share it here.

For years I had been aware of how I would hold back, particularly in situations that involved physical danger, or at least what I had been condition to perceive that way. The intentions to keep me safe as a child by continually warning me against explorations with, "Don't do that, you'll get hurt," were indeed well meaning. I am glad that someone loved me enough to shield me from harm, and at the same time I became aware of how the ingrained message created an unnecessarily cautious approach to life. The vision quest was an intentional meeting with the internal voice that was now defining my safety.

I went to one of my favorite places on the planet, the magnificent canyons of the desert Southwest. I had my camping gear and stayed in a campsite that was in the part of the national park where other people, water, and bathrooms were available--not too threatening. Part of the reason for this choice was that there was no access to water deeper into the canyon and I wasn't up for carrying in enough water to be in the desert for five days. I would do day hikes to the more remote areas, because I do have stamina for hiking long distances. The hikes were not straight, smooth paths, but required scaling rock faces that at moments felt daunting. In the first couple of days I noticed the tenseness in my body, the limits I placed on my range of motion, the shallowness of my breathing and a general sense of anxiety. On the morning of the third day I was physically sick to my stomach and feeling like I wanted to give up. Then I came upon a group of people, adults and young children, who had hiked in to camp overnight. As I walked the trail that day I continued to cross paths with the group. Out ahead of the rest was a young girl, 10-years-old maybe, she appeared to be Native American. We didn't really speak, but would nod in acknowledgement each time we passed. Mid-afternoon I stopped on the trail to eat lunch, finding a wonderful perch overlooking the canyon. The young Native American girl came upon me and this time stopped to ask, "Are you here alone?" I said, Yes.
She said, "I think we are a lot alike and when I am older I am going to come here alone." Then I watched her descend the steep trail, flowing over the rocks like water. She was simply another element, natural to that environment. There was nothing in her that was tentative or unsure of her footing, and she slipped effortlessly into oneness.

I recalled her statement that we were a lot alike, and thought, "If only she knew." She had become my teacher in that moment and, as I watched her, I overlaid seeing myself as a child and how easily I could also be like that. After finishing my lunch I gathered my things and set off again, but this time my movements were different--more relaxed.

A few hours later a storm was moving into the canyon and I knew enough to get up to high ground in the event of flash flooding. I found a wonderful bowl-shaped formation with a rock overhang to protect me from the rain. The storm was accompanied by whipping winds that seemed to shift direction around the inside of the bowl, flapping my rain poncho from side to side with it. I love thunderstorms and had become completely absorbed in the experience. Then as the storm ended and the clouds began to break up I saw that the sun was beginning to set. I realized that I was still a few miles from my campsite and I hadn't really put the things in my backpack that I would have needed to be out on the trail after dark. I had no flashlight and didn't have warm enough clothing for nighttime temperatures at that time of year, if I had to spend the night out on the trail. The rocks were wet from the rain and I knew that when that kind of stone was wet that it could be slippery, thus the name slick rock. Then something happened, a stillness came over me and I heard a voice in my head say, "Run!" It wasn't like run for your life. It was more, Trust yourself and run.

I seemed to be inhabiting a body that had instantly become lighter and I ran up and over rock faces that earlier in the day had felt insurmountable and dangerous. I delighted in the ease of it all and as I crested the lip of the canyon onto the open mesa, the grandeur of the scene before me took my breath away. A sheet of mist remaining from the storm was to my left. The elongated rays of the setting sun streamed through it, turning it to gold. To my right, over the deep red walls, were four rainbows penetrating into the canyon. The beauty of it was almost other worldly and in a way it felt as though I had been given a piece of heaven. I thought to myself, My God, this is what it is to be free!"

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of humans as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is not safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing.

~ Helen Keller