There is a part of me that has always been a bit paranoid
about going on adventures. Most often there is a part of me that is somewhat
scared especially when I travel alone; a feeling that something might go wrong
and I will be stranded on the side of the road, get pulled down in a deep hole on
the river or buried in an avalanche. It
is a sinking feeling, “as if I am
standing on fishes” (Rilke).
This is a bit ironic because over the course of my life
time, in spite of this sinking feeling,
I still manage to launch many solo journeys into the mountains. But
before I go it often feels like a 50/50 chance I might just bag the plan. To
get out the door, I have just a strong enough intuition to know that most often
I have to rather abruptly, “just go”. I have to just take the first step and
let go of the risks and fear. Sometimes I have to just quickly load up the
truck and start down the road otherwise I will remain on the couch. And most
often, or at least afterwards, it feels right to push through and go. “Moving Forward” as the poet Rilke says as
the title of one of his poems.
So, on the first day of my Thanksgiving break I load up the
SUV and head west up Ute pass in spite of overcast gray skies, ice packed roads,
and a strong chance of snow. Oh, yes, how I wanted to use any thing for an
excuse to not go. But I went even as “my
feelings sank as if standing on fishes”.
Fear is a strange thing in a reluctant traveler like my self.
It makes me more observant. It makes me
pay close attention to things. I look for signs of changing weather and icy
roads. I feel things deeply and
strangely as though I am in a hyper-sensitive state of awareness. . And mysteriously, “I feel closer to what language cannot
reach”, namely God.
I look for other signs. As I drive up the pass through the
gray, I see a blue hole in sky. It is where I am going. I move forward. I feel more secure seeing a lake of blue in the sky opening up. “The deep parts of my life pour onward as if the river shores were
opening out”. I too open up as I
move onward.
But then as I move forward, the hole in the sky closes off
and disappears. I drop off again into the deep gray. “My feeling sinks as if I am standing on fishes”. Once again I feel
I am on shaky ground and, indeed, a slippery road.
As I head through South
Park and up Hoosier
Pass, the snow deepens. I am
surprised to see so much snow on the south side of the pass. Usually it dumps
on the other side. Nothing is as predictable as I want it to be. Such are adventures. My wheels slip in 4 wheel drive. I think of
the small snow shovel I brought just in case. I wonder to myself, “Should I
have come”?
Where was I going? Was it to fish? To ski? To spend some time alone? To see? “To
feel closer to what language cannot reach”? Maybe it was to simply get off
the couch and push through the gray to a pond in the sky.
“I climb into the
windy heaven, out of the oak, and in the ponds broken off from the sky”.
And as I drop over the other side of the gray, Still, “My
feeling sinks as if standing on fishes”.
Still not sure I should have come.
I have taken the leap to drive up the pass many times, sometimes to fish and other timed to do photography, or both. Honestly, the best part of the journey is the drive, since I use that time to pray, meditate on my thoughts or just spend time in my own dwelling place. I do this on the drive because I'm most alert then. I crave these times.
ReplyDeleteDr. Trout, I can relate to your "craving" for some time to pray or just be alone and think. Thanks for connecting with me on that fact and using that word "craving" . I get the feeling that the world would rather have us crave other things: These can be "things" such as what we "have to" buy or just "ways" that take us away from, as you said, "Our dwelling place". How sad that it seems that so many of us "don;t go there". The other thing that I think is strange is that the moment I try to "tell" someone else or bring someone else to feel what I might feel in those situations, the experience of that dwelling place almost disappears. In a post of the past, "The road through the woods", a Kipling poem describes how there is this road through the woods that takes you to a creek with trout rising but then the last line of the poem is, "There is no road through the woods" . Maybe some experiences are "unsayable" and beyond language and we can't even direct others to that path???? .
DeleteYou are an adventurer and a risk taker. And because of that you are living life - if but a bit on the edge.
ReplyDeleteI admire your tenacity and ability to confront fear.
-L
Well thanks, but not really. Only in a different way. I really am not much of an adventurer. In fact I am 'chicken' most often. The one area though perhaps where I do try to "live up to an edge" is spiritually, and even here I am not so brave. But, at least I know it takes some guts to open one self up to God, and just sit there alone in the quiet and wonder what He might be thinking or where He is.... And yes, there seems to be a bit of an edge here. I do find myself "falling" into deep melancholy (maybe not the right word??) during this season and perhaps there is an "edge" or "line" not to be crossed in how sad one can become? I do not know? I do think though that what is far easier for many is to shut themselves out and off from feeling things deeply and therefore also perhaps shutting things out of God as well?
DeleteWe can be too "good" at protecting ourselves from feeling anything....including what God might be feeling? I like the metaphor by Rilke of a "Fortified City"... We are like a fortified city with strong stone walls. The poet asks..."All you fortified cities, have you ever longed for those walls to come tumbling down"? (my paraphrase and slight revision)