The path down is the way up

No Path, Just Direction

The path is easy if you don't care about the destination. Choosing the limitation only based on direction is what sailors refer to as a Rhumb-Line, a general direction of a nonspecific spot. Today I took a walk, my vague requirement being "go up there." As I walked, it's not hard to notice that there isn't a path designed for you, not like in civic parks or in contrived outdoor places.

This was an ancient canyon. Google Maps won't help you here. Slowly, though, it occurred to me that the path down is the way up. Gravity, rain, perhaps animals, all forge a path down, loosely visible in some areas, obvious in others. If each series of one hundred steps gains some elevation, then the consensus is we are all headed "up there." Surely no person has ever been where I am at this moment; therefore, the perfectly positioned flat rock may not be attainable, but here is a perfectly positioned group of stones, one shaped like an arrow pointing toward the ranch.

What Gravity Leaves Behind

Nature or nurture, people have indeed been where I am. It occurs to me that everything up there is being pulled down to lower levels. One can certainly see this phenomenon across the canyon. At the top, there are light sand-colored layers of stone face. Lower down, almost down to the river, are pieces and parts of the sand-colored stones placed here and there, almost with precision of unintended grace. No person would have happened upon it that way, so why are the stones this way? I mean whatever way they are because that's how it happened.

Don't Touch

Below my feet is an iron-colored stone, solid yet fractured along perfect lines. How did it get here, and what is causing it to be cleaved at such perfect angles? I kick it, knowing it will just shatter, it seems immovable, but it got here somehow. Further along, the words from my childhood haunt me, "don't touch." As a little boy, my dad would say over and over, "don't touch." Of course I would, until he yelled, “put your hands in your pockets!” I realize I'm walking in this behaved conforming way every day, even all grown up. Don’t touch, don’t be curious, and certainly don’t explore what you don’t know. Fuck that.

Meeting the Cactus

As I remember this, I come across the terrifying jumping cactus. I couldn't, I must, and I did. Now I'm not stupid. I took the fabric corner from my monocle and touched it to the cactus. There was an audible snap as the small million-needle pod broke off. There is a divine design as to why a plant would do this. The needles are not unidirectional; in fact, they are crisscrossed so that they grip pants, deer legs, cow fur, or whatever. It is not a chance, its part of a divine creation. The small cactus relies on parts breaking off later to be deposited elsewhere in order to survive and replicate.

Continuing, I feel like I was confronted on this very narrow path, bordered by the steep canyon wall on one side and a steep drop off on the other, which was guarded directly in the center by a large jumping cactus. I spoke to the cactus, honoring what it has experienced. “Oh, I just met your cousin a few minutes ago. We both know I must pass so one of us will need to make a concession.” We agreed: "Don't rub up against me and I'll let you go." This felt like being on the window seat and needing to pee. I passed, said my “thank you” and made my way.

The View From the Top

Now I am looking down at the perfect flat rock that just a short while ago I felt was too far up for me to ascend.

At the crescendo of the hill, high above and looking below, I could see my small encampment. From here I could see that it was a wide swath of the river, cows, in this ancient place. No other person was seeing what I saw. This is what grabbed me; I was so programmed to get validation of where I was and of what I was doing, I felt that someone else needed to see me.

Looking down, I saw a woman going to her tent, gathering something, and then walking back to the house. Almost like a voice-over in my head, I wanted to bark out a word or a signal so I would be seen. She would think I was cool or accomplished or maybe that I got it, what it was to be in that space. That action would have erased everything; it was my moment, my personal record, not available for critique or grading, mine at the bottom.

Now looking at the place I was in, I can clearly see the path to the top, almost cut into the wall of the canyon, a shadow of a gradual elevation to the higher spot. Clearly, the way up was the path down.

Are you ok, to move forward and not know?

Once back at the bottom, I could clearly see that my path up was the path created specifically to come down. Where are you? Are you not moving up because you cannot see the path? Can you open your perspective or re-engineer your preconceived notions that you must know exactly where every step must land? Can you honor the obstacle in front of you, and make a way past it? Get in touch with me, I will help you see your way.