Cairns

Cairns #42

End of the Long Days, 2005

The mission of H.O.P.E. is to turn the prow of our entropyship, the Earth, back upstream so that Earth’s evolving consciousness may explore the headwaters of the Universe for billions of years to come. The work of H.O.P.E. is to make visible the larger relationshipswe live within - relationships that inspire visions of wonder and works of hope.

Life as Topography In college I took an Outward Bound course in the Colorado Rockies. Our first hike began around 8,000 feet with a 11,000 foot pass. The next day, one of us awoke with the symptoms of high-altitude pulmonary edema - a fatal filling of the lungs with fluid. The cure is simple; get the person to lower altitude quickly. Nine of us had to carry our full packs plus the 150 pound sickie plus his pack back 10 miles over that 11,000 foot pass to the trailhead. We didn’t have a stretcher; we used an awkward contraption made of rope and ice axes. I was one of the stronger students and I tried to pull more than my load to help get the guy back safely. I consciously helped create a cheerful, ‘we’ll do this’ attitude - because there was a lot of ‘we’ll never do this’ grumbling and we had a long way to go. By late afternoon, we were exhausted but only a mile or so from the trailhead. I was so tired that during one of the rest breaks, I made a group spirit-sapping comment. I can’t remember what I said and I only made one such comment and I don’t know what effect it had on the others but I remember making it. By evening, we had carried him to the trailhead and safety. One of the lessons I learned from that experience is that I had underestimated the strength I had; I shouldn’t have made that comment. But I didn’t know this at the time because we hadn’t made it to the road yet. But in future situations, I could draw on the memory of that rescue and that comment and it gave me the perspective to keep going. I spent most of my twenties hiking solo in the wilderness. Most journeys were successful but some had close calls. Over the years, I developed a sensitivity to the relationship between my abilities and the demands of the land before me - a sense of when I was moving into areas that required more mindfulness, caution, or even turning back. You feel this in the desert in terms of temperature, the water you carry, and the possibilities for finding water. How far and how lightly can you safely walk out into the desert? You feel this in the mountains in terms of steepness of slope and the structure of the bedrock. You learn to distinguish between “Can I make it?” and “Can I make it back?” In mid-July, I took two days off from Chrysalis work to go hiking in the mountains. I sat at the head of a meadow, just sitting, and this image of life as topography came into mind. Our life paths take us into different realms of the world. Some realms are well-explored with broad, paved roads. Some realms are very dark and destructive to one’s soul - not worth exploring. I’ve always been attracted, both literally and metaphorically, to hiking cross-country in the wilderness - little-travelled, no paths, rugged but full of wonder and beauty. The teaching I’ve been describing this year at Chrysalis has this cross-country feel. Anyway, while sitting at the head of the meadow, I thought of life as topography and suddenly that sensitivity to the demands of the terrain told me that my life path was probably in the most dangerous terrain I’ve ever found myself and that I wouldn’t make it unless, for almost the first time in my life, I asked for help. I don’t ask for help easily. For ten years I’ve distributed Cairns for free. My years in the wilderness molded me to believe the the gift of life is the opportunity to participate in the Great Work, not retiring at age sixty. But the challenge of building our own facility is too great. The actual construction would take less than half a year. It’s the politics, the fundraising, and the uncertainty that make the task so heavy. And so, for the first (and hopefully only) time in Cairns, I ask for your help.

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