Railroad Rapid ~ Youghiogheny River in Pennyslvania

The Youghiogheny River is in south western Pennsylvania. It's one of the top whitewater rivers in the tri-state region.  It's considered a class 3-4, which is standard jargon for kick-ass.  It has to do with the size of the rapids and volume of water in the channel and level of difficulty of passage; i.e. boulders, trees, falls, etc...  The day I floated down the "Yough" it was just one cubic foot below the closure stage.  That means it was running full and FAST. The guy at the rental office assured me that it was ideal conditions for a beginner, such as myself.  It was more "cushy" not as "choppy".   We had only planned to do just the first leg; 1 hour; roughly 4 miles.  Piece of cake, right?  The take-out: Railroad Rapids.
I tried not to feel like a complete idiot as the guides and my partner explained the last minute details to me.  I didn't want to seem nervous, but inside my heart was throbbing, my legs and arms: jelly.  In short, I was terrified.  I griped a little tighter to the paddle and wiggled myself snugly into the kayak.  I looked up at my partner for further instruction.  "Ok, now just paddle.  No matter what happens, just paddle your heart out!" and then he pushed me into the water.  All I could hear behind me was the roar of the water pouring over boulders.  I've always been more fearful of being 'found out a novice' than actually being a novice.  Even though I had the faintest idea what I was doing, I acted like I had been kayaking for years.  I even scoffed a few times as the guides or my partner tried to parlay vital information on the rapids.   Especially in front of the family of four that was behind me at the rental office.  I appeared to be in total control and even judged them for their utter lack of 'expertise'.  I mean, had they been going to the local pool for 'roll sessions' for that last month?  Had they read up on the latest statistics of the Youghiogheny River, the ecology, the designations of class of rapids???

This is not the Youghiogheny River.

So, here I was, me and the Youghiogheny River.  I began to totally regret agreeing to this trip.  I began to look longingly at the family of four sharing the double kayaks.  I was all alone in my own kayak.  My partner, who'd been kayaking for years, was behind me in his own kayak.  All these horrible thoughts passed through my head. Like, me, being tossed for minutes in the "washing machine" of Railroad Rapids and kayakers and guides trying desperately to get me out.  Them pulling my limp, dead, water-logged body ashore and my partner, scratching his head, saying something like, "but I don't understand, she was so athletic...."
So then my rational brain kicked in.  "How hard could this be?" I begin to think.  "The river will do most of the work; I just have to go with the flow".   Confidence surged through me.  I paddled like my life depended upon it.  Most likely, it did.  You know how in those last seconds just before you are about to do something stupid how everything kind of slows down.  Well, I remember the scratching of the boat against the algae covered rocks, the smell of dead craw-fish, and the sound of the rapids.  It's like I was dreaming.  Like it wasn't really happening.  My mouth was metallic, my knuckles were white.  It brought back a vivid memory of when my family went to Hershey Park when I was probably no more than 4 years old.  We decided to go down the Log Ride.  And they determined that due to height and weight factors, that I, the littlest, and youngest, should sit in the front.  It seemed like a brilliant idea at first.  But once we reached the top of the first drop I remember vividly, standing up and attempting to jump out of the log as the view in front of me dropped off.  There was a woman who worked the ride sitting at the top under an umbrella and she shouted, "NO!  Sit back down!" and my brother grabbed me and pushed me back into my seat.  And we teetered, tipped and dropped off the edge into the freakin' unknown!  I was terrified.  I don't think I shit my pants, but I wouldn't have put it past me.  I mean, how could you possibly expect a four-year-old to handle that kind of terror all on her own??
And here I was, on the water again, all alone.
The first few rapids passed me by without much notice.  I just 'paddled my heart out' and everything seem to work out fine.  I wouldn't say I was enjoying myself in the least, but at least I wasn't drowning.  My entire memory of the 4 mile trip blurs from the beginning to the very end when we arrived at Railroad Rapid.
Upon reaching Railroad Rapid, the last rapid of the trip, I was feeling okay.  I was feeling almost confident. There, the river widens and slows before channeling most of its energy into one particular rapid.  There was a railroad trestle (hence the name of the rapid) and a small sandy beach on the right.  Up above, there was a campground.  Some of the campers were sitting in chairs, drinking beers, watching the paddlers line up in the queue, awaiting to contend with the final assault in the four mile journey.
And then I noticed that a couple in a tandem kayak were somehow trapped at the mouth of the rapid.  There was only one way through; it wasn't like you had an open run at this thing.  You had to go through the one open rapid, otherwise you'd be trapped in a 'washing machine' or get stuck on debris.  They were literally stuck perpendicular to the rapid.  Just sitting there.
I held back as much as I could in the eddy but I couldn't hold myself back much longer.  Exhausted and kind of in shock, I just let myself drift towards the rapid.  As I approached their boat I made the fatal error of leaning upstream.  My boat tipped, I fell into the water and I remember looking up towards the light, which was coming through the opening of my boat.  I pressed my hands up and tried to overturn the boat, but it was wedged into the water and the boat of couple in the tandem kayak.  I was trapped.  Panicked, I kicked and probably screamed...to be honest, I don't remember what I did.  The next second, I was pulled under the boat ahead of me, into the washing machine.  I came up for a brief second, only to be pulled back under again.  I remember how the cool river water felt as it filled up my life vest.  I remember how the sounds of the people above the water were muffled.  I remember the contrast between the dark rocks and the sun penetrating the water.  I remember feeling the bottom of the boat above me as I passed under it into the rocks below.  I was forcefully tossed against the rocks at the bottom of the river.  I popped up again and there was my partner.  I reached out to him, and he yelled, "don't touch my boat!" and before I could react I was dragged back down.  I soon felt the rapid smooth out and I popped up again.  There was another boater who appeared and began yelling, "grab onto my boat!"  and he pulled me to shore.
I sat on the sandy beach, humiliated yet grateful for being safe.  My partner stood a good distance from me, I think, realizing just what an ass he had been.  I tried my hardest to hold back the tears.  I wanted to be strong and appear as though none of what just happened was a big deal.  But the tears came regardless and they flowed as free and as fast as the Youghiogheny.  After all, water does follow the path of least resistance

Two Wolves

I was sifting though some old papers; letters and journals.  Things I'd written down long ago and came across this.  Obviously, this wasn't mine; I mean, I did not write this.  It's an old Cherokee story.  One worth repeating. 

One evening an old Cherokee grandfather told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people.

He said, "My son, the battle is between two wolves.

One is Evil. It is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego.

The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather,

"Which wolf wins?"

The grandfather simply replied, "The one you feed."


~~~~~~~~~

In the Science of Mind philosophy there is often a point at which you'll ask, but what about darkness?  What about violence and malevolence in this world?  How can you explain that?  How can you suggest that we simply love our enemies?  And it's a difficult pill to swallow, but I think the best way to see it is like this: without the darkness, the light would be less brilliant.   Without struggle, the joy would be less appreciated.  Without loss, that which we have wouldn't seem as bountiful. 

Feeding the negativity in our lives only produces more negativity.  Feeding ignorance, arrogance, judgement, betrayal, dishonestly, etc...only feed that which will eventually consume you and those around you. 

But, feeding the love, the hope, serenity and empathy that is required to truly act as the way of God to express the divine gifts through you is a miraculously altruistic act that has mysterious ways of returning to you tenfold. 

I beseech of you to consider trying this, mindfully for ten days and see what results become from the experiment. 

Nameste.

The I of the Storm ~ Embracing Conflict, Creating Peace

I recently experienced the gift of attending a class at the Ventura Center for Spiritual Living called The I of the Storm.  It's based upon a book written by Gary Simmons.  The basic premise is like that of many personal development philosophies: change your thoughts, change your life.  In the book, there is of course, many a case study on the manner in which the tools (I encourage you to purchase the book for more detailed information on the tools) are applied.  I especially enjoyed how Reverend Bonnie Rose was able to draw out class members into a logical, yet hilarious discovery of what is.  And that, my friends, is tonight's topic.

Many of you may be aware that I recently survived a bit of trauma.  I mean, at the time I was experiencing it, to me, it was a horrifying and life debilitating/all-consuming hell. But now, I do see how, being a survivor of domestic violence, is for me.  How, in some miraculous way, it helped me remember who I am.  My authentic self, as a religious scientist may prefer to describe it, actually leads to conscious doing and that is in some blessed way, an expression of God.  And, oh shit, I don't mean, like freaky, Jesus saved my soul, kind of God.  Or Armageddon gonna kill us all kind of God.  But more of a gentler, approachable God (or Goddess if you so choose) who really, in all aspects is expressed through you and your behaviors and beliefs.  Isn't that amazing?

Anyway, Gary Simmons said that when we don't speak the truth we are being in the way of God.  It's a strategy most of us learned as children because we've been raised to blend in.  We found that by meeting other people's needs first and forgetting our own, we somehow "fit in" better.  But when we do that, we diminish ourselves for the sake of other's comfort, we lose the very connection to God/Goddess.  And, that's quite frankly, when the shit often hits the fan.  Or, in my case, it wasn't shit, but a bicycle being launched at me by a 6'5", 210 lb angry man. 

So, as a part of this course, we were supposed to present what we had gotten out of the 10 weeks we had been together; meeting after work, after life, on Thursday evenings, sharing, crying, laughing....  Reverend Bonnie had asked us to bring something that we could share that would represent our change, our growth, our discovery.  And me, being me, as I am, without plan and/or often any real concentration in the minor details of life, showed up to class without anything.  But, that, my friends, was part of God's way of acting through me.

As I allowed God/Goddess to center inside of me, I became calm and totally connected with myself, my inner being.  And I knew exactly what I had brought that was of significance:  Myself.  So, when it came time to share my knowledge with the class, I am super proud to say that I stood up and roughly said this:

First off, I started with a breath.  In....and out....  "That was the first thing I regained from this class.  Focus on Breath.  The second thing I discovered, was,  that for most of my life, I have diminished myself, tried to hide my personality, make apologies for who I am in order to accommodate those around me.  I have always served others before me, made excuses for my thoughts, feelings and my very presence.  I've played the victim and hid from my role and responsibilities in my life.  What this class has taught me was that if I don't show up in life, then I am not present in my life and therefore I am not living my life.  And, frankly, my son really needs me.  I am needed here, right now.  I am important.  I'm not a victim.  I am beautiful.  I am Amazing.   There is nothing and no one against me.  It's all for me.  So, to share with you tonight, my classmates, I brought myself.  I am un-apologetically, gracefully, energetically here.  I am present.  I am whole.  I am here.  I am good enough." 

And shit, if I don't tell you how amazing that felt.  The room melted and people hugged me.  I really, really believe that I do have a space in this world and damn it if I'm not going to let someone ever, ever close me out again.  And I meet these people all the time.  They shut you out before you get a chance to shine your light.  They do it out of fear.  They do it out of pain.  They do it because they are not connected.  And isn't that so funny why the Internet and smart phones are so popular?  Because they keep people connected. 

But they do so in such an artificial way.  I was just reading some excerpts from recent graduation speeches.  This one, by Jonathan Franzen at Kenyon College, particularly stood out for me.  He was speaking about how this younger generation is so connected with their Blackberries and iPhone's and how we've transformed the verb "Like" to mean something more than the action of choice, but to a consumer preference.  We've become consumers of of our own lives, our own expressions, our possessions.  He said, "trying to be completely likable is incompatible with loving relationships."  I'd even add, living relationships to that statement.  Eventually, you will discover that we are all just humans, ugly, embarrassing, fearful, judgemental, etc...being, well, being you.  And I personally, totally got what he meant. 

Yes, I was a Ski Instructor in Tahoe....that's funny

I moved out to Lake Tahoe from Emporium, Pennsylvania after graduating from West Virginia University in 1995.  I grew up in a small, rural town; population roughly 2,500.  One stop light in the whole county.  Moving to Morgantown, WV for college was like "big time" for me.  I mean there were like five stop lights downtown alone!  So, Lake Tahoe was very much like home for me immediately.  There were only two stop lights between our cabin and my place of employment, which in itself, has a funny story attached to it. 

When I moved out to Tahoe, I purchased a one-way ticket and really, like much of what I've done in my life, had no plan.  I just wanted to get out of Emporium.  I moved out with my boyfriend at the time.  He had family that lived in Reno, NV and Lake Tahoe was just a stones throw away.  Coming into the Tahoe Basin for the first time must be amazing for anyone.  You drive up this curvy road with mountains all around you then suddenly they fall away and this expansive, gleaning lake inside a bowl of snow-capped peaks sits before you.  I was needless-to-say, captivated by the entire region from day one. 

I am an athletic girl, so the thought of working at a ski resort didn't scare me, even though I didn't know how to ski.  I figured it couldn't be that hard, after all, my boyfriend had been skiing his whole life.  ; )

I met the woman who ran the ski school.  She was a fiery, petite woman from New Zealand.  She looked me over, called one of my references right there with me in the room and hired me on the spot!  She said to me and I will always remember this, "Jill, I'm not hiring you because you can ski; I'm hiring you because I like you.  Don't let me down." 

So, my boyfriend's mother gave me all of her used ski equipment, from the 70's and off I went.  Imagine me entering the ski school the first morning.  There, with my grocery bag filled with 1970's era ski garb, totally unprepared for the utter coolness of the teens who worked in the center.  I mean, come on, they live in Incline Village, NV, aka Income Village.  They eat, breathe, sleep coolness.  I'm from BFE Pennsyla-tucky.  I know that you could hear a pin drop as they all turned around to check me out.  And when I busted out the ski suit, well, I'm surprised that there wasn't more of a reaction.  I will give them that. 

I've never been downhill skiing before.  Okay, there was that one or two times I went to Wisp, MD for what they called "Two for Tuesday" night skiing.  To me it was more like a torturous military exercise in fear-based psychological warfare.  I mean, first of all it was freezing.  Second, the "snow" was hard-packed ice.  And finally, it was AT NIGHT!  So, when the ski instructor called for us to all put on our gear and head up the mountain for a group lesson I was absolutely terrified.  I looked at the ski school director who hired me and said, "you don't expect me to go up there, do you?" and she just smiled at me with this look on her face like, "get out there or your out!".  Gulp.

So, I got on the chair lift without much trouble.   Sitting on the chair, floating up, up the side of the mountain, I looked down.  I could see jagged boulders peaking out of the snow drifts.  There was a group of student racers practicing going through the gates.  They couldn't have been more than ten years old and they were flying down the hillside.  I looked back behind me and there was Lake Tahoe, more magnificent and stunning as ever.  It was time to prepare to exit the chair lift.  Double Gulp.

Okay, smooth sailing.  I didn't fall down.  I made it.  The slope sort of gently rolled off to the left.  "This is easy" I said to myself.  I joined the others in formation.  The director gave us some pointers and some other kind of instructions that I really didn't understand.  "I can totally fake this" I thought to myself.  So, one by one the student instructors all started down the hillside in front of us.  One by one I saw them drop off this rather precipitous edge of a freaking cliff that no one in their right mind should be going down, let alone with these freaking contraptions called skis on their feet.  I came to the edge.  I was the last in line.   The entire class was lined up perfectly mid-way down the slope, looking at me; waiting.  Triple Gulp. 

I thought I could just turn around. I think I even said that out loud at one point "is there another way down this fucking hill?"  I frantically looked for an out.   A broken ankle?  I'm suddenly coming down with a fever?  Something?  No.  I had to do this.  I had to ski down the hill in front of all of these god-forsaken trust-funders way too-cool for school teeny-boppers!!!! 

So, down I went and at first everything sort of blacked out.  I may have closed my eyes.  I dropped into the slope, "pizza, pizza, PIZZA!!"  and my legs, toes, heels, knees, hips, everything gave out from under me and I slid face up beneath the ski school director.  I literally slid like 15 feet down the line in front of those kids and landed right there, looking up at her with this sort of, "well, I told you I didn't know how to ski" look.  She warmly smiled at me and called for one of her lead instructors to take me to the bunny slope. 

Humiliated yet grateful that was finally over with I gladly "pizza-ed" my way down to the bunny slope.  The instructor was very sweet to me.  She made me feel okay about what happened.  I honestly didn't have a problem with it at all.  After a few runs on the bunny slope I was actually skiing.  By the end of the season I was skiing black diamonds, snow boarding and learning how to telemark.  I told you I was an athlete. 

Never once did one of those kids make fun of me.  Never once.  I look back on that experience as one which truly helped me grow as a person.  I mean, forever, I would have that moment in my memory bank to help me keep my chin up no matter what embarrassing thing would present itself.  Deep down I am a good person, who can be charming and fun.  By the end of that first season I had developed real friendships with some of those instructors.  By the second season I was getting private lesson requests.  I went from not knowing how to ski to being a ski instructor in one season....I guess, growing up in Pennsylvania, I never had planned that to happen in my life and yet it did.

Lago de los Tres ~ True Story

So, there I was after flying for hours from Buenos Aires south to El Calafate, traveling via bus five hours to El Chaten, weary and feeling lost, standing in front of this vast, green, glacial-filled valley with the peak of Fitzroy and the rest of Cordon Adela there in front of me. The ranger said that we had arrived with luck because it isn't often that one can actually see the peak so clearly.  Usually it's shrouded in clouds and fog.  We've got less than three hours to obtain our final supplies and find a decent camp spot before it's too late.  I rush into the center of the tiny aldea, El Chaten.  No more than an outpost for hikers and climbers, the rough town is located on the often disputed boarder between Chile and Argentina in southern Patagonia region. 

I planned to stay a week in this area, between El Chaten and El Calafate to hike and check out the glaciers.  It was an amazing couple of days overall, but one particular day stands out in my memory.  It was the day I decided to day hike to Lago de los Tres.  I was told by a local guide I had met that it wasn't safe to hike it alone.  He was leading a group of English trekkers that morning and encouraged me to join them.  I tried to hang with them for awhile, but the peak was calling out to me and they were too slow. 

I broke free and started trail running through the valley.  It started off fairly mild with undulating dips and peaks through emerald green forests.  It rained the night before so everything was alive and vibrant.  I felt the energy of the entire universe surging through me.  I wasn't even aware at how fast I was going until I reached the base of the trail to the summit before noon. 

I took a brief rest and then began to climb up the steep and winding trail leading to the top, where supposedly I'd fine 3 lakes and a spectacular view of the valley.  The maps and signs all say that the trail is only recommended for experienced climbers.  I didn't worry because I have plenty of miles under my belt from Yosemite and the Sierras.  No way could it be more treacherous than some of the hikes we climbed in the Hoover Wilderness!?

As I climbed higher and higher, the wind began to blow fiercely.  The rocks were slippy and it started to snow.  I only had a small day pack, a light-weight shell and trail running shoes.  I slipped a few times.  At the switch-backs I literally had to hold onto the rocks or I felt as if I'd be blown off the mountain.  At this point I couldn't see above me or below me.  I was caught in this mid-world between what I knew and what was unknown.  Part of me wanted to go back to safety.  But my body pushed me forward.  I was terrified.  I mean, here I was in the middle of Patagonia, alone, and no one really knew where I was.  If I fell, I could be lost for days.

The wind kept pelting me with sleet and rain.  I clung to the side of the rocks with each switch back I reassured myself that I needed to finish this climb.  There was no way I was backing down.  I wasn't going to be afraid.  Finally, after much struggle I reached the top.  For a brief second I could see over into the other valley with the three lakes.  The clouds swirled around and closed off my view.  I was surrounded by fog and clouds.  I couldn't tell where I was at all.  I had no view below me from either side. 

I burst out laughing!  I mean, to come all this way, for what?  A photo of me with ruddy cheeks and clouds?  Of course.  That's exactly why I came here.  The storm grew worse and it was close to sunset.  I had to get down off the mountain quickly.  Going down wasn't any easier.  In fact, it was kind of worse. 

Once I made it down below the worst of the weather I stopped for a second to catch my breath.  I swore I could hear voices.  Was I going crazy?  No, it was another group.  A group of three young travelers from Israel.  "Should they go on?"  they asked?  "Can you see anything?"  they pressed.  "Is it worth it?" they cried.  I laughed.  I laughed so hard until I cried.  I said to them, "it's only worth it if you want it to be".  I smiled as I turned downhill, "you'll see what you want to see" I said and I started down the mountain feeling wise and accomplished.  It was such an amazing feeling to have conquered that peak, survived and come across other travelers who were there asking me if they should go on.  The irony is that only minutes ago I was just as lost and scared as they were.  But now I was exhilarated and confident.  Funny how things can change so quickly.

I got back into town just as it was getting dark.  I sat in a cafe drinking hot chocolate and I wrote myself a post-card.  I told myself to remember this day forever; especially on those days when I am just not quite sure if it's worth it to keep going.  What's ahead? I may ask myself.  And the answer is invariably, whatever I chose to see.

So this starts now....

Okay, so this is weird. Because my whole life I wanted to be a 'writer' and right here and now, tonight, I decided to take a step forward (in this often overwhelming and competitive) digital age to start what I had started so long ago in the form of personal observations in my journal since I was able to write.  And yes, I know that the split infinitive is “WRONG”, but I swear I love it because it flows with my personality, so back off grammar freaks.
So, who else wants to be a writer? Anyone? The funny part of that question is that there is a hidden assumption. Who wants to be a "published writer" is more appropriate. I mean, after all, don't we all want some kind of gratification for our efforts?
It's like today. I went to work. I did my job. I exercised. I watched what I ate. I went to counseling. I went to class. I came home and expected some kind of reward. There wasn't really anything except a few dirty dishes and some stale chocolate.
The big deal today was that my soon-to-be-ex and I went to co-parenting classes. That's a big deal considering that just 5 months ago he threw a bike in my direction in unrestricted anger.  I mean, to me, that's a big deal. What do you think? Anyway, we are going to go through 8 weeks of this personalized class. And it hit me: my parents never went to a class. Neither did his... Do most parents go through parenting classes or is it kind of the luck of the draw? I see the 'bad' parents from time to time at Target or Von's. They are shouting back at their kids without regard for who hears them.
One day, I remember this vividly, this guy was like saying to his two year old daughter at the check out, "sweetie, we'll take this video home but it's mine; it comes back to Daddy's house, it doesn't stay at Mommy's" and the little girl began to whine about seeing her Mommy and he looked right at me and said, "sweetheart, you don't get to see Mommy today; today is Daddy's day and that is what the court said. Talk to the judge if you want it different". He look at me instead of her. It was odd. And I just smiled, like, as if he had just said to me, "how about those Jet's?" and frankly I don't follow sports teams so I can't guarantee that I would smile in that case.
What is our society doing? We are crumbling and I mean beyond the seams....we are dying right in front of our very eyes and all we can do is up our cable subscription and call the maid to help us out just one more day per week. When, when I ask, did our society become so disposable? When did it become a pick up line to share our personal travails in the line at the supermarket? How desperate have we become?
Anyway, how does that get back to me and writing? Well, shit, I think I've written a few hundred words and shit if I know if anyone will read it. But it sure is fun enough for me. 
 I guess that's why the Internet is so popular in this day and age. It feeds our inner psyche's need to feel heard. And being heard, I mean, really understood is amazing.