Today, instead of eating lunch, I decided I needed to move my body to bring balance to my four lower bodies. I have been working hard and living mostly in my head, so moving my physical body seemed necessary to find balance. So, I walked out of the house and up the large hill where my four horses roam.
While walking I called out to my lovely gypsy mare, Mystic, who usually runs to me. All four horses headed up the hill and away from me.
Hey, its me, I thought. Where are you going?
I felt abandoned, betrayed, frustrated, and little annoyed. I thought we were buddies.
Why would they leave me? As I dropped my emotional tirade before it happened, I was able to look deeper within. I realized I had only given myself an hour to see them, which meant I had an agenda. Horses do not really like it when we have agendas.
I suppose not many people do either.
Also, there were the beginnings of shoots of green grass. When a horse sees, smells, and tastes green grass in the spring, they can think of nothing else. I would imagine that green grass to a horse seems a lot like survival to them in the way it overrides all their senses.
Similarly, when I feel like I am in survival mode, I cannot really hear or tune into my higher consciousness, my four lower bodies or my inner horses. It seems the green grass and my own survival mode block connection.
As I was pondering my horses leaving me while climbing this pretty steep long hill covered with sagebrush, some gullies, and rocks, I hoofed it along after them. My focus turned inward, and I thought about how the idea of seeing my horses seemed a lot better in the abstract. Here I was puffing hard, climbing this hill, feeling my legs and body work hard.
Remember, I had a timeline, so I had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
I pondered and realized that my inner climb to wholeness also often seemed better in the abstract than in the actual experience of climbing. It sometimes feels like hard work.
Finally, I summited over the top and saw the horses still in the distance. Even though I had not yet reached them, I already found my reward.
My view of the world changed up there.
I could see the horizon forever and the storms around me.
I could smell the alive freshness of spring.
Soon, I reached the horses and connected with each one. I did not have as much time as I would have liked because of my deadline. Also, weather was moving in.
On the way down the hill, I realized the descent was more dangerous than the ascent. It is steep and any misstep could result in a sprained ankle, knee injury or broken bone. I was assaulted by a mixture of rain, snow, sleet, and hail that hurt my cheeks. Now, even though I was on the descent, I was not so sure of my decision to leave the comfortability of my house to go climbing to see my horses.
What is the lesson in this?
My outer climb, weather and all, is very similar to my experiences with inner climbing towards wholeness. I had to exert energy, carefully plant each step to determine the safest way up and down the hill. Once I was in the experience of climbing to my horses, for a moment, I wished I had stayed where I was warm and comfortable.
Sometimes, I feel that way about my inner quest for wholeness.
Yet, when I reached the top of the hill, found the horses, and soaked in my surroundings, I realized how fortunate I was to have climbed to the top of the world. The same is true for my experience of the inner climb. My view opened to the heavens and all of me changed because I made it to the top to see my horses.
In my experience, THE TREK UP THE MOUNTAIN TO THE SUMMIT OF BEING IS WORTH THE EFFORT AND INCONVENIENCE.
When we climb towards inner wholeness and reach even the first summit of this trek, we build parts of the foundation for a revolution for our wholeness that will ripple out and transform the outer world to be the place we dream of.