First, the spies-- tiny drones coming to gather our genetic information, sneaking in to even the most carefully masked sanctuaries, and leaving behind the burning sense that no place is truly safe.
Then, the scavengers. Large armies of precise and well-informed soldiers, infiltrating every unguarded nook and cranny and stealing away with any crumb that might go unnoticed. Eventually, the slower but larger thieves of anything left carelessly unsecured, never to be seen again.
The mind games. Hours of constant piercing locust whistles at high decibels, running in shifts. Monkeys inching ever closer to the windows, their opposable thumbs twitching and teasing our flimsy barricades. Some shadow creature eating our soap at night, just a few nibbles at a time. The constant, seeping moistness slowly and methodically overtaking any exposed pages or tight spaces.
The ever-watching eyes. The threatening calls of the frogs right outside the door, and the loud barking alarm of the gecko at any sign of our attempts to escape.
It is enough to drive a person mad.
Finally, a warning: A few small and very carefully placed piles of dung left on our doorstep to be discovered in the morning, every morning, the perpetrator long since hidden...but always watching.
Nothing is secure. Nothing is safe.
The jungle has spoken.
So here we are in Tonsai, Thailand, an isolated climber Mecca nestled among the sharp limestone rocks separating jungle and sea. We are here with a whole slew of young and shapely tourists from around the world, to spend two weeks seeking adventure in the daytime and sleeping in a moldy bungalow at night. We got here on February 10th after spending our first few days at touristy Karon beach near Phuket (hiking to the Big Buddha, rock scrabbling, and snorkeling), then two days and one crazy night on Phi Phi Island. It is a relief to be away from the crazy dirty pricey chaos of really touristy places, though even here isn't authentic Thailand (and still a bit out of our $15 per day budget). There is so much good climbing here, lots of hiking and exploring, spectacular landscapes and magical jungle. Every day brings a new adventure, and an opportunity to face a fear or push the boundaries of my comfort zone. I am coming to understand Fear as the tangible experience, something which can be tasted, touched, smelled, examined and understood from all angles. I am becoming more accustomed to the experience of my own fear, and this acquaintance process is helping me to be more comfortable in any situation (though it probably doesn't help my social prospects much when I smell this bad). I am learning that the best kind of fun is a mixed feeling of excitement and apprehension, where I want to go forward and backward at the same time. We went on a day hike to a lagoon, which I had not been informed would involve several hours of climbing up and down nearly vertical mudslides with nothing but a slimy rope and sharp rocks to hold on to. I was in flip flops and a white t-shirt. A few others turned back, but we made it, and it was breathtaking. Once we finally got back into civilization I was sweaty and covered head to toe in streaks of red mud, my hair disheveled and my arms sore. I felt like a jungle warrior. The next day we went deep water solo climbing with a local outfit. We were taken by boat to some cliffs rising out of the ocean, and given some wet shoes and moldy snorkels. We swam to the ladder dangling over the water and climbed on the slippery rocks until we lost our strength or slipped and fell into the water below. At first I was nearly paralyzed by the height of the rocks and uncertain about my arm strength after the previous day's trials, but by the end I was climbing harder routes than I had ever tried before and jumping from 20 feet or more. I have always been fearful of heights, but another day I rappelled myself for the first time off of a 20-meter high cave mouth, and became familiar with the feeling of lowering myself backward into an abyss of air and emptiness. I climbed up a cliff on a bamboo ladder and walked along a rim of no more than a few feet, looking at the 400 foot drop to the rocky waters below. I climbed higher and higher, without stopping or falling even when the jagged rocks cut into my fingers and knees. Each day brings a lesson in letting go and holding on. I let go of my fears and mind games, my expectations, my doubts, my sense of self and its limitations. I hold on to the rock, and nothing else.
Neal has talked to me of climbing as a meditative experience, and I am beginning to understand what he is talking about. The whole sport is about clearing your mind of everything that gets in your way and taking a big step into uncertainty. It is about respecting the forces which are greater than your small body, which transcend the minor issues of daily life and give a taste of purity, of truth, of power. Climbing is always a risk, as is everything in life-- nothing is ever truly secure or permanent. The point is to let go of that need for security, the hand grasping at something solid and unchanging, and to trust instead in the mystery itself (Grace). Focus only on this one moment, the Here and the Now, nothing else, and if you do that, then your thoughts disappear and there is silence. In that silent emptiness you realize that there is nothing left to fear, and you just float right up the mountain.
In between climbs and other adventures, I have been reading a book about a woman called Peace Pilgrim. From the 1950s to the 80s she traveled across America on foot, with no money and no possessions except the clothes on her back. She only ate when food was provided, only spoke to those who approached her, and slept where she lay down. Within a few years she was booked at speaking engagements across the country, at churches and universities and house parties, speaking about the path to inner (and eventually global) peace. She was a very spiritual person, though she didn't associate with any particular religion or practice. Her own journey to inner peace took her fifteen years, with a lot of ups and downs and a few big leaps. She discovered that her life had become burdened by too much materialism and needless responsibility, and she slowly abandoned that way of life. She taught the importance of bringing one's life down to Need level, and speaking one's own inner truth. I came by this book by chance, when some unnamed friend left it for me to find in my backpack, and it has been a source of constant inspiration and upliftment ever since. It supports my attempts to set my fears aside and gives me tools to live each moment with love, intention, and gratitude. Peace Pilgrim says that it is a misconception that fear is necessary in our lives, and that good sense can do the same job without the baggage. She also says that no problem ever comes to you that does not have a purpose in your life, and that it is important to have a meaningful attitude in your actions, or else you will suffer. If you live by the laws that govern all of nature, your life will be simple and at ease. "God is always reaching toward people (grace). With your own free will, reach back (faith)." This path sounds (and is) really simple, but it requires a lot of letting go, and letting go of things which may appear to bring comfort and gratification for the sake of higher joys. Just like in climbing and meditation, you must shed all of these layers which obscure the truth and lay yourself bare for all the universe to see.
I am inspired! I am on the journey! Can I live this life? Only time will tell, I suppose, but it can't hurt to try. Even if I never become an expert climber, at least I can appreciate the rock beneath my feet, the open air and the unobscured view.
"Inner Peace is where Peace begins."-P.P.
