Interests:This life I so brazenly refer to as "mine" Expertise:baking, and saying things using 1000x the words necessary Occupation:cookie fairy, cautious observe
The best...I live at one of the seven wonders of the world. I am healthy enough to take advantage of the opportunities for hiking, camping, etc. I live 80 miles from a Wal-Mart. I don't get any TV or radio reception.
The worst...I live very far away from my kids and grandchild. I live 80 miles from a Best Buy or a thrift shop, I don't get any TV or radio reception.
This morning my roomate had a knock down drag out over the phone with someone...before 6 AM. I don't know what it was about. I didn't hear the words, just the tone, exasperation and passion. The only phrase I caught was " I am NOT going to put you on speaker phone...."
I don't do fights. I don't do yelling. Maybe once every few years, but it doesn't go on and on for 45 minutes, or until she had to leave for work. I just don't.
Instead I just walk away, disappear, let it go, which is probably even more annoying and frustrating to those who are in relationships with me. I don't believe relationships are worth fighting for. They are worth effort to maintain, but once the fighting begins I lose interest. Effort I am good with, but when it becomes work I just don't see the point. I never want anyone to feel like I am an exasperation to have in their life. I hate that. I despise being a burden, a thorn, a chore. I'd rather not be, I'd rather free up my energy and their energy for something more glorious and less labor intensive. I'd rather walk away.
My mother yelled a lot, but there was no fighting with her, not really. From the start it was given that she would emerge the winner. And truly, in a relationship either both win or what's the point, and in a fight, the point is that one wins...so why fight?
We are either on the same side...let's work this out, or we are not. If we are not...if we are not WE...then it's time to be you over there and me over here. Maybe we can/will be WE again someday, but if we are not...what is there to fight over.
Now, I'm not knocking the fighters out there, because it seems to work for some people. Some people come from families where "fighting" is simply a way to communicate and vent, but it's not really fighting at all. I don't operate that way, I take it personal. My bad, perhaps, but that's where I am.
If a person yells at me, I'll nod politely, hear them out, and disappear. I'm not that child anymore, yelled at, shamed and still expected to love and serve unconditionally. That's what yelling means to me..."you do what I say, or else" That may not be what the other person means, but it's what I hear.
The relationships I have are worth loving for, reaching for, growing for, but not fighting for. I'll leave it to others to duke it out.
I was walking on the rim of the canyon the other night, the 3/4 moon straight over head, the pale rocks at the rim bleached white by the moonlight. There was no one around, the only sound was the wind in the pine needles. I stood on the edge, then sat, one leg dangling into oblivion. I edged back...thinking if an elk came up and startled me...I'd be a goner. Elk do that at night. So instead I lay on the rock listening to the whisper, watching the canyon in that gentle light.
Far below, tiny dots of light bobbed up and down, night hikers on the Bright Angel trail, their LED headlamps visible over a mile away. I can appreciate the lure of night hiking, I've done it myself, sans the headlamps...I've done it on both dark and moonlit nights, but never in the canyon...you'd be mad to not wear a headlamp, but still...it feels wrong. 'They didn't mar the sight, no more than fireflies do, but still...
Everyone knows that a person can be perfectly alone and not lonely, and that the deepest sort of loneliness is when you are with people but making no connection.
It was paradox up on that ledge, and in my religion, paradox is a sign that truth is just round the corner..the paradox was that I was alone, yet not lonely, on the edge yet totally supported...the Universe holds me, it reminds me that I belong. Often I think I need something to fill a space in my life, yet stretched before me is this space, that draws people to it because of it's vastness. A space can be beautiful, inspiring. Some spaces don't cry out to be filled.
Space is opportunity, to explore, to wander, call out and hear the sound reverberating back. Space is freedom. Be it a canyon, or a deep crevice within, space is possibility. I needed space, that is so cliche'. I needed to find myself...again, cliche'. I never really knew what that meant when I heard other people say it, but I do now. I had gotten to a place where I no longer knew who or what I was beyond the roles I filled. I liked many of those roles, but still I wondered, and feared, that there was nothing there. I am reminded daily that a space is not nothing, paradox again. A space can be something that draws people to it. The intricacies of it's outlines beg to be explored, the infolding, the outcrops, the multi colored layers all exposed, call people to stop and take notice.
I felt there was an empty spot inside me, and there is, but that doesn't mean it needs to be filled. There has been talk of damming the Colorado river yet again, letting the Canyon become a vast lake to provide water to a parched land...
Damn! The hole doesn't need to be filled, doesn't need to answer to the thirst of human beings. It's ok for it to just be a hole in the ground. The spaces inside of me don't need to be filled either, or damned up, or forced into being productive to meet the thirst of some other parched soul. The spaces inside me tell a story, carved out by the experiences of my life, exposing the layers, inviting people to explore.
Architects speak of how important it is to not only think of the structure, but of the space as well. It's the space as well as the structure that makes a building useful.
I've been trying, compulsively, the past few years to fill a space inside me, without ever taking a good look at it. This is my opportunity. In sunlight, in moonlight, from the top, from the bottom, on the edge with a leg dangling, or secure on my back on rock. There is space, and it owes no apologies.
My store sells a T-shirt, advice from the canyon...one of the statements is "carve out a space for yourself"
I like that.
I am finding out what the river of life has made of me. We use terms like erosion and weathering, and they bring to mind images of destruction and waste, then we come to the canyon and are rendered speechless...Waste? I think not. In my life too, the spaces, the lines, the age spots...tell a story, add character, are beautiful in their imperfection, they are as much who I am as the whole parts, the smooth parts. I am not me without my spaces. I am not me when I cram myself full of junk so the wind won't whistle through me. I am not me when I dam myself up in a frantic effort to serve the imagined thirst of those who have survived quite well when I let myself flow.
It's funny how it can be easier to find oneself in a place where no one knows me...there are no expectations that I am tempted or shamed into filling. There is just who I am and I am as much a spectator as anyone, waiting to see how I respond, delighted, shocked, scandalized at who emerges...who knew? who knew...
Yesterday, watching the sunset with some retirees on a tour, when a woman found out I was 44 expressed surprise, she said she'd thought I was just out of college. My son, when he saw a photo of my room, said it was like my own little dorm room. It's like it's my first time away from home....I guess it shows in my face.
I look at the canyon and know the Universe is allowing me growing room.
The postcards don’t do it justice. We’ve all seen the photos of the Grand Canyon, breathtaking scenes of rocks lit brilliant orange and vermillion, with layers of sunset purple. It’s easy to think that IS the canyon. Most of the people who visit the National Park will only stop at one or two points along the rim, hoping for a sunny day so they can take the iconic Grand Canyon photo. That is the story the Ranger’s statistics tell.
The canyon IS breathtaking. unlit, Sunlit is a riot of colors unexpected from a pile of rocks. Most of us live in areas where only one or two types of rock is exposed, the canyon provides views of over one billion years of rock formation, many types and colors piled on top of one another like a hero sandwich. And with every change of light, the colors of the layers alters as well, the view changes every few minutes as the sun moves, as clouds pass over, as the viewer shifts 20 feet the right or left. A short walk down the rim trail takes the viewer around to another side of a jut of rock, and the view is brand new all over again.
We’ve had snowstorms here the past few days, and the Canyon grey and misty still has more colors than Crayola’s most indulgent box of crayons. The first 1500 ft down the Canyon walls, the tree and rock is frosted with snow, below stretch the hills and plateaus and chasms snow free. Atop are pine and juniper forests with a thick covering of snow. It’s like a fairy land, to be standing in a winter wonderland looking down into a breathtaking Western desert is an odd experience.
I was at the snowy rim yesterday evening just at sunset. We still had grey clouds overhead, but in these parts visibility often ranges 100 miles or more across the plains. In the distance it was clear, and the few shafts of sun crept across the horizon shedding enough light to see into the blue and purple depths of the canyon, the light further helped along by the whiteness of the snow. There were clouds over the canyon at exactly my level, It’s a strange experience to stand on flat ground and be looking across the tops of clouds. As I headed back toward warmth, food and rest (I had hiked to the rim straight from work) The clouds overhead had dissolved and the perfect half moon was right over me, the moonlight also played off the snow and for a few minutes the sun and moon together lit the sky and forest magically. It was the most gentle changing of the guard I’ve ever witnessed. Venus was still winking at me as I entered my apt.
Two more days of work, then I get two days off. If the weather is clear I’ll go hiking into the canyon, just a short hike for now, as I get back into shape. There, the views, again, change every minute as the viewer descends into the depths, the layers now rising around, with chasms and valleys still snaking out below. You can hike for miles and nearly always be on the edge of some cliff. If nothing else, it’s an act of faith.
I see a lot of hikers and campers pass through my store, people of every age, size and shape sharing their adventures and triumphs hiking to the bottom or rim to rim (down one side and up the other). We sell t shirts reminding people that what goes down…must come up. The trip back is a steep uphill climb, a lot more strenuous, especially on tired legs. The Canyon is accessible with a bit of planning and know how.
Yesterday morning I had a long chat with a search and rescue volunteer. His job is to walk the trails and talk to hikers BEFORE they get into trouble. When he encounters a couple with no water and gym shoes heading down to the river…he suggests that they might want to remember that the river is still 8 miles away, and the hike back is all uphill. He never tells anyone they must turn back, but if it’s clear they aren’t prepared for what’s ahead, he gives them all the good reasons the SHOULD turn back. He doesn’t want to be risking his own life to fish them out later, and…he reminds them…if they need to be airlifted out, rescued, etc, they are responsible for the bill. If common sense won’t get through, sometimes the threat of a 40,000 dollar rescue bill will.
Still, there are people as young as 6 and as old as 80 making the hike down and back. If you know your limits, understand the changing nature of the canyon’s weather conditions, and have a respect for it’s demands, the trip is very doable. I’ll be keeping you posted on my own progress.
