In defense of my fear of heights, I often say, “Being afraid of heights is a good thing. It keeps you safe.” But, at this moment, getting jitters, shakes and hyperventilating on a stable 10 inch step stool next to my kitchen counter was a bit ridiculous, even by my standards. I took a deep, calming breath and managed to grab the box of Hibiscus tea that I kept in that awkward, practically useless cabinet that most everyone has in their kitchen above the stove. Note to self: put the box of Hibiscus tea on the lowest shelf in the pantry.
As I carefully made my way down off of the step stool, I made another note to self that my fear of heights had become increasingly debilitating. It had even begun to hinder my driving. I would occasionally find myself white knuckling the precarious road up to Jerome, AZ (no guard rails, with the promise of a tumble down the steep hill if not navigated properly). Because of my fear, I’d begun to avoid that drive at all costs. Unfortunately, this also meant that my visits to see my daughter and her family who lived in Jerome (only 20 minutes from my house) were few and far between.
“I wish I knew a rock climber who could help me with my fear of heights,” I said aloud, quite wistfully,
Two days later, I walked into my friends’ new house that they would be moving into within a couple of months. Since they were still living in another state, I offered to oversee their renovation project in Sedona while their house was being painted and repaired. That’s when I met Ricky (not his real name) the painter. From the moment we met we started talking about various subjects covering a spectrum of life’s joys and challenges.
“To me, God and nature are One,” he spoke softly, combining the two together with his hands as if he was gently making a ball of energy. When he saw my nod of acknowledgement, he turned to me, stared into my eyes and suddenly shared (in a most unpretentious way), “I’m a rock climber.”
My jaw hit the floor harder than I would have landed if I’d actually fallen off that step stool!
Ricky and I soon became fast friends and met for short walks and hikes before the beginning of the work day. On one journey into an arroyo, we found ourselves standing on a cliff and looking at a beautiful pool of rainwater about 20 feet below. I reeled a bit from the height and backed up a couple of steps.
“There’s two ways to get down there,” Ricky grinned, “We can go down that mound of dirt over there,” he said, pointing to what looked like a safe but slippery mound of dirt, “Or we can go down this way.” He pointed to a rocky wall that had decent climbing holds for hands, feet, and I noted, even a safe haven for my, um, bottom, if I needed to slide down. I tentatively walked over to the rocky wall, reeled from the height, and opted to descend the mound of dirt.
Yes, it was safe, but slippery. I knew it would be an arduous trudge on the way back up. One step forward, two steps back. Ugh. I wasn’t looking forward to it.
“Let’s try the wall,” I said after we’d explored the beauty of the arroyo. As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I wished I had a delete button that I could push to shove them back in. But, as Ricky stood behind me and explained the foot and hand holds in the rocks, I gained confidence. The first small ledge was about three feet off of the ground, and it was the first step to building my confidence and conquering my fear of heights.
“Straight up and down,” he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, “Straight up and down.” He told me that once my foot was on that first ledge, to stand straight up and down rather than leaning into the rocky wall and gripping onto it for dear life. The thought seemed unfathomable. Straight up and down? Surely I’ll perish! my melodramatic brain tried to convince me.
I found the hand holds, then put my right foot on a tiny foot hold, took a deep breath and awkwardly catapulted myself up to the small ledge.
“Straight up and down,” Ricky said calmly.
Though it was counterintuitive to what I considered to be self preservation, I straightened my left leg and stood tall as I hoisted my right leg up. Both feet were securely on the ledge, and I became vastly aware of my posture. I held my head high.
I gazed out at the creamy blue Arizona sky, and was suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of peace and serenity that I could never have imagined would happen at 3 feet off the ground. I was safe! I felt the solid, though small, piece ground under my feet, and my grip on the hand holds naturally relaxed a bit. Panic and fear slowly drained from me.
From that moment, I was hooked on this new sensation: the freedom and flight of soul that came from knowing that Mother Earth wasn’t out to dash my body to the ground, but was there to support me. And, in guiding me to this beautiful earth angel, Ricky, God and Spirit were supporting me in my journey, too.
A few weeks later I found myself driving on the road to Jerome, on that scary treacherous road that promised to dash me to an untimely death. Or, did it? “Straight up and down,” I said aloud, as my white knuckles relaxed and turned pink again. My car was in its lane, and Mother Earth was solid beneath it. And the view…the view!…was spectacular, as I dared to look over the side of the road. My breathing relaxed as I gazed at the eagles soaring overhead and the clouds that billowed and danced in the breeze.
As I rounded the curve into Jerome proper, I thanked God and Mother Earth for supporting me. At that moment, I realized how right Ricky was: “God and nature are One.”
Yup. Straight up and down.
