ROCKS, ROPES, and SHEER TERROR

We humans love depth, meaning, and a deeper perspective, and our brains are designed to grow in awareness to understand the complexities and interconnectedness of things. What does it mean, then, to seek higher states of consciousness? It means to take an in-depth and meaningful look at things to see and understand the dynamics of the universe and the role we humans play from an expanded and wiser perspective. And not just as an observer but as an active participant in the relational quality of all interactions.

All life can be viewed from a relational perspective. Our first relationships typically are with family members and neighborhood peers. Parents to children, children to parents, siblings, and friends. These change and grow over time or transition into other relationships. As adults, we have relationships with partners, children, other family members, friends, and acquaintances.

We also have relationships with school and with jobs, nature and living creatures, domestic and wild, and especially with our environment and weather. We have relationships with the earth, discovering its mysteries and histories. Our personal relationship with the universe, God, Spirit, All That Is, Nature, the Great Mystery, or Something Bigger, is one that may develop through intentional investigation or through faith. We have relationships with food, with music, with creative pursuit. We relate to everything in our world in one way or another.

The practice is to open and allow life experiences and relationships to reveal their layers as much as possible for the purpose of gaining deeper acceptance of all that is. To refrain from experiencing life with blinders on or through our own foggy filters of life and to move beyond those limitations into a multi-layered perspective is the ongoing challenge. To live not just to satisfy our own particular needs, but to empathize and connect with others, to see life from their point-of-view, to come to an acceptance of everyone, no matter who they are, how they identify, how they look, speak, and act—with acceptance and appreciation of all cultures and ideologies is the goal. No easy task.

To illustrate, I want to share an extraordinary set of experiences that I had when I was nineteen years old, in college, and in Outdoor Club. The main objective of this club was to go camping, to explore, and to be in nature and the wild as much as possible. We were bonded at the outset by our love of being outdoors. Every weekend we traveled to some wonderful place in northern Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin, and Michigan. On numerous trips, I immersed myself in spelunking or cave exploration and also learned how to rappel, or engage in the art of descending a vertical or near-vertical cliff via ropes. It is around a rappelling experience that this unexpected foray into higher consciousness evolved.

If you’ve never rappelled, it’s not like you might see in a movie, with special forces bouncing down the side of a building to capture the bad guys. Far from that scenario is a more mundane but no less thrilling adventure. After being harnessed into ropes with carabiners and belay rope, the rappeler leans back from the cliff and essentially walks backward down the cliff, maintaining a perpendicular angle to the rocky side. Taking that first step backward is one of the most heart-bending, panic-producing, and chilling moments one can experience in life.

The first time I rappelled was at Starved Rock State Park in Illinois. There were four of us, one experienced climber/rappeler and three of us newbies. We’d hiked long enough that it was nearing nightfall and the light was beginning to fade. Because of our location, we essentially had to rappel down to get back to camp before full dark. Our friend and guide, Tom J., chose a 30-foot cliff that sloped down into near darkness; the bottom was obscured also by trees and thick foliage. He set up the ropes and belay and harnessed in the first newbie, Tom W., who was the bravest or possibly the most foolish of us. When he made it down, he called up to us with relief in his voice. We hauled up the ropes and harness, and it was my turn.

My wonderful brain told me that to step off this cliff was to risk my life; I could die or be seriously injured. That was the first layer of understanding about facing a risk to my life or body. Facing that possibility is sobering and brings one present immediately. All of one’s senses become heightened and focus becomes laser sharp. It helped that I trusted Tom J’s experience. Once I was harnessed in, I was instructed to step backwards while keeping the ropes taut but flexible. I hovered at the edge.

My heart raced; this was not just a random endeavor. We had to get down the cliff and hike the three miles back to camp before dark; we did not have flashlights. Maybe knowing that made it easier, but it was certainly more motivating. I inched one foot backwards, found purchase, and the other followed. I moved slowly, tentatively, feeling the weight of the rope, easing it out to balance my descent, and mindful of keeping my body roughly perpendicular to the rocks. The heightened awareness kept me focused and intent on the task at hand and tempered the terror coursing through my veins. It wasn’t a graceful descent, but as I made progress, a feeling of exhilaration flooded my body, replacing the terror. When I reached the sloped base of the cliff, I felt the expected relief but also strangely accomplished. The biggest hurdle, I realized later, was overcoming the fear.

Here was the next layer of understanding. The fear outweighed all the other obstacles. I knew then that after moving through that huge wave of fright that there would be little in my life going forward that I could not accomplish. Traveling through the fear, literally hiking backwards down the cliff to do it, became a symbol of terrific motivation for me. I found that fear had no substance—nothing at all. Overcoming fear was not a cognitive exercise; instead it was recognizing that stark feeling of heightened risk going into the unknown. I had left the safety of the clifftop and knew little of the destination below. The exhilaration of the travel became the core focus, and I found that the departure and arrival lost their importance. Applying that to life experience in general, our lives are a series of departures and arrivals, and in between is the adventure!

The next newbie, Doug B., having closely observed Tom W. and I rappel down the cliff, seemed to wrangle his fear and down he rappelled. Once he reached the bottom, we all heartily congratulated ourselves. Then we realized that Tom J. still had to get down. Above, he simply coiled the ropes expertly and slung them over his shoulder. He climbed down while we held out our arms just in case. However, he was an agile, experienced climber, and he was down in no time.

Fast forward to a camping trip with rappelling the main plan for the day (and in daylight). There were many more club members on this trip, including my friend and housemate, Maureen. When Maureen was about five, she had experienced a stroke that severely affected the left side of her body. She walked with a significant limp, and her left arm was underdeveloped; it was about 90% non-functional. She had come on this particular trip to challenge herself.

I rappelled down the vertical 40-foot cliff with that same sense of impending doom at the top, the exhilaration during the descent, and the relief and joy at the bottom. I joined Maureen and a few others who were sitting and observing club members taking turns going down. When she mentioned she might like to try, I immediately jumped on that and encouraged her to do it. I explained how it all worked and that I’d be there to coach her and also be there waiting for her when she reached the base of the cliff. She appeared hesitant despite my assurances.

Then I shut up and tried to feel what she must be feeling. While I had the full use of my arms and legs, she had maybe 75% use of her left leg and zero percent use of her left arm. She would have to depend on the strength of her right arm to manage the ropes and rely on two belay people up top to get her safely down the cliff. I could sense her trepidation, and it was reasonable. Instead of repeatedly encouraging her to go, I told her that I empathized. It was completely understandable if she couldn’t put herself at such risk. It was OK; everyone would get it.

Here was a new layer of understanding. As I stepped into her shoes and tried to imagine how she felt, I gained a deeper appreciation for another person’s experience. Although I had never felt sorry for her (she was fiercely independent and would have nipped that in the bud anyway), I could understand the vulnerability that the situation presented to her. This was also a step into higher consciousness as my perspective broadened and the connection between us strengthened.

To my surprise, almost immediately after I expressed my empathy for her decision not to go, she suddenly exclaimed that she was ready to go. As I look back now, I’m embarrassed to admit that I felt a surge of pride and became her champion. If she wanted to rappel down that cliff, then I was going to make sure she did it and safely, too. The backside of the cliff was a gradual upward climb, and we hiked together to the clifftop. The experienced rappelers (and me) got busy setting up her harness, carabiners, and ropes, double belay (two individuals managing the safety ropes), and coaching her with the basic instructions. I could sense her trepidation and see it etched on her face. I once again explained that she didn’t have to do this and could change her mind. That seemed to fortify her resolve to go forward. (Later I would marvel at the power of backing off and allowing someone to make his, her, or their own decision).

Maureen, braver than the bravest of us, inched her right foot back and soon she was easing the rope to let herself get perpendicular to the rock face. She was frightened and screamed as she descended. Once she was about two feet down from the clifftop, I let her know that I’d be at the bottom waiting. I raced down the long backside of the cliff and positioned myself right below her. I felt that we’d set things up so safely that she’d make it down without mishap, but I vowed I’d catch her if she fell. The further she got, the more everyone whooped and yelled in support and encouragement. She was in tears when she got to the bottom, but also grinning madly at her accomplishment.

It was an extraordinary moment for Maureen to brave that terror, and it was enlightening for the rest of us to have observed that incredible courage. I assessed that her fierce determination overcame the physical limits and pretty much banished any feeling of limitation, physical or otherwise, from her consciousness.

More layers and depths of understanding followed. We all experienced a heightened state of consciousness, connectedness, and convergence of purpose through the courageous actions of one person that day. It brought an even stronger sense of camaraderie and closeness between all of us than I thought possible.

Higher consciousness can unite all living creatures, by seeking an expanded view, multiple perspectives, feelings of connectedness and belonging, and acceptance—acceptance and confirmation of one’s strengths and capabilities in relation to others. As I stated before, it’s all about relationships, and in this situation the unexpected relationships to rocks, ropes, and sheer terror.