Ziplining and the Dantian

As a gift for 20 years in the ministry (or mother's day -- or both), I embarked on a ziplining adventure in the North Carolina mountains (Navitat Zipline Canopy). I have a moderate fear of heights, but have wanted to try ziplining since I first heard of it. I realized this was a good opportunity to breathe through fear and fully enter the present moment, abandonning control of the outcome.

As we climbed the mountain in four wheelers driven by guides, I breathed in the lush woods about me and found my dantian (the energy center deep in the gut). The presence of thrill and trepidation was evident amongst us in the back seat, intermingling with the ease and excitement of the guides in the front seat. We had been asked in the orientation if anyone had a debilitating fear of heights. I said to myself, well....not debilitating....and welcomed the continuing instruction. So now, I was riding up and up and up, ready to embrace the ride within these magnificent mountains.

The training was simple and the assurance of assistance sound. I trusted the safety measures implicitly. The point was to welcome joy, which can only happen when you feel secure enough to let go. By the third zipline (there were ten), I decided to let my guide know that this was a venture, in part, to face a fear.  By then I was pretty sure that I could do the whole course. My revealing the tentative feelings within was to ease out of isolation, which can be debilitating in itself.

While standing on the platforms, high up in age-old trees, I thought of a retreat leader's urging to center into the dantian and ground myself with earth energy. Though far from the ground, I could feel the grounding within. When my arms became wobbly, again more from fear than logic, I heeded the guides instruction, extended my arms out to encourage the flow of chi, and trusted that the fear could accompany me and ride into joy.

This discipline accompanied me throughout the three hour journey, filled with sights and sounds and laughter that keep me smiling to this day.

Praises for the mountains. Praises for the dantian. Praises for opportunities of joy. It is all rarely fear free. Except in moments, steadily growing.

Playing the Airport Blues

Ok.  So I’m in the Atlanta airport, having been in airport halls for 9 hours.  A “mechanical difficulty” on the original plane had 145 passengers scrambling for stand by spots on other flights.  I’ve arrived in time to be a stand-bys…the last flight that will get me to my destination in time to have some of this day there.  I am not successful – just two seats away.  The day, as I would have had it, is busted, by no fault of my own.  I have a quick cry, easy tears, and a phone call to commiserate. 

Moment felt.  Moment done.  Nothing to do about it.  Soften my focus.

So I take a walk in the terminal, having three hours to “kill” when I realize this is a wonderful opportunity to train as a grace operative.  This is where the rubber meets the road, when all my plans are bust and I am given the territory of the present moment.

So I walk, with my carry-ons of course, down the long concourse of the “D” gate.  I breathe, I take in, I let myself not know where I am going and become a passenger in my own journey.

Walking teachers abound in front of me.  I begin to imitate body spirirts as they pass me by.  A saunter that feels good, like a moving “hang”, arms easy on the side with a slight legato transfer of feet.  Then short steps, creating tight hips and a keen sense of people rushing people by.  Next a thrusting walk, heal first,  setting my weight in my hips.  I’m self- conscious at first, until I realize no one is noticing.  I can walk differently every moment.  I am free in my anonymity.  I am fed by our shared presence.

Body parts are favored,  affecting the flow: the placement of a chin, the angle of hip, the thrust of a chest, the position of shoulders.  Feet add percussion and a rhythm to the walk.  A woman swerves left in a perfect arc.  I mirror the swerve to a water fountain.  A perfect dance noticed only by me.  But who needs an audience when grace abounds?

Back to the walk and the abundance of moves, each inviting a different way of navigating.  A wheel chair swirls in front – smooth, weaving energy.  Children work their carry-ons in fluid play.  High heels bounce.  Tightly held bodies keep a shape even while moving. 

There is play everywhere.  There is grace everywhere.  There is fullness everywhere.  I catch the eye of another sojourner.  “Enjoy your day,” I offer.  “Thank you,” came the reply, “you too.”  And you know what?  I will.  Amen.