Canyon de Chelly

More of the little story:

I am still not sure how I did it. Just plain hard headedness I guess. After what seemed to me a very long time, I did manage to make that next step, but that was not the end of the challenges. Above that place of decision, there were places I would have cried if crying hadn’t required so much energy. Well, that’s not exactly true. I was so far past crying that it only occurred to me after I managed to get to the top.

On the face of the rock, there were a couple short stretches of metal rod handrails. Also, just often enough to tease me and yet give me some hope, thick braided metal rope lay lank and rusty, draped here and there, anchored to some place higher than I could see. I clung to these small encouragements with the tenacity that only abject fear can generate. Each time I trusted one with my weight, I wondered if it was really anchored or if it would let go as I heaved my way up. The exertion of climbing was enough to take my breath away, but climbing laced with terror made me gasp like a fish out of water.

Come to think of it, that is a good analogy. I was a fish out of my element and I could barely breathe. I was gasping and grabbing at every thread of inner strength and determination. I would have given up at the place where the step was so big and my pack so heavy except I knew going back down was not an option. If I couldn’t see where to put my feet and hands in front of me, I certainly would not know how to back down. And there was no way for me to get off that blasted rock except to get to the top or fall.

With the distance of time and geography, it seems paradoxical. The moment of decision surreal, yet it was so vividly real. No flashing of my life before my eyes, no questioning of the decisions that brought me to that place, no bargaining and promises to do great things or be something amazingly useful if I survived. Just the thought of how it would affect the lives of those I loved if I wimped out and gave up.

And I am thankful. In the truest sense of that word, I am full of thanks to the Mystery of existence for allowing me to do what seemed like an impossible feat. Gratitude flows through my being for Father Sky who kept my body pressed against the rough face of Mother’s rock in spite of my abject fear, the weight of the day pack, and the incessant pull of gravity luring my body back to the ground.