Up north the earth bares herself to you. She lets you take part in the matrilineal reign of the atmosphere. Her breasts rise high and droop down low for the purpose of climbing her peaks and exploring the pastures below. She welcomes you to the edge of her bosom to cast down your tautness and assail your ennui, to experience your rightful and numinous journey over the ledge.
At the top of the gold coast ablutions from the sky have just occurred. The terrain now screaming in variations of green: chartreuse, lime, pine, with blobs of juniper clustered around the bottom of tiny hills. These are forgiving colors, colors of new life.
I keep thinking about that line in the book said by Guillaume Apollinaire,
” We took them to the edge and bade them fly. They held on. ‘Fly!’ we said. They held on. We pushed them over the edge. And they flew.”Estés, Ph.D., C. P. (1992). Women who run with the wolves (p. 87). New York, NY: The Random House.
I find myself coming to an edge, not only in Paso but in the waking moments of my life. I can see how I’ve dug my heels into the dirt screaming, ‘”no I’m not ready’ or ‘I don’t think I can do it.”From the pejorative marks left on the ground, it is evident who has prolonged my journey, it is clear why I have never successfully made it over the edge.
The initiation process of myself has been in my own words, difficult. But in paralleling my life to that of these hills, it could be said that it’s been more incarnational or becoming. No matter how far I’ve traveled or how long I’ve stood my ground, I am always pleasantly met with the edge. In the past, I have greeted every opportunity for growth by passively discovering what I know to be true deep within. But I’m beginning to see the purpose of any bend is to encourage a leap of faith. To trust what can’t be distinguished from so high, to let go of the glory of being elevated, and to truly sacrifice ownership of whichever mountain I’ve scaled. No matter the trees my sweat and tears have pollinated, or the life my journey has brought to the soul of each peak, even when I’ve reached the top, never will I be preeminent to what’s down below. Inversely, it is rather necessary for me to return to the roots of my mountain. To trust where I’m going by way of free fall before I can disband my wings and swell up to the heavens. For what makes for an eagles flight than the rise and fall of his span.
So I keep asking myself, where in my life have I reached an end? Where is my soul destined to fly? From hiking into dusk to driving along the ledge, I’ve come to recognize that as you grow and elevate the core of who you are, your soul will cry out for you to jump. Once you explored every uphill and downhill emotion, intuition will tell you-you are destined to fly above it all.
I just need to jump.
Miss Parisia B.