"Move mental mountains-climb real ones." Unknown
Grief is like climbing a mountain.
You find yourself at the bottom, looking up,
a variety of emotions swirling through you at once as you wonder what you will find.
How will you make it to the top?
It seems impossible from where you are at.
The climb up is hard and rocky-
steep,
you lose your breath.
At times its hard to focus on anything else but just getting through.
Picking your way through rocks and cracks and obstacles.
It's a hard enough climb that you look around to see if anyone else is doing it.
You look around for support.
But all you find,
as you clumsily make your way through,
is a fallen log blocking your path.
You try to step over it and realize there is a raspberry bush on the other side,
with thorns that grasp your pants as you try to go by.
Like the words of people in your life who don't understand your climb-
they say things that are not supportive.
They ignorantly block you,
unknowingly scratch at your psyche.
They don't know what they're talking about-
because they themselves have never been to the top of the mountain.
They've never even had to take a step on the damn thing.
They just hang out near the bottom,
making comments about what you need to do to get to the top-
even though they've never been there.
You realize you must leave them behind,
in their ignorance,
in their bliss of not knowing.
You continue on, looking around and becoming aware that life goes on around you-
despite your changed perspective.
The bees still gather nectar regardless of the type of flower
regardless of you being there,
or not being there.
They don't know how the experience is changing you.
To the bee, the sharpness of the thistle doesn't change the gift inside.
So you move through the feelings,
continuing your climb,
up and down,
one minute up,
one minute down.
Then all of the sudden the path turns sharply-
you weren't prepared for that.
You think you might trip.
You wonder if you will twist your ankle.
You might get stuck there in that sharp curve, not knowing which way to go.
Stuck in your fear,
you wonder whether you should continue to go up,
or turn around and go down.
Worried about what could happen next.
At that point the best idea may be to just open your water bottle and take a drink,
because you don't need make a choice in that moment.
You just need to be,
because in the stillness there comes a knowing.
That knowing usually encourages you to continue on and take the path that motivates you, inspires you.
Then before you know it, you have the energy again to go on.
And at certain points you're able to stop and see something beautiful.
You're able to laugh again,
but then you feel guilty for seeing the beauty,
or for enjoying the moment because your loved one isn't there to enjoy it with you.
They're not there to make their own music with their laugh-they are unable to put that out into the world anymore.
You pause, trying to catch your breath, but you can't.
When you are able to, you start to notice there are other people on the trail-
some going up the trail of dirt and rock much quicker.
Some are passing you,
some are stuck,
some are stopped taking a break,
drinking their water,
looking for their path.
Some you might not have noticed before.
Some of them are happy,
some sad,
some melancholy.
Others are busy guiding their children,
trying to protect them on the path,
to keep them motivated or directed.
You may wonder if you have the motivation to keep going.
You may question who is there to direct you on your path.
Other times you might notice roots on the path and they trip you up-
you might fall and skin something,
becoming raw and open.
Yet you keep on day after day because you don't feel like you have another choice.
As you climb you think it important to watch every step you take as you put one foot in front of the other,
to be fully present,
so as not to trip,
to avoid a fall.
But then you realize if you do that all the time-
you miss the view.
So at a certain point in your hike,
like at a certain point in your grief,
you start to notice things you didn't notice before.
Instead of always looking down and focusing on the rocks-
you start to notice the flowers,
the multitudes of beautiful wildflowers.
You notice their likenesses,
their differences,
and their colors.
It is like you are seeing them for the first time,
different beautiful aspects that they bring to the trail,
vitality they bring to the mountain,
and how they are fully alive.
You realize that even when you don't feel alive you may still be able to glean some inspiration in their ability to go on living.
You realize this changed perspective comes,
not because the flowers have changed,
but because you have changed.
And you cannot change your perspective back to the way you saw the flowers before-
because that part of you is gone.
The way you viewed the mountain before has changed through your experience.
Eventually you get to the top.
It can be sudden-
a moment when you just realize you are there.
You are startled by the realization,
like arriving upon a meadow hidden around a bend,
with colors of green you have never experienced before.
Wide open,
full of sunshine and wildflowers.
You never knew something so beautiful existed.
You feel amazed,
inspired and grateful.
And as you breathe the clean,
crisp,
fresh air between the heavy breaths of your weariness,
there is a sense of satisfaction that you made it.
YOU did it!
Despite the hardship and difficulty-
there is triumph.
It feels so liberating there,
you wish you could stay and relish the feeling,
always live in that awareness.
You accomplished something great-
you achieved something bigger than yourself.
You see that your spiritual awareness has expanded through the experience of the climb.
Then it starts to rain.
It's a light sprinkle, really.
You could probably just ignore it.
You realize as your wet hair starts to stick to your face-
You have to go back down.
There is no other way home.
despite your best intentions.
Seeing and experiencing new aspects of the mountain-
things you didn't see before.
Beautiful things,
delicate things,
animals,
hazards,
sad things-
like a broken flower that lies in the dirt of the trail,
separate from the rest of the thriving budded bush.
This little bud is destined to die.
The death of innocence touches you differently now.
You wish you could fix it,
save it from it's fate.
Seeing it there brings your thoughts back to your own loss,
your own fear,
Your own separation from the comfort,
from the safety and known expectation of the bush.
You wish for a break from the insanity of thought,
the demons that follow you,
whispering lies about what you need to do,
who you need to be,
how you will never be understood once you return from the mountain,
trying in vain to explain a perspective that is unknown to many.
So you breathe yourself back into the present moment,
focusing on the journey,
separating yourself from the false truths and preconceived notions.
You are aware now,
and in that awareness comes an ability to just be,
without the need to escape the feelings.
You can be present with the painful things in life.
And you have once again returned to yourself.
You notice the trees bidding you "good day,"
blowing softly in the wind.
You hear a bird sing a song that is new to your ears,
and you stop and take it all in.
You find your gratitude for that one small moment,
that one miracle amidst the pain,
and you know you will be OK.
You now know that the journey brought you healing.
You know how to get back from the mountain,
how to get back to yourself.
You have found your balance.
And you say thank you-
having found the gift in something so difficult.
Thank you.
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