“Nobody ever said this would be easy, this process of evolving.“ 

The following poem by Rashini reminds me that I achieve wholeness by willingly traversing even the most challenging portions of the trail.  

This is a poem for those moments we all reach at some point, when we each need reminding that the “only way out is through.”   I find that both literally – hiking a steep trail, or portaging a canoe on a seemingly endless carry between lakes – and metaphorically  - through both work and personal travails – I find success in two ways: accepting what is, and keeping one eye toward where I am going.

On a long carry between lakes, often through dense forest cover, accepting what is means I don’t fight my canoe’s mass pressing down into my shoulders.  I move with vs. against my challenges.  I keep my breath relaxed and low, stay fully present with my own sensations and each attentively placed footfall amidst moss-covered rocks, across fallen timber, or skirting the edges of deep bog.  

At the same time, I keep my vision in mind: where am I heading, and why.   This thread helps steady me and keep my going through every challenge.   On a portage, this vision is ‘the first glorious glimpse of blue’ – that first sighting of water between trees that helps me know that I do have all I need, that I will succeed, that I will reach water once again.

 We all will.   With willingness, center, breath, and vision, we will all reach the water on the other side.

But Rashini says it better than I do…

There is brokenness

out of which comes the

unbroken,

a shatteredness out of

which blooms the unshatterable.

There is sorrow

beyond all grief which leads

to joy

and fragility

out of whose depths emerges

strength.

There is a hollow space

too vast for words

through which we pass

with each loss

out of whose darkness we

are sanctioned into being.

There is a cry deeper than

all sound

whose serrated edges cut

into the heart

as we break open

to the place inside which

is unbreakable

and whole

while learning to sing.

What helps you cultivate willingness?

What helps you center inside of challenge so that you can stop fighting ‘what is’?

What is your vision? 

What will help you stay in touch with your vision every day, no matter how challenging the trail?

We don’t always have the answers, but we can cultivate a willingness to go exploring in search of new questions, and new answers. 

Where might a healthy dose of willingness open up new doors for you today?

I share this reading, which I heard tonight for the first time in several years, as a universal invitation into our deepest selves.  In addition, immersed in training this week about how to partner across differences, I share this with a renewed appreciation in these questions as great measures for willingness and capacity to engage in meaningful partnership processes on any level.  The more we can step into these places, the more we bring, and can share, even if it is not clear which journey we are on!

The Invitation

by Oriah Mountain Dreamer

It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart’s longing.

It doesn’t interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive.

It doesn’t interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the centre of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life’s betrayals or have become shrivelled and closed from fear of further pain.

I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it, or fade it, or fix it.

I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own; if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, be realistic, remember the limitations of being human.

It doesn’t interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know if you can disappoint another to be true to yourself. If you can bear the accusation of betrayal and not betray your own soul. If you can be faithless and therefore trustworthy.

I want to know if you can see Beauty even when it is not pretty every day. And if you can source your own life from its presence.

I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine, and still stand at the edge of the lake and shout to the silver of the full moon, ‘Yes.’

It doesn’t interest me to know where you live or how much money you have. I want to know if you can get up after the night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone and do what needs to be done to feed the children.

It doesn’t interest me who you know or how you came to be here. I want to know if you will stand in the centre of the fire with me and not shrink back.

It doesn’t interest me where or what or with whom you have studied. I want to know what sustains you from the inside when all else falls away.

I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and if you truly like the company you keep in the empty moments.

If we want to live fully, we’ve got to give it all we’ve got.

Where do you long to lean into life?

Jan 9, 2009.  I’m only 30 minutes from my desk, but I feel, literally, as if I am on top of the world.

Six of us huddle close at 6,ooo feet, drinking in views  that stretch into Montana and British Columbia. Peering down, we watch sunlight toy with softening clouds nestled over the lake  below.  All by itself, the view is enough.   But Gary is talking. 

“Roll from your big toe edges, across the flat part of your skis, to your baby toe edges. Now, in the part of your turn where are you are on flat ski, stay there longer. Hang out in that feeling. You’ll have more power going into your next turn.  Try it.”

Gary, early seventies, retired hand surgeon, coaxes the five us of to trust the mountain- to lean downhill.  Brilliant, funny, and kind, he knows his skiing. I trust him, so I give myself fully to learning.

I seek out that moment of suspension, in between turns.  Quietly skimming over snow, I allow myself to accelerate into my next turn.  For a moment in time, I am simply floating in space.

The feeling is pure exhilaration.

We keep skiing, joyful in that moment of free fall.  Next though, moving over onto a steep black diamond, where the mountain falls away, I’m suddenly nervous.  My body knows that new feeling though, and I want more of it.  I commit to finding that moment again, and it works – beautifully!  

Giving myself so fully into the shape of the turn, I am perfectly aligned for full power in the next turn, and the next.  I’m hooked. After class, I swing back up and make three more solo runs, down that steep pitch, savoring this new feeling of 100% commitment, trusting the mountain, trusting myself, trusting life.

Where do you long to give yourself to the mountain?

Willingness.  Skiing well requires a willingness to trust the mountain, to believe in what we cannot see.  Leaning downhill, giving our mass over to physics, creates more traction, more power, more connection with the slope and the snow.  With this simple act, we open the possibility of mastery.

Commitment. Whatever the challenge we face, there is this moment of commitment, in which some intangible part of us needs to lean downhill.  When we do, something intangible comes to meet us.

From The Scottish Himalayan Expedition, Murray, 1951

Until one is committed, there is hesitancy, the chance to draw back, always ineffectiveness.  Concerning all active of initiative (and creation) there is one elemental truth, the ignorance of which kills countless ideas and splendid plans:

That the moment one definitely commits oneself, then Providence moves too.  All sorts of things occur to help one that would never otherwise have occurred.   A whole stream of events issues from the decision, raising in one’s favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance, which no man could have dreamed would have come his way.  I have learned a deep respect for one of Goethe’s couplets:

“Whatever you can do,

or dream you can,

begin it.

Boldness has genius,

power, and magic in it.”

Where do you most want to commit fully?

What will help you begin?