“My new way of being is of openness, confidence, and joy. I give up that I am controlled by fear and that I do not deserve to be loved. That is who I am.” — my Baptiste Yoga mantra
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When you read my posts and imagine my journey – what do you see? Perhaps me roaming freely in the wild, setting my camp up late after I cannot travel any longer. Can you see my breath on cold nights, the steam as I douse the last embers of my fire, the throbbing pulse of the stars lighting my way to my tent, the stillness of the chaparral as I drift into dreams?
The first day of this trip I went to REI and bought a beautiful brand-new tent. I was proud of it and the adventures I’d have with it. When I went to check-out the woman at the register eagerly asked me, “Where are you headed tonight?” I didn’t know, so I asked her where she thought I should go. She stopped, got lost in a thought, and began to almost smile. “The Great Sand Dunes.” The longer she contemplated the Dunes the happier she seemed to grow: “Oh! There are so many beautiful camp grounds there.” It was spring now on her face. “You must be excited to camp tonight?” I fidgeted. “Well, it’s supposed to be awfully cold…” Sheepishly I went on, “So… I’ll probably just stay in a cheap motel, and then do it later.” She rolled her eyes and shrugged.
After this embarrassing beginning, my REI bag has been getting ripped to shreds. Not from use exactly. More from each time I shove my suitcase back into my trunk and it catches the corner of the bag after another night at a La Quinta or Best Western.
So, why haven’t I been camping? Well, I’ve had all sorts of reasons:“It’s been an unseasonably cold spring in the Southwest.” “It’s hard to get the right permits”; “Will other people in camp sites think I’m weird if I’m alone”; “I’m tired today, better get a good night sleep, maybe tomorrow?”; “Do coyotes ever eat campers while they are asleep?”
And so, last night was no different. I’d driven out to Alstrom Point overlooking Lake Powell. To get there requires a 4x4 as the last hour of the drive is a mixture of sand and slip-rock. I went slow and got near the end, but had to stop two miles before the point because that portion required high clearance.
Alstrom Point was a recommendation from Oliver and Harriet (mentioned in the last post). When I arrived and looked down at the waters, I gasped. The water was still, mirror like reflections where I’d expected blue.
Later the winds picked up and rinsed the sandstone from the water’s surface. Now, I was struck by the starkness of the stone above the water. In Minnesota lakes are signs of vitality and life - tall grasses and taller trees. Here, no sign of trees, only stone upon stone.
From my high vantage I could watch the shapes of rain too — from cloud to ground — calligraphy on a parchment sky.
With the sun at my back, I looked east over the lake, watching the sunset transform the colors of rocks below. There were others photographer’s there too, each one of us perched atop our own rocky outcropping, each one of us madly adjusting our ISOs and shutter speeds with the changing light, gripping our tripods firmly, jumping from stone to stone, looking for new angles, searching for ways to grasp and hold the deepening oranges, purples, and blues before they faded into dusk.
Caption: (New Friends met on the trail 1 of 2) This is Peter, a doctor from Albuquerque, who in his free time leads bespoke photo tours of the Southwest. I asked him when he got into photography, “I got my first camera at 7 and my first SLR at 14. The rest is history.” Peter had ALL the gear, including a whole bag of filters for multiple types of lenses. He also had the most tricked out Jeep I’ve ever seen. He said he spent 5 years working on it. You can check him out at his website: boehringerphotography.com
Caption: (New friends met on the trail 2 of 2) this is my new friend Ken, a chemist from LA. Though he shoots Cannon (forgive him), Ken knows the technical aspect of digital photography inside and out. I learned a lot, and laughed even more, talking with him during both the sunset and sunrise.
As the sandstone cliffs transformed from carmine to vermillion, vermillion to waning hues of gray, I finally turned to look west and saw the sun had disappeared for the night for good. I packed my bag and turned to go. These other photographers had all set up camp near the point, but I still had two miles back to my car in the dark. I hadn’t eaten. It was at least two hours to a motel. I had no reservations, no plan. Where should I go – south to Page or west back to Kanab?
I thought about camping. But my amorphous fears kept whispering to me reasons why I should drive away. Yet, I said to myself, This isn’t quantum mechanics. Little children camp by themselves. I have a tent. Why don’t I use it?
I once read an ancient Buddhist adage that goes something like this: “If you want understand how you are elsewhere -- observe how you are here.”
As I walked in the growing darkness, that saying kept looping in my mind. Like a flagellant’s whip, I wielded the phrase skillfully, driving it into my back again and again to cut ever deeper at my pride. With each recitation, each new lash, a new memory of shame would be conjured up. I remembered classes I didn’t take, languages I gave up, jobs I didn’t apply for, friends I didn’t pursue, tasks at work I didn’t do, artistic projects I never started, conversations and conflicts I avoided.
But then another more recent memory came to me. Earlier in the day I’d talked to my friend Kat. We’d been partners for one of the most pivotal self-inquiry exercises during my Baptiste Teacher Training in Sedona. As I was giving voice to my deepest fears about myself - she’d held space for me, saw me, and had great compassion for me. Her love in that moment helped change my life. Since training we’ve been touching base every week to ask each other - “Where is your old story emerging?” and, “Where are you experiencing resistance?” But yesterday she asked me a new question, “How are you living your new truth?”
On this journey it’s become clear to me that without inquiry of the past I cannot break my old patterns, and without breaking my old patterns I cannot grow into the person I want to become. And yet, what I suddenly saw is that self-understanding is only half of the equation (at most). The point of understanding the past is to help let it go – not to meditate on it endlessly, finding ever more ways the patterns were always there. If I want to transform — I must understand so that I can let go, AND act in new ways now.
In her questions she was reminding me to ask myself when I’m struggling – “Do you remember who you ARE? I don’t care who you WERE. How can you affirm your new self in this moment?”
For me, that’s all I needed to drop the whip. What does it matter what I didn’t do before? Just do the thing now.
I actually started to jog toward my car, a weird feeling of internal warmth, a glow of excitement to set up my camp site, to sleep in the cold.
I’ll be honest. I didn’t sleep particularly well. I kept worrying about phantom footsteps in the dark. I couldn’t find a comfortable position for my body. It was so cold (36F when I woke up) that I slept with 3 layers on as well as a hat and mittens. And despite all that, I did the thing. And when I unzipped the tent at 5:45am to run the 2 miles back to the point for sunrise, I felt stupidly happy about everything. Happy to hear Lark Sparrows sing, happy to see stars, happy to watch them fade into blue. But more than any of those things, I felt so empowered to say yes to whatever emerged before me. I hadn’t realized how much psychic energy this small (unfounded) fear had been holding over me. And now that it’d been released - I felt so freedom, so much joy!
I made it to the point with less than a minute to spare before sunrise.
An hour later I left the point to do that 2 mile walk yet again. This time, no more darkness. This time, my back bathed in a warm light. This time, with joy and hope in my heart. And with each step I thought, “I AM open, I AM confident, and I AM joyful. How will I live these truths out today?”
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Post script – if you are enjoying these posts, I’d love to hear what is resonating with you. And if you think someone else would enjoy them, please consider sharing them. As I wrote above, part of my life work right now is finding ways to affirm living with openness, confidence, and joy. Sharing myself and my journey through this medium, both with people I love and those I’ve never met, is an expression of that. And more importantly, in this sharing I’m discovering an ever growing sense of grounding, purpose, and life.
