There are 2 mountains....

Mama Kilimanjaro is the obvious one. 

My personal mountain... the one I didn't know existed, was apparently about flying way outside even the boundaries of my imagination, and taking a leap of faith like I have never done before. The second mountain begins challenging you physically, emotionally and psychologically, the second you commit to the first mountain!

There were tears leading up to our trip to Tanzania. Tears of anxiety and self doubt, tears of relief and pride as I hit training goals and mental milestones. They were nothing compared to the tears that let loose on the trail to the highest point in Africa. I had no idea I held so much water behind my eyes!

To call it a hike seems ... inadequate. The journey to the top of Kilimanjaro is HUMBLING. A lesson - or perhaps a hard slap in the face - in patience, perseverance and compassion.

I imagined that post-summit I would say "I did it!" and "We did it!" but the God's honest truth is that our team of guides, porters, and other support crew members did it. They got little ol' me (and all of us) to 19,300' safely and without them I could not have come even remotely close.

Tools of their trade include but are not limited to kindness like you have likely never experienced, compassion that is genuine and obvious, interpretation of body, face and verbal cues; and through dance and song, the joyful and generous injection of positive energy.  I 100% credit the encouragement and support I received from our Habari Dream Team for the reason I wanted to, and the fact I could, just keep putting one foot in front of the other - in the darkness, in the cold, in the thin air.

The souls that touched mine have forever changed me. The journey has forever changed me.

On the mountain, I overheard crew talking about their clients "becoming true" that is referring to them becoming themselves as they sacrifice things that matter less, to achieve their goal. They seem to have a unique understanding that the trekker has been dreaming and planning this journey for months, years or even decades. With respect, they lean into the fact that this is BIG for us, and hard, and emotional. Every person has a story and none is too small or too big for them to support. Treating us like a gift is weird for me... as I find them to be the gift... the gift I never knew I wanted or needed until I did. And once you see it, you can't unsee it.

From the roof of Africa, Mama Kili spoke to me in a low deep voice about being brave and vulnerable. She answered questions I didn't know I was asking. She convinced me to open a door I was unaware I had locked.

Reflection. Acceptance. Gratitude.

In her book "The Gifts of Imperfection" Brené Brown writes:

Get Deliberate

Letting go of certainty is one of my greatest challenges. I even have a physical response to "not knowing" - it's anxiety and fear and vulnerability combined. That's when I have to get very quiet and still. With my busy life, that can mean hiding in the garage or driving around the block. Whatever it takes, I have to find a way to be still so I can hear what I'm saying.

Amen, sister! 

In another of my favorite books; Gaia's Garden, I found an introduction to the permaculture principle related to the edge of an environment - The place where different pieces click together, is where diversity abounds, materials accumulate and translate and an abundance of potential exists. It's also where species are likely most vulnerable at first... 

I know that from the outside looking in, it can make other people wholey uncomfortable to see me head out into the wilderness or desert to be alone (and vulnerable). I have very well meaning and loving friends express concern that I will be unsafe, bored or lonely. They might even share sympathy that I haven't found a friend to take with me.  

But the truth is, I am deliberate. I deliberately don't invite anyone. I deliberately choose places and times of year that offer the most solitude. I deliberately devote time to listening to what I'm saying. 

And yes, in those first few hours alone, as I get my feet under me and my own (often dark) thoughts begin to take voice, there is considerable anxiety... the type that comes with nausea and appetite loss! But I know it will pass as I step out of my comfortable environment and inch toward that place where a new environment begins - and stay there a while. As I start to embrace my own potential, I feel energized.

It makes a lot of sense to me that humans have both a deep need for certainty and also need for uncertainty in their lives. The far edges of my normal environment is where uncertainty lies... but it's also the place where my voice gives me answers (to questions I didn't even know I had) and leaves me feeling more certain. A bit magical really.

Final thought: There are brief moments (those dark thoughts I mentioned) when I question my belonging. After all, this periodic tendancy to go solo is hard for almost anyone I know to really understand and that makes me feel "different". 

Then my friends call me while I'm on the road to make sure I'm safe and happy.

My inner voice (now louder and wiser) reminds me that fitting in and belonging are VERY different animals. Fitting in would probably see me curb my enthusiasm for solo trips so that I better matched my people. Belonging is where I'm accepted and loved by my people - just the way I am!

Spring Memories!

Lest we forget how magical this season is... 

SONG OF MARCH

With winter's footprints in the past,
and snows begin to melt at last.

With longer days and shorter nights,
the wayward winds of March take flight.

Four winds she holds within her grip,
then hurls them from her fingertip.

Her woolly, fleecy clouds of white,
she sets in skies of blue delight.

Her wild bouts of gusty breezes
roar through valleys, hills, and trees.

That high pitch whistling song she sings
awakens earth and flowering things.

She tears a hole in heaven's sky
so sun can shine and rain can cry.

She gently calms as spring draws near,
as blooming daffodils appear.

She welcomes April showers in,
then gathers up her dwindling winds.

Now her long journey home begins,
knowing she'll be back this way,
upon a cold, late winter's day,
when nights grow short
and days grow long.

Listen for her whistling song!

~ Patricia L. Cisco