Rather than join a workshop on ‘healing the sacred feminine’, I chose to participate in absentia, taking myself for a walk in nature. I believed I was heading up a lovely river path, one I had explored the day prior in search of a rumored waterfall. Yet in one spontaneous moment I veered left, gently parting a prickly blackberry branch draped dangerously across the path, in the direction of up (a mountain).
Left, as an aspect of the feminine essence, is a path into the unknown. The masculine would have been direct – a straight(ish), purposeful path towards a known goal.
Something was at play, and I trusted my intuition without hesitation, not missing the irony of this change in direction.
As I climbed higher and higher I became increasingly aware of the eventual inevitability of needing to come back down. The lose gravel path was steep, narrow and uneven, and the mid-morning Mediterranean sun was getting hotter.
Experience reminded me that going up, although challenging, was likely to be easier than going down. A metaphor for many journeys in life, in accordance with the English idiom: what goes up must come down!
It holds too for any journey away from the comfort of the known, whether a walk up a new mountain path, a venture to an unfamiliar place, a Shamanic trip into altered states of being and non-ordinary realities, or even the cycle of life itself, or the turn of each new day. For all of these there is the preparation we may have made, what we do and don’t have available in the experience, some risk and challenge, and an opportunity for discovery and new awareness.
For this particular journey up the mountain path I felt refreshed from a good sleep and breakfast, and had a light scarf I could use as shade from the sun. My shoes were of the barefoot variety, with minimal sole, questionable grip/tread, and definitely no ankle support (although they did allow me to feel connected to the earth – I felt every stone).
What I didn’t have was water, or support – there was no mobile signal, and no one knew where I was. Planning (or the lack thereof) for the unknown mystery of life is not without flaws.
Heading out, going up… there’s a point where one must eventually reach a ‘furthest point’, changing direction to return back… in this instance, back down. I didn’t know where the path I was following went or what its furthest point might be, and yet there was a sense of there being a ‘top’ I could potentially reach.
There was also a sense of reaching an inner limit which, as I climbed higher, began to take preference over needing to get anywhere specific, other than ‘back’ safely. The thing with reaching a limit, in this kind of journey, is it tends only to be halfway – the midpoint of the journey. This being the case, there’s a very good chance the return journey will stretch that limit.
Coming down can be more challenging than going up. This is good to remember. I suspect the same is true in reverse, but for now I will stick with the metaphor of coming down after a high. Drug users know this one all too well, and I recall the same feelings after coming home from being on holiday as a child.
Stopping my assent up the mountain track to return back down, my focus is on safety – aware of the heat, lack of water, and instability of each delicate step. I’m vulnerable. I am also reminded of a sense of gentle care and quite patience, a kind of self-preservation in challenging circumstances I was once shown on a medicine journey.
Using the scarf to shield me from the sun. Allowing for double the time to go down as it took to go up, so I can slow the fuck down. Stepping with such consideration and care demands focused presence, and is demanding on my leg muscles. The promise of a cool river at the bottom supplies a subtle dopamine hit. And I have my breath, which I can use in support… breath and sound if needed. This moment, and each next step, were all that existed.
The journey back down can be rough, and feels dangerous. To the extent that it’s possible, preparation prior to the journey can make it easier. Add to this any foundation practices developed for being mindfully present, slowing down, engaging self-compassion, using breath to regulate the nervous system… this all applies to any experiential journey that takes one high.
Step by step… and then there was the threshold: the boom of blackberry still guarding the path, marking my return to level ground, and a divinely refreshing river.
