Faith is a passionate intuition.
William Wordsworth
Someone said that living life is like playing a violin solo in public and learning to play the instrument as we go along. This saying describes the experience very well, but no one should worry about that. We are in this world for exactly that purpose – to learn… People are sometimes depressed because their lives do not present a simple, logical, harmonious unfoldment, because their histories seem to be full of inconsistencies, repetitions, dead ends. This however is only to be expected during the learning period.
Emmet Fox
Seeds of faith are always within us; sometimes it takes a crisis to nourish and encourage their growth.
Susan L. Taylor
After many long months of drought here in Germany, we have recently had an abundance of consistent, heavy rain. This is a very welcome development, with reservoirs filling up again and our patchwork of fields and forests gladly soaking up the much-needed humidity. The ground is now soft underfoot and the autumnal growth is looking deeply lush, against the backdrop of the fantastic multicolour display of trees as they slowly disrobe for the coming winter hibernation.
It was that soft ground that got me into trouble this week. I had an afternoon appointment out in the countryside, so decided to leave home an hour early to avoid the evening traffic. This would enable me to take an hour’s walk prior to my meeting, with the added bonus of experiencing the gorgeous late afternoon November light.
Not knowing the area well, I simply speculated on finding a suitable walking route along the narrow, paved country lanes that crisscross the open terrain between the fields in the undulating farmland of our Rheinland locality. It didn’t take long to find a suitable place in the rolling hills, but it did prove difficult to find a place to park my car.
Somewhat in haste, as sunset approached, I eventually settled on a grassy track at right angles to such a lane. Though the downward incline was quite steep, I felt I had left enough of the car protruding out on hard ground to be able to reverse out after my walk.
The air was clear, the light enchanting, and the silence expansive, as I headed off in awe towards the western horizon. Stopping now and again to take some photographs, it gave me great pleasure to mindfully observe the sun sink slowly behind the distant treetops and ultimately disappear below the horizon. It felt good to be part of this cosmic dance, the score provided by a small number of crows and the odd blackbird.
It was distinctly chillier as I made my way back to the car, feeling invigorated and refreshed. On my approach, I saw a man coming in my direction, walking several dogs.
When I got into the car and attempted to reverse out onto the paved lane, there was a rude awakening. The back wheels simply spun on the spot. Zero traction. There I am, facing downhill on a 15% slope, unable to reverse out. I was stuck.
I caught the attention of the walker and requested help. He was gracious in his response and did his best to shove me upwards and out as I worked the engine, all to no avail. He then suggested that I roll down the slope a little, onto fresh ground, and try again. While this made sense on one level, the concept of moving further away from my goal felt strange. In the absence of other options, I decided to follow his advice.
Same result, – no reverse traction – and now I was even deeper in a pickle. Anxiety was beginning to swamp me, so I did a few brief mindfulness exercises before taking stock of the situation and considering what to do next.
Feeling more grounded, I could see that there was only one final option left. 100 metres below, this soft lane came to an end in an adjoining large grassy field. Though it was not apparent how wet that terrain was, I took consolation from the fact that it was still halfway up the hill.
Now the challenge seemed considerable. My thoughts briefly went back to similar incidents in places such as the blanket bog in the West of Ireland, or snow drifts in wintery Bavaria, where the intervention of accommodating local farmers had been necessary to get me out of similar predicaments. These memories I quickly put to one side, determined to focus all my attention to the challenge of the present moment.
What if the field were too soft and I got bogged down? Well, then I would need to be towed from there. As it was my only option, I figured it was worth taking the risk.
Of what did I need to be cognizant before attempting to circle around in the field, rejoin the grassy lane, and make my way up to the intersection with the paved lane? Some advice came to mind which has served me well in my own personal development, advice first heard as I embarked on my recovery from addiction over twenty years ago.
My fellow travelers told me that attaining sobriety and building recovery was like learning to ride a bike. Once balance on the bicycle was mastered, they said it was essential to keep moving. If I stalled, the bike would fall over with many harmful consequences. `At all costs, keep moving´, my friends told me. `Don’t allow your saboteurs to lure you into becoming petrified in the middle of the process´. Another way it was put was as follows: `Don’t quit until the miracle happens! ´
So, there I was, not knowing what awaited me, yet trusting how best to tackle the unknown. It was time to move.
I maintained a moderate speed as the car rolled down the hill, took as wide an arc in the field as I gauged furthered my forward motion, gingerly rejoined the track at an obtuse angle, and, moving upwards, continued at the same pace up the hill, resisting the temptation to accelerate even more, despite adrenalin levels rising faster than the slope, until safely reaching the apex.
It was with feelings of relief, gratitude, and elation that I felt the solid ground of the paved lane underneath when I turned right at the top of the hill. Beeping my gratitude to the dog walker below, I took a few deep breaths and felt a smile come over my face.
The metaphorical power of this experience only became evident over the subsequent days.
How often had I felt stuck on this wonderful journey of life? And how often had the next step been circuitous, taking me off on a counter-intuitive route? What becomes clear in my review of past predicaments is that a solution was always to be found, often in ways I could never have anticipated beforehand.
`Move and the way will open´, so the old saying goes. The worst thing about feeling stuck is allowing the saboteurs to keep me paralyzed in that state of fear of what might transpire when I got going. Desperation can be a good friend, at times, as it was on that afternoon last week. With nothing to lose, the way was paved for embracing a level of risk and daring which might otherwise have been shunned.
This was precisely the situation when, in 2003 – after decades of a life thwarted by substance addiction – I took my first ginger steps on the road of recovery. Realising that I was in hell, I wanted to flee, to put as much distance as possible between myself and hell, only to come to the realization – through experience – that the way out of hell leads back through hell.
In truth, I knew and fully accepted that there was nothing to lose. This acceptance did not remove the fear and anxiety, but it enabled me, despite them, to do the next right thing, repeatedly and consistently, as I progressed. This is where I discovered the true meaning of fearlessness.
