We were on a hill. Hiding. My viking friends. Dark hooded figures in the night, we crouched close to the ground and hid in brushes. Spoken words? An understanding beneath. The shared atmosphere: the tension of a context of fear that has been conquered, an adjusted response of duty, survival.
There is binding intimacy with these. But eyes across the fire tell me I have no place to reside in here. Somehow, one finds herself with an unknown companion, my conscious? my fight? scaling a mountain to once again find hiding, find the troops, unite, be safe, be together, move forward.
There is no other way. I stare at the stones to my left. Grey and sleek. Rounded. Little larger than goose eyes, sticking out of the mountain. Awkwardly shaped, parallel to each other. Where should I put my legs as I place my arms? It is a little longer than my torso, the fall beneath is long, I see grey and greenery. A cliff in my subconscious. There is no other option. I extend my right hand and arm. There is no other option. Moving forward/ sideways. On the only path set before me. In the context set around me. I shake less than I would think. I fear less than I would think. It is a deeper feeling than fear. It is not fight or flight. It is subservience. It is in my gut, through my heart, powered my mind, moved through my limbs. Is this grit?
I am on the cliff. Nothing has my back. There is no turning back. Still have to go in this awkward stance. Unable to relieve pressure, to find better footing, to equalize my weight on different surfaces. I am not strong. I have no grip. Now the side of the mountain is sliding. It is like the slip of clay. Dark grey, stones turning and obviously not going to hold my weight without sliding. I can’t go back. There’s nothing that way. I can only go forward. A breath. I slip my hand to the slip. It skips. I’m not falling but I am sliding. Still I can move forward. Still I move forward. Still I am not afraid. Even the mountain I must climb slips before me, yet I move forward. There is no other option.
Maybe, perhaps; I shouldn’t even climb this mountain? Maybe it does not exist?
I spoke with my Good friend Madison, mentioning a weird dream I had last night. Through our conversation she shares the message at the church she went to that day. The pastor speaking about a trip he went out hiking 75 miles as a completely inexperienced hiker. The journey wasn’t supposed to be dangerous according to his friend planning the trip. He found himself on this sand dune, needing to step between the steps of his friend before the sand collapsed into a ravine… “I don’t know what I’m saying, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” Madison trailed off on the other side of my busted up phone. Well someone wants to tell me something. And I think it’s something of this sort: Tread on.