Hiking a Back Country Trail

                                                       Ouzel Falls, RMNP, June 7, 2013

While insights abound these days, this bright Sunday morning, I'm sharing my recent hike to Ouzel Falls in Rocky Mountain National Park, a favorite in the early hiking season.  The falls is at its best during the snow melting season, and with the late snows this year, I was sure the water would be gushing over the rocks and spraying the logs where we often sit for lunch.  (And some may remember the falls as my first blog cover photo.)

At the ranger station, I learned that the bridge at the Calypso Cascades, more than halfway to the falls was out.  I would need to take the back country trail, one I had never hiked, to reach the falls.  The parking lot was full of tourists' cars (it was Friday), and I noticed that most were walking on toward the Cascades rather than taking the trail to the falls--and the clouds were gathering early.

I could not help but think of this trail--old and faint at times--with life's journey--and was reminded that delightful surprises exist no matter the difficulty of the path.  The photo below doesn't do justice to the beauty of the aspen leaves beginning to unfurl against the background of boulders and pines.  I simply love this beauty.  The back trail is more shaded so the aspens have been slower to leaf out.

I stopped to photograph and admire their beauty over the first part of the trail and was surprised by big raindrops that began to fall.  When it seemed that they were not presaging a downpour nor were they going to stop soon, I slipped my poncho over my head and walked on.  I was reminded that I was more prepared for the rain than I often am for the showers of life.

This trail meanders away from the river so as its flow got louder, I had to go off trail to see and listen to its sounds--as those of you who have followed me for a while know--a sound that is comforting and healing for me.  It feels as if it is cleansing the dregs and crevices of my life.  I crept close to the water, knelt and let the water flow over my hand.

I didn't know where on the usual trail this one would come out--life for sure--and the few I met were newcomers to the hike and had no idea what my question even meant!  Not so many guides on this part of my life's journey either!!

Since I must quit and get ready for church--I'm the scheduled reader at our church picnic at Flagstaff Amphitheater and am giving a ride to an 86-year-old friend--I'm going to rush along.  When the trail ended, I was about a mile up from the falls on the Thunder Lake trail--not one that was familiar.  Backtracking, I came to the Ouzel Lake Trail and a series of brightly colored boulders (and thought of you Judith -- actually many times on this hike.)  Here they are--beauties of nature that give me great joy!

Have a blessed day!

Under the Armour

Did I know what I would find when I realized, last fall at a Snowmass Retreat, that I had a breastplate of armor that had protected me growing up, and that I needed to set it aside and allow the emotions hidden there to surface for healing?  Since I was familiar with the anger that could arise from behind that armor, I knew the emotions were strong and the experiences difficult.  I also knew that this would be healing and freeing.  I had first become aware of that ball of anger when a man I spent time with in the early 90's touched that pain with words.  It was as if a knife was slicing through my guts. I have touched it many times in my healing journey, but have never been able to get inside it.  So this work has been a long time coming.

I needed that armor and am deeply grateful that I had it.  I count the young girl who developed that armor and the Divine that allowed it to form as one of the greatest blessing in my young life.  The core of the ball that is still unraveling is the fear of being destroyed.  That is strong language, and in my case, this was sometimes a warranted fear.  Other times, there were words, tones of voice and looks that activated fear that felt as if I was being torn apart, thrown aside--feelings that were especially strong when the person triggering them held power over me.

Storm clouds and their shadows can be beautiful, especially when blue skies and white cottony clouds can be seen in another part of the sky.  However, when a vicious storm has brought damaging wind and rain, when lightening has ignited a nearby forest fire, those storm clouds may cause a knot to form in our stomachs, and fear to course through our bodies.  The same is true for words, voices and looks that activate old, often unconscious fearful experiences.

As my ball of fear and pain has been unraveling, I've become aware of why I unconsciously created fear in the two 6'4" men who worked for me in the early days of managing growing grant and loan programs in economic and community development--and how I used some of the same tools that had been used to create fear in me.  Fortunately, I've become friendly, if not always friends, with many of my shadow parts so I am not devastated or upset the way I was when my lovely administrative assistant, after hours on her last day before moving on to a full professional position, told me that these two men were afraid of me.  My mental picture was of a slender 5'4" woman standing between two men, each a foot taller, trying to get them to understand the urgency of the projects they were working on and my frustration when their looks of slow understanding and unhurried voices expressed the opinion that I was expecting too much.  They could have as easily said, "We are state workers.  What do you expect?"

That anger was triggered recently in an e-mail dialogue with one of our pastors regarding the expectations of attendance in the healing ministry discernment group that I chair.  My reaction was over-the-top though the worst of it I kept to myself.  I should have realized the pattern that often occurs when an old deep pain is working its way through to consciousness.

My use of those tactics--a steely look in my eyes, a cold tone of voice (not loud), and words have long been my tools of protection.  At times words are not needed.  I have prided myself on not needing to raise my voice to get across my point--get out of my way, don't touch me, stop now.  I could write an essay, maybe a short book, on the looks that shot fear and feelings that I needed to be squashed--sometimes literally--growing up.   Changing those looks in my life to ones of compassion is the transformation necessary--and God will provide that healing.  My job it to be open to the Spirit's work.

Enjoying the Beauty

Lumpy Ridge near town of Estes Park.  The rock that sticks up to the left of center represented God for me the winter of 1999-2000 when I lived there knowing no one really.

The snow continues to melt, though the high peaks are mostly covered.  This was taken from my friend, Mary Ann's yard in mid-May.

Except for the pasqueflowers in the upper right hand corner, these were all on a well-traveled trail in south Boulder a couple of weeks ago.  The pasqueflowers were near a RMNP trailhead.

Sugar bowls on Goshawk Ridge -- the only place I've seen these

My most recent blogs have been more about darkness than light so I wanted to share spring flowers and the beauty of this wonderful area this morning.  A newer friend and I saw the sugar bowls on a hike last Friday, timed, I must admit to find this early spring flowers--and we did, more of them than I had ever before seen.

I was more enthralled than my friend.  She saw them with interest the first and second time I pointed them out.  After that, they were old hat.

I am reminded of how many times I think, "oh I've seen that before, done that" without recognizing that I am a different person today than I was when I saw, did whatever before.  I can easily say that about seeing the sugar bowls last year when I went alone primarily to photograph the spring flowers on that trail--or the year before that when I took a friend who hadn't been on that trail to see the wildflowers.  And the first time I went the year before that with the local Open Space Parks ranger who told us all about the area, just opened to hikers, and the flowers, rocks, trees, and mountains along the way

And yet--I am also the same in many ways.  I still live in the small condo/apartment and have looked forward to the pool's opening.  I enjoyed spending Sunday afternoon there reading with a little time in the water, greeting a few fellow pool sitters I hadn't seen since last year.

I've shed some volunteer tasks and taken on others.  And my inner healing journey has deepened.  (I'll say more about that in the next post.)

The flowers looked more beautiful--partly because of the long, late spring with snows and cold.  The mountain vistas were clearer.  The friends with whom I shared more dear, especially the one in whose back yard I stood to take many stitched together panorama photos of the mountains.  Perhaps it is because I am older.  Perhaps it is because I think of moving back to the Tennessee hills.  Through whatever darkness--the clouds, my inner journey, the difficulties of family and friends--to enjoy the beauty with which I am surrounded.

Happy Spring!

Going Alone

There is a trail through that deep snow.  It's mostly one snowshoe track to another, but it's there.  As I trekked up the fire trail toward the Mills Lake/Loch junction through snow that was so deep that I had to raise  each foot up several inches in order to put one down in the next track, I was glad it was a bright sunny day.  I was in the shadows a lot, but the sun was shining.

It was like the recent weeks' have been, a lot of the time has been spend with dark memories, dark pain--and my dark side, but I know that bringing those experiences and pain to the surface allows God's light--the best--to shine on them for healing.  And the steps are, like those on the trail, sometimes high--and I can't see what's through the trees or around the next curve.

Another part of the winter trail experience was that I went out for this snowshoe alone--and I didn't see anyone as I stopped and started up the fire trail (and it's the one most used in the winter).  I would learn that there was enough snow on the summer trail, and that those few who were out were on it--spring tourists for the most part.  The hardest journeys are those inside and are journeys of faith--between us and God or as the 12-steppers say, our higher powers.  It would have been good to share the snowshoe; however, I noticed little things that I might not have seen had I been talking or looking out for my companion of this year's snow hikes.

 The same is true of my spiritual journey.  When I am busy, busy
with my various commitments and don't stop and listen and see, I am apt to get lost or miss the signs along the way.  So as I muse about having a special companion--or having others with whom to share the spiritual journey in ways I don't now have, I remember that much of that work is done in silence.

My I-phone didn't capture the sparkle of the icicles.  They were lovely.  And I know I have photos of some cascading down the rocks below from other years in the spring's melt, but each year they are different--as different as the insights from old stuff I have previously visited at some level.

As I started down the summer trail, I met the two men I had seen at the trail head coming up the trail.  They asked how I got there before they did as they were unfamiliar with the trail I had taken.  That is not a question I get in life.  Instead, the question is more likely to be, "Haven't you handled all that stuff before?  Aren't you done?"  I am looking forward to spring flowers, and this week's rain should bring them out.  I'm hopeful that with the flowers, a leveling off will come; but the answer is 'no."  This is a lifetime journey with lots of grace notes along the way.  

Last Friday I had set out to snowshoe to The Loch, a favorite I've missed this season.  I did not attempt the final leg, as there were many "hills" that aren't usually there as I hiked up the fire trail.  I had a time deadline in Boulder too, and that handled any wild ideas of a big push--one I sometimes get after a brief rest.  I now avoid--most of the time--having goals in mind as I travel the spiritual journey.   I used to say, "I'm almost through with this or that."  Some of you remember those days.  Now, as I break open another big piece as I did earlier this week, I know that it will spin and unravel many skeins before it can be cleared away and another piece moves into the upward pattern.  Co-leading the St. John's Healing Ministry Discernment Group is probably not the way to have a smooth road upon which to travel--but who says that smooth is the best?!  Exercising those spiritual muscles must be as good for us as that of exercising our body's muscles. 

Until next time--with hope that the photos won't be of snow!

   

The In-between Season

Typical tree many days, including yesterday, this spring.

Pearl Street Mall on Sunday

Yes, the sun is brightly shining!  It was still nippy (41 degrees) when I went for a walk about 4 pm.  Enough of Tuesday night and Wednesday's 10.5" of snow had fallen from the trees that I could walk under the big pines that are just outside my condo without fear of a big clump of the white stuff falling on my head (as it did earlier when I went to the mailbox).  Tomorrow it is supposed to reach 50!

April and May are usually in-between months for hiking in this area, particularly in the near mountains--mud season as snow melts and water runs in streams down the trails.  I'm having withdrawal symptoms as I haven't been out snowshoeing for almost three weeks.  I've even resorted to the StairMaster at the Y for aerobic exercise since I'm there for Pilates twice a week.  (Oh yes, I feel rather righteous about the Reformer Pilates I've been doing twice a week, going no matter what.)

In between--that's how my life feels right now.  I feel as if I know what I'm called to do, yet the how, where and when are elusive.  The friend who offered to connect me with a Utah community has now fled this fickle spring for a warmer climate, not to return until June.  If any of you want to be on my prayer team--the request is for me to see the "how to begin" soon.  A "where" would be good too.  My young priest-to-be (soon) friend said that he knows God is doing something good in my life.  I'd like to know what that is!

My in-between season has been marked by huge bouts of grief--pain too, but largely grief.  The darkness of snowy days and cold have made this spring perfect for dark revelations.  Befriending the teenager in me who was angry and determined to make it through those years and to see retribution has allowed the grief and loneliness to come to the surface.  Now I'm the one who is always saying that bringing the pain to the surface so that God can heal is the important work.  Right!?  I know that to be true--and I know it to bring on deep fatigue too.  It has sometimes seemed too much and too lonely--and I have remembered that even if I were in contact with my daughter, she wouldn't want to know about any of this.  You may not want to know about it too--but you can click a computer button and disengage.

My lack of energy to do more than my commitments (oh yes, they are sometimes a bit much) has been forcing me to do this grief and loneliness work.  Now I'm looking outside at the sunny (still cold) day and awaiting the spring flowers.  I know they will come!
 
                                Golden Banner from Goshawk Trail near Boulder in April, 2012

                                                    Sugarbowls -- also from last year

Forgiveness -- long roots

I've been thinking lots about forgiveness since the St. George Quiet Day--about how deep the roots of grief and pain go in our unconscious and how much those unconscious hurts affect our lives. 

I was deeply affected by my visit to the Kingsley Plantation on Ft. St. George Island.  Nancee loaned me her car, saying that I would want to go to the Ribault Club--a lovely old club that was once open only to the wealthy who vacationed or lived on the island, but is now open to all.  She cautioned about visiting the Kingsley Plantation as it could be painful with ruins of old slave quarters.

I did stop briefly at the Ribault Club, where a woman who had attended the Quiet Day was the tour guide that afternoon.  The historic exhibits there are instructive and well done, but I hurried through so I could spend time at the Plantation.

The approach to the Plantation, maintained by the National Park Service, is through the slave quarter ruins.  While they were much sturdier than the shanties I've see African Americans and poor whites living in, they are strong representatives of a people who had no rights other than those granted them by their owners.

These dwellings had two rooms so were considered better than the homes for most slaves.  They were made of tabby, a concrete-like material made of crushed shells, sand, lime and water.  Think of the work it took to make the tabby to construct these homes.  Below is a close-up of one of the walls.

In addition to thinking about how those slaves lived in the plantation period of 17 and 1800s, I began to think of the beliefs and behaviors that imprison us.  Unlike the slaves of that era, we are often unaware of the ways we imprison ourselves, the thoughts and beliefs about ourselves that keep us from being the people that we were created to be. 

I have a deep-seated belief (that I haven't yet unraveled) that if I am out in public with my healing journey story in too big a way, too successfully, I will be punished.  And for me, this message came (and I absorbed it this way) from both of my parents.  Mother absolutely couldn't stand for me to get attention when she wanted to be the center of whatever was happening.  She was so angry about a woman (only 1) who told her I looked like a movie star's daughter in a plaid taffeta and velvet dress the Wood cousins had bought me that she considered cutting the dress into pieces.  When I chose to be in a skit for a school program rather than play the piano, Mother tried to talk me out of it, even asking the teacher to be sure I was playing a solo, saying that was my talent--not the acting.  Dad made sure I was punished when I did too good a job of a task in the meetings.  Don't be too attractive or too successful.  Don't get too much attention on a stage. 

I find myself looking for affirmation that I'm called to tell my story, to provide hope to some who might not find hope easily, from other women who are out in the world with what they are doing, particularly those who are in spiritual or religious pursuits.  And often (my priest friend Nancee a notable exception), they are only interested in what I've done if it can help them.  It's as if I've picked the women who, like mother, need center stage--or a platform bigger than the one they have, and want them to stand in for her--giving me that encouragement that I didn't get. 

I'm wondering if forgiving Mother at deeper level than I have will free me to let go of the prison of wanting validation and encouragement from those who do not have it to give. 

I know how many times seeing my boss standing at the back of the room looking stern (my assessment), maybe just perplexed, when during a large meeting, I said something that made those listening laugh, made a voice in my head say, "straighten up and be serious."  He may not at all meant for me to interpret his appearance in that way.  In fact he may not have been scowling as I often thought.  It was Dad's face I was projecting on him. 

These are the prisons of my mind that I am working to break out of--the bars that I'm hoping to dissolve.  They certainly don't constrict my life the way the slaves lives were--though I identify with them by way of the tortuous meetings I couldn't escape as a child--but they do impede my ability to do what I feel called to do with my life at this time.
Where slaves worked sometimes --

Prayers for healing for all who share this writing.

                                              Plantation house from the back (the front faces
                                              the river)

Amelia and Ft. St. George Islands -- and my talk

There are so many things I would like to write about this morning that it's hard to choose. However, I'm ruminating on my Quiet Day presentation at St. George's Episcopal Church on Ft. St. George's Island, Florida and how I might move forward to schedule similar programs so that is today's topic.

When I talk aloud about something I'm working on, I usually have insights that don't come other ways.  I don't know that this will suffice, but I'll try it and see.

I probably need a publicist, but hope the Holy Spirit will lead for now.  One thing I learned was that I'm not comfortable with my picture and publicity posted around for all to see.  My friend, the Reverend Nancee Martin, and her staff had done an outstanding job with bulletin inserts and posters.  I found myself squirming as I looked at them.  Nancee took many photos of me--can't remember when anyone has ever done that--as she wanted me to have choices for future publicity.  Some are nice--and they all have lovely backgrounds as they were taken in beautiful spots.

My sea walks were wonderful and refreshing.  Sunshine reigned and although the temperatures were chilly until Sunday when it warmed, I relished my time on the beach.  On Friday I spend most of the day walking between and around the birds--my primary companions, perched on a dune on the edge of a state park where I was alone on the beach for a couple of hours, and tossed my shoes and waded in very chilly water one afternoon.  The sea restores me in ways the mountains cannot.  I returned grateful but not happy to be back.  (My 80-year-old friend and I snowshoed to a favorite lake last Friday, accompanied by memories of our friend who now walks California beaches.  She wants to do a couple more snowshoes so we will--if there is enough snow.)

The Quiet Day presentation was easy--the way things are when I'm doing what I'm supposed to be doing.  The folks there were welcoming and open.  They participated in the sharing, some deeply.  I used the nature photos for sharing my story, knowing that since those people live in such a glorious place (more about that in a bit), nature must be important in their lives.  The lone man asked a question about forgiveness that allowed more conversation about that important topic, and the woman who gave me a ride to church (so I didn't have to go for the early service) said that had impacted her more than anything.   

I spoke about healing--through nature, through my meditation practice, and through opening more and more to Divine love.  Through the Darkness into the Light was the topic--perhaps more appropriate during Lent than other times, but it speaks of my journey.  The participants shared their childhood escape or safe places generously when I finished that portion of my presentation.  I had asked that question when I gave a short program for my Daughters of the King prayer group and had one lone responder. 

The most effective tool for the primary exercise I used came to me as I walked the beach--broken, but lovely shells.  Other options were writing or drawing and choosing a scripture verse from those I had available, but most chose a shell for reflection.  The topic--what keeps you from opening fully to God's love or from being the person you were meant to be.  I was clear that this could be related to any part of their lives.  Their shares were inspiring. 

The islands--Amelia and Ft. St. George--have old growth forests with moss swinging from high branches and lush vegetation as well as wonderful waterways and beaches.  That was a delightful surprise.  One of Nancee's parishioneers took us on a walk through the Ft. St. George forest.  There are other sights worth mentioning on that island, but that's for another day. 

Blessings to all who read.