For some reason, my bike ride today reminded me of Alaska in a way more intense than anything else has reminded me about Alaska for a long time. Perhaps it was the evening light, which seemed practically eternal when cast by the sun's low angle. Maybe it was the smell of sweat mixed with sunscreen on my skin, or maybe the fact that I was just a little too tired, but enjoying the experience nonetheless.
Maybe it's because this month, one of the inner voices I always used to have has been coming back in a big way. The one that always made me feel so inspired, the one that finds strength in introspection, the one that goes crazy over vast landscapes. THE VOICE THAT PUT POEMS IN MY HEAD. I had the shocking realization just last week that I stopped writing when I got back from Alaska. Let that sink in for a minute.
Sure, that artist's voice dominated when I was traveling, but in a different way. Then, it made me what I diagnosed as idealistic, naive, and desperately spiritual, what with all the yoga and meditation that I thought would help me have an authentic experience and somehow make the wider world sphere.
And you know what? I've been doing yoga at least once a week for the past month and I feel like my brain has been swept clean with a broom. But I don't know if it's all the revelations I've had this past month that have made space for me to motivate myself to go to yoga, or if going to yoga has cleared up the space in my brain that allowed the revelations to enter.
After all, space is a landscape in two conceptually distinct ways, and we love and fear both of them. Literally, human beings are not evolved to live without large open spaces in our lives (think Peninsula rolling hills as you go on a pre-sunset bike ride), and these spaces are very powerful. Also, we need space in our minds, space from too much human interaction, space whist in our romantic endeavors in order to experience all those things that make us unique and loveable. But too much space from others makes us lonely and depressed, and too much space in our surroundings creates vertigo.
Like Tereza and Tomas, I maintain that vertigo is not the fear of falling, but the fear of our desire to fall - so we need the open spaces, yet we live in constant fear of getting sucked into them. Quoting a "Women of Dartmouth" speaker - "Of course I think about death in that 'Are you ever driving and think you could just not turn here' way." And when climbing, why are we afraid of falling? The falling itself is fine. It is the decision to fall (or lack of decision) that is terrifying, and the aftermath can be quite gnarly. Back to Alaska, when one of our teachers said that he had horizontal vertigo in Antarctica - the landscape was so identical that if he started off running in one direction, he would never find his way back to the base.
My relationship with open space has always been clear and uncomplicated. My relationship of emotional space, on the other hand, has been playing a perpetual cat-and-mouse game with all the other things going on in my life. Rebuilding that relationship has been one hell of a ride, and it's been so interesting and rewarding to watch it coming together this past month.
After I spent the winter feeling like everything around me was happening to me without my control, this spring it feels like everything is coming together with my control and I can take an active role in it. There are years that ask questions, and years that are answers. The year whose first anniversary it is on May 20th is definitely a year that was an answer!!
Maybe it's because this month, one of the inner voices I always used to have has been coming back in a big way. The one that always made me feel so inspired, the one that finds strength in introspection, the one that goes crazy over vast landscapes. THE VOICE THAT PUT POEMS IN MY HEAD. I had the shocking realization just last week that I stopped writing when I got back from Alaska. Let that sink in for a minute.
Sure, that artist's voice dominated when I was traveling, but in a different way. Then, it made me what I diagnosed as idealistic, naive, and desperately spiritual, what with all the yoga and meditation that I thought would help me have an authentic experience and somehow make the wider world sphere.
And you know what? I've been doing yoga at least once a week for the past month and I feel like my brain has been swept clean with a broom. But I don't know if it's all the revelations I've had this past month that have made space for me to motivate myself to go to yoga, or if going to yoga has cleared up the space in my brain that allowed the revelations to enter.
After all, space is a landscape in two conceptually distinct ways, and we love and fear both of them. Literally, human beings are not evolved to live without large open spaces in our lives (think Peninsula rolling hills as you go on a pre-sunset bike ride), and these spaces are very powerful. Also, we need space in our minds, space from too much human interaction, space whist in our romantic endeavors in order to experience all those things that make us unique and loveable. But too much space from others makes us lonely and depressed, and too much space in our surroundings creates vertigo.
Like Tereza and Tomas, I maintain that vertigo is not the fear of falling, but the fear of our desire to fall - so we need the open spaces, yet we live in constant fear of getting sucked into them. Quoting a "Women of Dartmouth" speaker - "Of course I think about death in that 'Are you ever driving and think you could just not turn here' way." And when climbing, why are we afraid of falling? The falling itself is fine. It is the decision to fall (or lack of decision) that is terrifying, and the aftermath can be quite gnarly. Back to Alaska, when one of our teachers said that he had horizontal vertigo in Antarctica - the landscape was so identical that if he started off running in one direction, he would never find his way back to the base.
My relationship with open space has always been clear and uncomplicated. My relationship of emotional space, on the other hand, has been playing a perpetual cat-and-mouse game with all the other things going on in my life. Rebuilding that relationship has been one hell of a ride, and it's been so interesting and rewarding to watch it coming together this past month.
After I spent the winter feeling like everything around me was happening to me without my control, this spring it feels like everything is coming together with my control and I can take an active role in it. There are years that ask questions, and years that are answers. The year whose first anniversary it is on May 20th is definitely a year that was an answer!!
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