The Problem with the Serenity Prayer...

Stanley, Part 2

Writing about Veriditas and life emerging from devastation is a joyful activity.  Describing the beauty of the greater Stanley area is easy.  But the trip last weekend had another aspect to it which is more difficult to address.  

I didn't cope with the altitude - not at all.  I couldn't breathe, and my heart issue was aggravated in a way that made it unsafe for me to stay in Stanley any longer than was necessary to fulfill my obligations.  It didn't take me long to realize what was happening, and the awareness that I could not be at altitude not only aggravated my heart, but it also broke it.  The mountains are my home, and I can't be there right now.  Not in my second favorite place in the world, and most certainly not in my most favorite and sacred place in the world.  I cannot go "home" - not like this.

This realization unsettled me to the core.  In times of great joy and tragedy I have returned to the mountains for strength and solace.  I have found courage there, and inspiration, and hope.  And love - I have been enveloped by love and acceptance in the mountains in a way that defies explanation.  There are places that know me by name, and welcome me home.

But not now - not as things are.  And I feel strangely orphaned.  Adrift.  Isolated.  Alone.  

I close my eyes and step out of my car in the car park of the East Inlet Trail and start walking up to the trailhead.  Soon I am deep in the forest where once I almost collided with a Moose that had little interest in sharing the trail with me.  I begin the gentle climb up to "steps" that lead past the turn off to Adams Falls.  I few more steep steps and there is a small clearing where I can watch the rapids from a rock where I rest in front of a small pine that, for the past twenty-four years, has enjoyed a drink from my water bottle.  We chat about the previous winter, and I head along the narrow trail until descending into the first meadow, and my thoughtful spot.  There I sit on my favorite rock and gaze at old Baldy.  God has touched me in that meadow - it is the very definition of liminal space.  I sit there and watch the sun come up - in my mind - and rest until it is time to climb back down again.  It is a joyous walk - even with two bad knees.  But I can only walk it in my memory.  

And I cry - and wonder - is this one of those times in life where I fight to regain what has been lost, or do I accept and adapt?   I don't mind the desert, and am fond of the ocean - perhaps this is one of those times of letting go.  Or maybe it is a time to fight.  Maybe both.  Maybe neither.  

The trouble with the Serenity Prayer is that the events of life do not come clearly labelled:   this one is something I can change, but this one over here is something I cannot change.  And the wisdom that is called for is also not always obvious...

... unless wisdom is that space of not knowing ... where you wait instead of react and allow time to unfold the story more fully... so that memory, mind and heart can discern what requires acceptance, and what calls forth the warrior's response.

I cannot go home to the mountains - not now.    May God help me to listen as I rest in this waiting space ... my heart broken wide open ...

Blessings,

Kim