Inspirational story

Climbing the Mountain
by Kathy Eckles

Excerpt from Yes! to theJourney of a Lifetime
Photography by Tony Dickinson

7 Steps to Self Discovery

1. Follow Your Heart.
    Move beyond the known.
    Do what inspires your
    love, joy, wonder, curiosity,
    compassion. Act upon your
    heart's desire with clear,
    receptive thinking and skilled,
    focused, enduring action.

2. Grow at Your Own Pace.
    Life is a chance to discover
    and hone our best selves.
    Compete with yourself,
    celebrating and inspiring your
    own and others' growth.

3. Be Courageous.
    Face your fears. Challenge
    yourself. No whining. Think,
    choose, and act clearly for
    positive impact.

4. Take Stock.
    It's natural for the way to get
dark, or to question yourself
about halfway through any
significant endeavor.  Think
again about your heart's goal.
Is it still the same? Measure
    what is required. Are you still
    willing and able to do what it
    takes to achieve it? If yes,
    recommit, master your fear,
    and keep going.

5. Remain Open-Hearted and
    Without Expectation.
    Love is requiring, not
    expectant. In an open heart
    possibility abounds.

6. Appreciate Success as a
    Beginning.
    Now that you've arrived,
how will you, Nature, and
    the world around you
    interact for the next positive
    unfolding of life?

7. Return to Your Roots.
    Offer who you are, and all
    you are becoming, to all that
    you love.

One foot in front of the other. Stop looking ahead or behind. It makes you vacillate between “I can’t make it” and pure terror. And stop looking to the side, too. You get vertigo, that nasty nauseous dizzy feeling, when you realize you can fall off this mountain. Keep your eyes on your feet. Place them intentionally. Let go of worrying about where you’re going — your heart already knows the target. It’s like a heat-seeking missile. It absolutely knows its way.

At the bottom of the mountain our friend asks, “Would you let me lead so I don’t get left behind.” No, sorry, not a good reason. This hike is strenuous, not for non-climbers, the faint of heart, or whiners. We’re all headed the same place. We neither follow nor leave one another. We are simply traveling each at our own pace. Come if you would like to come.

Our friend decides instead to go to the Temple of the Sun, an exquisite view, overlooking the citadel of Machu Picchu. He makes a good day of it, as do we. The one gazelle-like climber among us modulates his pace until he can show us where the turnoff is for our path to the top. He then blasts up the mountain, leaving us to our own resources. I pass my two friends, just following my own pace. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. Incantations of a crazy woman. My attention moves among my friends and Nature. The day before I had looked at this mountain and told you there’s no way I could get to the top. Today, just because you’re going, along with my two best friends, I think, oh, what the heck, I’d like to be with you. And if you can do it, I can do it. Mostly, I just want to be with you.

Now I’m alone. I’m halfway up. And yes, I’m already tired and growing more scared by the moment. I think, ‘I’m tired. I can go back down. I don’t have to go to the top.’ (And that’s true.) Another part of me says, ‘Yeah, and you’ve done that before. How much fun was that? And besides, when will you be this way again?’ (And that’s true, too.) I decide I have

more to win by climbing, even if I have to drag myself the last few hundred yards. (Gosh, I love to win!) So hand, foot, hand, foot, another interminable amount of time. I will my eyes to stay on my hands and feet. Otherwise I’ll puke with fear.

I’m sweating, ugly and don’t care. A 19-year-old whips past me barely out of breath, “Your friends back there say hello. Everything’s fine. They’ll see you at the top.” Up he goes. Up I climb one boring foot in front of the other. He sparks a bit of hope.

I’m farther than some, and not as far as others. I’m right here now. Everything’s okay. I climb. One foot in front of the other. I can see the top. Mirage. I can feel the top. Yes. I can smell the top. True. I sense the way getting narrower. Mmhmm. I slither like a snake now, afraid of getting my body weight just high enough that You could blow me off after having made it this far. Not exactly graceful, but if I could have come with more grace, I would have. Today, it’s the best I have, and it’s enough. And I’ve made it! Here to the top. Here with huge silken flags, swaths of color draping dormant, thick in the quiet air. And I’m simply, silently, thrilled to be here now, with You.

My two friends show up. One of them does yoga moves as she sits at the edge of the mountain. It terrifies me to watch her. And my fears are not hers. I know my job is to contain my fear and allow her to enjoy this in whatever way she chooses. I’m home. I’m in love. I’m glad we’re here.

How humorous. Here at the top, at what may well be the navel of the world, with vistas in every direction, we’re fogged in. I can see my friends and this little tower of ground we’re standing on. That’s it. I pray for an opening to see the beauty around us. We wait. Not on our time or will, but on Nature’s choice. She licks and wraps us, moist, dense, rolling. I feel held.

I can’t see much beyond my friends. Still, we wait, listening, watching. Am I expecting to be rewarded in some way for my arrival here? Is being here the gift? Do I demand, or invite, the fullness that’s possible? Do I wait, honestly wait, for you to make your own choice, Nature? And will I honestly enjoy your decision, whatever it may be? After all, it is you, revealing yourself, to us.

A few others arrive, several different languages. Joy. Hope. Anticipation. I have about 45 minutes here, and now in just 10, I’ll have to depart. Other commitments today. I wait as long as I can. Billows of wind come up, openings, closings. Flashes of light, now closing, more light. And suddenly, with one full and steady gusting You reveal yourself, mountains of clouds lifting, flowing away. We see You everywhere now, as far as we can see. You, in the tower of light pouring into the citadel of Machu Picchu. You, in the triple-layered mountains ringing us in every direction. You, in the space, the light, the people. You, in all the ancient ones who have come here for eons and ever before us. You, in everything. We see You, everywhere, for a few miraculous moments, and then just as simply, the fog closes over.

I imagine You saying,
I opened the clouds, Myself, today with simple good will. After all, I sat with you here and waited to see if you would open yourself to me. Is there any difference? Is not your way my way, too? I heard your simplicity, your request, your open-heartedness. Do I not in all of my ways find a tempo harmonizing with you? Am I not your instrument, and you mine? Is not your heart mine as well?

I rise, turn and descend. I came here both with You, and to be with You. And now everything has changed, and nothing at all. I return the way I’ve come, one step at a time, mindful, for it remains a steep and precarious path.

I’m different now, as are You. How shall we next proceed?

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