Achingly Incorrect

We just made it up to Grumpa a litle while ago, rolling in well past sundown. I'm off till dinner, and have settled on an outcropping looking down on the sea of shadow dusk and the memory of sunset. I am fighting the overwhelming sensation of having walked this way before. I think at least presently because it reminds me of sitting on East Rock at Star, though the sounds and smells are achingly incorrect. Its warmer tonight, up high looking down on the top end of Squaw. I actually kept my feet bare, in an act of daring defiance against the coming frost. I haven't mastered sleeping warm out here yet, which is making going to bed quite frusterating. Being here in the high desert is like being new in a foreign country. I can can follow and keep up with most of the actions and expressions, but some just get lost in cultural and linguistic interpretation. I know how to take care of myself in the backcountry, but learning to do it here in Utah is like a rough rudimentary translation.

The thing that has so far most surprised me is the amount of change in individual girls that happens over hours or days. How quickly they can melt down and also how quickly they can step up and show new signs of grace and maturityin the heat of the moment. I want to say that its been sort of a dramatic couple of days, but my sense is what we've delt with is small in the scheme of things. A lot of interpersonal conflicts between two girls jousting for control and feeling cut out and resentment for the other. One minor freak out in drinking puddle pond scum down in Squaw this morning. One potentially somatic stomach bug, though I want so badly to believe her. One hiking melt down, crossing anxiety issues with some maybe perhaps physical breathing problems.

It was actually one of the coolest omements of the week for me so far. I had been walking behind Cassie for most of the afternoon. We hit some pretty burly hills near the end, including the last one which was almost clifflike in stature. She's super independent, and gets touchy when people ask her how she is. I got her to tell me what it felt like when she cant breath, which she actually did in detail. The rest of the way up, she would stop every five or ten steps to catch her breath and psych herself up. I was afraid to cheer her on and make her angrier and more embarassed, so I just stood next to her, and matched her breathing until she slowed hers to match mine. We did this 6 or 8 times until we got to the top. I dont even know if she knew thtats what I was doing, but it thrilled me to get a positive response.

They had me navigate down to Little Easy yesterday, which actually went quite well. We went down a pretty good cliff near the end of Avatar point which next time I'll know to avoid. I took a good fall and bashed in my knee pretty good, which is worrisome, but the girls all made it down fine. We ended up crusing down this sweet side wash full of flowers and whirls and slickrock. I'd only feel better if I'd done it on purpose, if I'd planed to end up there, but it was definitly enjoyable either way. We ended up camping a bit up from Little Easy to get onto state land, and be allowed to poo in the ground. Horray!

Plan is to layover here tommorow, maybe dayhike some. They all have tons of therapy work or pathway stuff to do, and I think we get to do 1-on-1 checkins which I'm observing apparently. We may even stay through Monday, though I hope we'll head on . I cant imagine how two days of personal time would be. It's strange to have water delivered and be near a road again. Sometimes this wilderness seems so close, yet so artificial. I guees all wilderness which I've experienced seems sort of like that, just on a smaller scale than this.

Now my toes are cold. Dang it.

I've noticed and checked myself on a couple occasions my sarcasm and harsh tone. I was called out about both during training, which made it all the more disturbing to see it in myself this week. Also the affects both have on the students in real time. I think in a lot of ways I'm not fully concious of my tone or my sarcasm. Its definitly something I will push hard to be more aware of, for myself and for the students. It can only serve me to speak consistently from a more real place, and seek to understand what sarcasm is convering for or covering up.

I'm intrigued and unnerved by how much therapy tak seems to be sneaking into my lexicon...

Morning Light

Apparently I have this morning off as well. Its well after sunup and I'm finally just getting warm. The moonrise last night and the sunrise this morning lit the horizon on fire. I caught the tail end of the show this morning from my shelter, while trying to convince myself to get up.

I'm sitting maybe 200 yards from the kitchen, down an outcropping behind some junipers, just sort of gazing out over the desert below. The bass line of a couple of far off jets is throbbing in time, and I keep imagining I hear church bells, in this my wild cathedral. The sky is so big in so many directions, it's hard not to be a bit overwhelmed. I find myself wanting to touch everything around me, to drink in and taste the desert.

Today we transition Cassie to the West. We are headed down into Squaw to Little Easy tonight. Then comes the dreaded accountability group, where all are given amnesty and a chance to confess to their sins in front of everyone. There has been a lot of conflict brewing and a lot of strange happenings, a lot of which I imagine, or at least I hope will come out tonight.

I want to be able to process these first few days in the field so badly. In some ways I think maybe it just hasn't affected me as profoundly as I was expecting. Yet. Or maybe I just haven't found the words, yet. I've felt comfortable and familiar with all the hard skills and campcraft. But at the same time all the more frusterated, because I know hard skills can be so much on the surface, albeit thinly veiled. I would like to get into things deeper here, but I don't quite know how yet. I'm concentrating on building rapport with the students, which is pyschobabble for getting to know them and hopefully gaining their trust. I feel like I'm pretty good at making relatively quick and strong connections but I want so bad to go further. It has been a bit awkward, really having no idea what my role is, or what expectations exist for me. In the future I hope to be able to be more up front with myself and with the staff team I'm in about asking and taking on responsibility. Its almost a strange limbo, being new here. Its being real live staff, but not really because for the most part I'm only observing and being another set of eyes, and chiming in when I feel like I can. I can imagine being more than this, which is new. A lot of times, particularly the more difficult moments I have the same instincts and want to say the same things as the senior staff end up saying. Its affirming to know that my responses are pretty on target, though I'm not confident enough yet to throw them in.

Into the Wilderness

It's day two of real live wilderness therapy. I don't even know where to begin. Its prooving way much harder than I expected to take a break. I have this evening off, and I find myself laying in my shelter trying desperately to strain to hear whats going on at group around the campfire. Cassie is supposed to give her lifestory and then transition to the West which is such a crucial step for her and for the group. I feel like I should be there.

Other than that I think I'm actually sleepy. Weird. We're at Avatar point tonight which is big flat mesas on all sides. Heading into Squaw tommorow. Today I learned I need to be much more confrontative. I let too much slide and am not yet comfortable getting into the middle of a conflict. I had a really good talk with Marie about her drug use when we were hiking, which was sort of this first glimmer of what this is really like.

I'm not even making emotional sense right now. It is nothing and everything I thought it would be.

I Feel It In My Fingers

There has got to be some kind of powerful energy in this town. I went to sunrise yoga this morning, which was wild and full of all sorts of energy on it's own for the record. Driving home I saw the biggest, brightest, most vibrant triple rainbow I have ever seen. It spanned all of down town Durango, and touched down on both ends so strongly I could probably triangulate the spot if I thought hard enough. The crazy part, this is the second wildly clear and vivid rainbow in about three days. The last one I saw from my window, with one base just about at the lip of Big Canyon, and the other over in the next wash.

Now if thats not a good omen, I don't know what is.

Aho Mitakuye Oyasin

It's Sunday evening and days are slowly ticking by and I'm getting increasingly and majorly nervous about starting real work in a few days. I know it's just one more blind leap of faith to add to the list of the last couple of months, and that I'll feel loads better once I get there in the thick of things. But right now I'm just starting to get comfortable and cozy in my new place full of sunshine and blue skies, and imagining my first shift sits in my stomach like a pot of cold oatmeal. This job means so much to me, I have to figure out a way to set down all of my expectations before heading out to the desert in a few days.

On the one hand, I have absolutely no qualms about being here in this moment, on the path that I've fought to find myself on. I've wanted to be in the wild in a therapeutic setting for so long, it still strikes me as kind of strange to actually be here, doing this. My two weeks of training for the program honestly were some of the most profound experiences of my life. It ended over a week ago, and I feel like I've only just began to process what happened out there in the desert. I remember sitting on the train to Portland last winter, and writing about how I thought my story was just beginning. I really had no idea...I feel like my words, no matter how many times I turn them around and over, really do no justice to the intensity of this adventure.

There is a metal archway, layered in Tibetan prayer flags which stands in the middle of a field of big sage, about a 10 minute walk into the bush from base. This was my introduction to this new world, and the end and beginning of illusion. Through this arch we entered the gateway, the arrival, signifying the end of past lives, and the beginning of intention. I sat there, in the dirt under cloudless sky, incense burning somewhere close by, totally overcome by my senses. I sat there and meditated about what it is that I leave behind to begin this journey again, and then slowly crossed the threshold.

We walked that first night through the darkness in silence. We walked for hours on an old oil rig road, in single file, with no headlamps, quick enough to distract from everything but staying awake and upright. I remember the smells of the desert, and the strange updrafts of warm air between slow bursts of cool night air. Beyond that, the evening blurred around the edges, with glimpses of lucidity and the biggest brightest shooting stars I've ever seen. It was a trippy experience, walking through a tunnel as if blindfolded, no idea what lies ahead, simply focusing on the physical act of putting one foot in front of the other.

Waking up the next morning was as surreal as getting blindfolded and dropped on Mars. We slept out, and due to our spot near a couple of oil drums going all night like a bunch of well trained hippies with bongos, the exhaustion of the previous few days, and proximity to a bunch of Anasazi archaeological sites, I had some seriously trippy dreams. I remember one about mistakenly eating some poisoned mushrooms, realizing it, and trying to make myself vomit. And also one dream where the bugs flying around my face where I was sleeping where talking to me. Then to wake up under that sky, with mountains and mesas on all sides, facing one of the biggest adventures of my life, it was wild.

I think I was most surprised by the amount of emotion, honesty, and disclosure they both expected and elicited in us. I was surprised by the amount I found myself affected by our journey over those 9 days, and the amount I actually let slip from my lips. I would have considered myself a relatively self-aware person before my training for this Wilderness Therapy gig, but really it seems I had no idea. One of the main focuses for our students is to develop more of a consciousness towards the mind-body connection. We practice this regularly by checking in and reporting on how are mind, body, heart, and soul are doing. This entails no explanations, no justifying, and no pontificating, which for someone as cerebral as I tend to be, can be reallllllly hard. I found myself wanting to explain why my knee was throbbing, or say that it didn't matter, when all they require is an observation of sensation. I had a really hard time separating heart and mind for a while, because again being so caught up in my head I try to think things away, to explain and understand emotion until it makes sense and thus doesn't affect me so much. Some of the revelations were relatively simple, yet for me all the more profound. I happened to be chatting with one of our trainers one morning while putting on some arnica gel. They were asking me why and what was going on so I told them nonchalantly a bit about my knee problems, ending with "nothing really helps so I just try to ignore it." With out even hinting at psychobabble, he simply asked me why. I was stuck on that for a few days actually, and then finally it clicked. The more off balance, uncentered, foggy, or not present I am emotionally, the less I pay attention to my physical presence. And I'm in the clouds quite often these days, I'll just say. But the less I pay attention to how I'm holding my body, the more my feet overpronate, do the wrong things we'll just say, which pulls on my knees and exacerbates everything that has happened to them. The less conscious of my physical body I am, the worse I walk, and the more my knees hurt. The more my knees hurt, the more frustrated and angry and off-focus I become, further worsening the cycle. Simple mind-body awareness, but for me, it was huge.

I find it really fascinating that I have relatively little qualms talking about my own experiences with mental illness, however talking about my own small part in other peoples' still terrifies me. There are things that I said and connections that I made between issues and experiences and ramifications during that time that I've never been able to realize or share before. One night near the end of the week I sat up by the fire after everyone else had gone to sleep and ended up crying for a while with a couple of the guys. I'd been pretty shook up about the lesson on suicide watch for the students, and I'm not quite sure how it happened. I'm learning that I take on an incredibly large amount of responsibility for other people, particularly their welfare and well being, and I invite other people to use me and take advantage of my empathy and compassion because of it. Then when I'm at a low point, there is no one there for me, and I feel all the more betrayed. I am not responsible for the survival of others, but even saying so makes me feel a little...cold. Like I've lost a piece of my heart. But the weight of all of those people drags me down so deeply, it's time to let go. So I cried for all the people I've been their for, who I've talked down from the proverbial window ledge, and who I've allowed to lay down some of their burdens as my own. The last time I cried was senior year of High School when they told me that my mother had lung cancer. Over eight years ago.

We experienced a lot of beautiful spots and people, but the one that sticks with me is the sweat lodge. This was not, by any means, a sweat in the traditional indigenous sense. It was a creation of the organization and all of the people involved, that borrowed heavily from many traditions world wide. A sweat, regardless of who you are or what you are working through takes you out of yourself. I believe it is their intention to facilitate an awakening, a revelation, maybe even a spiritual experience, to show to the students that they are more than their pasts. I know for me it was one of the most profound and mystical two hours of my life, and I say that with out pretension.

Our sweat was to the four directions, one round devoted to each space and place, with breaks in between. During their time with the organization the students work through pathways based around the directions as well, each complete with tasks, responsibilities, and personal characteristics which they must embody before moving forward. Our sweat was only a small sense of the tremendous journeys they are on, and the work they must do.

I was smudged with sage before entering, placed my hamsa necklace and a small stone on the alter, knelt and prayed to the Earth and to the others with me, and crossed the threshold. Inside the lodge is pitch dark, already hot, musky, and so low you must crawl on all fours around the pit in the center. It is small enough that you must sit hugging your knees to your chest, and probably still be touching some part of another sitting next to you. They brought nine rocks from the raging fire that had been going all afternoon for the round of the south, and placed them in the center pit. The door closed, and I had to fight for a while with myself not to panic as I sat in the total darkness, temperature climbing, sweat already pouring off my face. They slowly began to pour water onto the stones one by one. Incense and herbs billowing off the pit filled the lodge with acrid and tempting steam. Then the music began, and we sang and chanted and called out to all things.

According to many traditions, to the medicine wheel, the south is a time of freedom, of play, of joy, of fire, of music, of passion, of rebellion, of youth, of red heat. This round was joyful, spontaneous, and free. We sang and screamed and yelled. We called out to our inner children, and howled at the moon. The south was exuberance, with little thought to the looming presence of the rapidly encroaching West and North. I danced in the south, and smiled wickedly. It was over too soon.

The round of the west brought figurative sundown, responsibility, facing dragons and demons. West brought the work of introspection, and a turning in my stomach. I sat in the hottest spot for this round apparently, directly in line with the fire and the pit filled now with an additional 4 stones. The west dropped all pretense of unbridled happiness, and instead faced the real personal and intense work that comes with darkness. I wanted to hide my face and make it be over.

North is winter, white, somber, and the hint of rebirth and renewal. North is taking on the dragons that you discover in the West. North is serious and a bit scary, with all sorts of talk about the people and things that have harmed you, the traumas which we have all lived through, and the damage which has been done. North is facing up to all of the little broken pieces of ourselves, and acknowledging the pain before stepping past it. North took that lump in my throat and stone in my stomach, and sort of forced it to the surface. My dragon? Twofold I think. One I already sort of mentioned, that is all of the people and things (including myself) that take advantage of my compassion and sap the life and joy from me in exchange for taking on others' responsibility and survival as my own. The other is I'm sure related, though I haven't quite completely traced the lineage yet. My dragon is my insecurity and lack of self-confidence, my inner critic that tells me its never good enough and that I am some what of a fraud. That I don't deserve to feel the way I feel and experience what I am going through. North was a wild and primeval bloody ride.

East is the coming of spring, of sunrise, the return of green, of rebirth. East brings wisdom and expects one to guide others. East was the end of our transformation that evening, as we sang and chanted our way into a new world which we would create for ourselves. East was endless, hot, and humbling. I spent most of it with my forehead flat on the ground in front of me, too completely overcome to sing more than a few words at a time. I don't remember what I said I would take with me, though I'm sure it had something to do with confidence, empathy, compassion, strength, endurance, passion, commitment. When it was finally over, with the doors blessedly open, we crawled out one by one, stopping at the threshold to intone the Lakota prayer "Aho Mitakuye Oyasin," our head to the earth pausing to all of our relations, that we are all related.

I stumbled out into the night air, totally and completely overcome by all that had just come to pass. I crawled maybe ten feet to the far side of the fire, and lay on my back looking skyward. The palms of my hands and the soles of my feet dug into the soil, and I swear I could feel the Earth pulsating. My whole body tingled as energy flow through me freely from head to foot and hand to hand and from sky and fire and breeze and stars. I lay there until I realized I was shivering, then forced myself to get up and change into dry clothes. I would have laid their for hours, for once completely and totally present, all four lines aligned and just filled up with the immensity of it all.

I wasn't myself for a few hours after leaving the sweat. I think about it a lot, try to harness the things I allowed myself to say, the things I silently intoned, the throbbing of emotion and intention in that space. I am in so many ways terrified about dealing with the students, but in that place it was meaningless. I am where I should be, I deserve the life I've made for myself.

Peanuts, bloody Peanuts

Still alive, still in and around SW Colorado, still homeless, still living on peanuts (literally).

But I've definitly had quite a few adventures in the last few weeks, met some people and out of the way places, and am slowly convincing myself that sometimes the best course of action is to take a step back and have faith that I am exactly where I need to be, and the rest will follow.

Survived training, which is it's own happy fun tale for another library evening, but sadly left my journal abandoned in Squaw Canyon. Really only disturbing because in it was my budget for the next few months. I expected to be wrecked about loosing all of that writting, but in some respects, it had to happen. There was so much fire and so much pain wrapped up in the last year in a half, loosing my record just seemed fitting, you know? Just to have to let it go completely, and move forward with an entirely new clean page.

Living out of the car and tent and the goodness of others, however, is screwing with my head. I know its a great thought experiment and oh so neccesary lesson in trusting that the universe will provide, but I find it incredibly unsettling. It took me an hour and a half yesterday morning to dig through boxes and other detritus to find winter shoes and my down vest from the bottom of box number one. Not to mention the lack of laundry, food, and space. Being out of control of my situation has always been hard for me, and this adventure is in particular trying my patience.

My body is antsy, my heart is unsettled, my mind is impatient, and my soul is still back in that sweat lodge, howling at the moon.

All for now.

More 39 Foot Hills

I have pages and pages of travel/transitions musings that I'll write at some point, just not tonight. It's 7:30, I'm in Durango safe, sort of homeless, and have a RAGING altitude headache. But its getting dark and cold outside, which makes everything seem huge and so much more consequential.

For the plusses--I have a place to stay tonight and tommorow night. I have a few leads on housing. I know things will look so much clearer (physically and existentially) tommorow once training starts. Irma did quite well ( minus the iceball to the windshield this afternoon the size of my head) on the drive, overall I'm happy with her. I did pretty OK money wise on the trip, I'm under budget on gas, spent nothing on lodging yet, and a grand total of like 7 bucks so far on food. Camping by myself was pretty OK too. Colorado mountains are pretty damn phenomenal. Besides from the tourists I feel like I fit pretty well in with the vibe around here so far.

For the minuses--well, heres to assuming they'll be all gone and quieted by morning.

More soon.