Night Flying

Night Flying Woman by Shula Singer Arbel

What color are the feathers you don't know you have?

I think it's time for another leap. This one won't be quite as scary as the last one. That one just about undid us - all of use. But, by now I'm almost sure I know how to fly. Maybe it will be a little awkward at first, with a lot of hopping about and sore arms, but I'll get there. Maybe that is why my elbows hurt? I keep waking up with sore elbows. Seems as though flying in my sleep would be something I'd remember, but maybe not. 

Fear of falling

A few years ago I was doing some research in the highlands of Chiapas, Mexico. A lot of the people I wanted to talk to lived in remote areas where roads were more like trails and walks were more like hikes. I remember walking through the woods along a beautiful stream. The water was clear and cold, I was tempted to drink from it as I might have when I was a child drinking straight from Lake Pend Oreille. However, among other nasty diseases, leptospirosis is known to run in those waters. I would have to settle for hopping across the stones and over to the other side of the stream where a woman half my size and twice my age was selling commercially bottled water chilled by the stream. My travel companion, in nothing more than simple leather sandals skipped lightly from one stone to the next until she arrived on the opposite side of the stream. I - dressed in supposedly skid-free soled hiking boots (i.e. the so called appropriate footwear for this terrain) - found myself slipping and sliding from one stone to another. I did exactly what I should not do, I went rigid, resisted falling, waved my arms around and...by some miracle did not fall into the stream, but rather stumbled gracelessly up the other side.

As I sat drinking my cool water, I thought about what had happened. Why had Caro been able to skip across so lightly while I struggled to stay out of the water? It wasn’t the shoes, that’s for damn sure. The difference was inside. She was not afraid to fall, I was. But we all know that the worst thing you can do in a fall is to try to control it. Going rigid is the worst thing to do if you want to regain your balance.

Of those who’ve sought to bring Buddhist thinking to westerners Pema Chodron is among my favorites.  She often reminds her readers that control is an illusion and that one must aim to relinquish control, or rather, the idea that one can be in control. I was trying to keep myself from falling because I am afraid of it, but by actively trying to prevent it I was making it happen. Balance is related to flow and fluidity, trust in the body and in finding your own center. It is not about control.

Over the years I’ve learned that when a desire to be in control gets the better of me, things don’t work out so well. A dunk in the stream would not have been the worst outcome I’ve brought on myself.  

So, if what I want to achieve leaping before looking without falling, I am going to have to stop being afraid of falling, aren’t I?

Lesson learned: No leaping and fearing. The only way to leap is with trust that you can land on the other side, or at the bottom, in good form.

Change gon' come...

You know that feeling you get when you know change is coming and it's what you are looking for, but you don't know what shape it's going to come in? The feeling of fear mixed with curiosity is intense. I´ve been in Mexico for nine years. When I arrived here I did not speak the language, I did not know anyone, and I was not all together welcome, though people were very nice to me. For a protracted period of time I felt somehow mute and muted. Not being able to communicate, not being sure of my place in the new environment, and having no idea what to believe of the crazy things people kept saying to me about the dangers of Mexico City, I found myself living in a queazy space of uncertainty and doubt. Simply venturing out to buy an umbrella was an exercise in courage and adventure given my limitations at that time. And yet, I did go out and buy an umbrella. And I got on a bus and went to another town. And when I got to that town, I took my little phrase book with me and I got lost, and wound up with food I did not think I was asking for. But I ended up with a full belly, got where I was going to, and even made some new acquaintances. By the time I returned to the big taco after that trip I had decided that there was nothing for it but to trust my instincts and assume that at least most of the basic rules for the streetwise applied just as well in Mexico City as they would in New York City (pre-Guliani New York, that is).

Recently this image has been making the rounds on facebook:

I think it is spot on.
In the summer of 2003 I made a leap into the unknown - it was so unknown that I had no idea how to fathom it ahead of time. If I had, I might not have made the leap. Now, nine years later, I am so glad that I did. In those intervening years I´ve grown and learned and become more of the person I want to be. There's no way to know if I could have achieved that had I opted to stay in a zone of comforting, if dissatisfying, familiarity. Since I arrived in Mexico I have had to jump off into the unknown countless times. Sometimes into harrowing experiences I hope I´ll never have to go through again, other times into the greatest adventures of my life. If magic is an ingredient in an interesting life, then you have to step out of, fall out of, be dragged out of your comfort zone.

Now that I've made the decision to make a new leap I am feeling more and more at ease with the choice. To all who may read this I wish you a joyous and purposeful 2013. I have high hopes for the coming days and months, not just for me but for all of us.

Waving hello to whatever comes next

Once, a long time ago, I bought a bath bomb that was called "Waving Not Drowning." I tucked the light blue sphere into my backpack and pedaled towards home in the rain. Happy notions of sinking into a steamy hot bath full of bubbles kept me from feeling grumpy about the rain and the cars splashing past covering me with road grit. The bath bomb promised relaxation and a good night's sleep, those cars could honk at me all the way home so long as I could get into the tub once I got there. And I did. It was exactly what I had hoped it would be. I wafted off to bed on a heavenly scent cloud thanks to that little fizzy ball.

At the time I did not know that the little bomb of happiness took its name from a poem entitled Not Waving But Drowning by Stevie Smith. When I stumbled upon the poem I remember thinking, how odd to have turned the meaning around and yet kept it in tact at the same time. In both cases one sinks into the watery depths, one waves, and at some point, in both cases there is a peaceful letting go. But the sleep of the bath bomb was not eternal. I wonder what Ms. Smith would think of this transposition of words changing so fundamentally the meaning of her work? Would she mind? Did it matter? 

In naming this blog I am making a similar attempt to re-signify an old phrase by reordering the words, but staying close to the essential meaning. As we move through life we are forever being told to watch where we are going, mind our step, and look before leaping. The implication seems to be that by using caution and seeing what's ahead, we will somehow be better off. It plays right into the idea that we are, somehow, in control and able to stay out of trouble in one way or another if only we mind what we are doing. Yet for all that precarious looking about we still fall into predicaments, mental traps, or worse.

Lately, I've been wondering if all that looking and seeing are so helpful. In fact, sometimes I think it prevents possibilities, short circuits spontaneity, deepens the groove of the rut we are already in.

Could it be that the leap without looking first might be ok? Or better yet, that leaping into the unknown will lead to something unexpected and challenging? What if not knowing what's there turns out to be the only way to get to somewhere new and unexpected? I've had a few experiences with the blind leap over time - some with happy endings, others more akin to the muddy ride home mentioned above. But none have been the kind of experience that leads me to say "I'll never make that mistake again, from now on it's eyes ahead, no move made before we know what's out there!" I suspect that reaching that conclusion would only lead to boredom (what could be worse than boredom?). 

So, after a few years of making small leaps into the unknown with experiences such as KitchenParty, road trips with no maps, and following my intuition rather than force of habit, it seems time to consider larger leaps with bigger unknowns. This blog will be the place where I record the experience of leaping before looking. Simply sharing the experience in this way is a version of putting myself out there in the realm of the unknown and uncontrolled. 

Welcome to Leap Before Looking. The first hop is to push the "publish" button. Doesn't sound all that complicated, does it? Only for those already comfortable with the leap.