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Twice in my life I have set out on a spiritual Quest in the mountains.
The first time I was 13 years old and turned left on Edwards Street instead of right, and kept walking for 15 miles until I reached the ochre foothills. I was headed for Big Bear in the San Berdu mountains in southern California. A nice mom with a ponytail and two kids in the back of her station wagon offered me a ride. Hitching proved so pleasant and efficient, that I got another ride from a truck driver, and finally, a car full of boys headed to their parents’ cabin in Blue Jay. The fortuitous break – a ride up the steep incline of Rim of the World Highway, plus the bonus of shelter and possibly food – overshadowed any thought of possible horrors, the specifics of which I was too naive to even consider.
I had no tent. No sleeping bag. No food. No money. I just headed toward the mountains to “contemplate the meaning of life.” I wanted a direct experience of the Divine. Four days later, after receiving a message from some Eagles, I headed back down the mountain, never having made it to Big Bear. It was, by all intents and purposes, a self-guided Vision Quest.
At a crossroads in life, 25 years later, I decided to craft another “quest.” I pored over a map looking for a “power spot,” a place that carried sufficient mojo, although again, I was a little fuzzy on the details. Incredibly, I found one in the southeast corner of the Olympic Peninsula: Mt. Constance. That, alone, had some gravitas, but imagine my intense stupefaction (it’s a word, seriously) when I found across from Mt. Constance another peak: Mt. Mystery. Mystery being a major life theme for me.
These two peaks would represent the physical and the spiritual. I would spend four days fasting and finding a graceful balance between the two realms. My stupefaction amplified moments later when I moved my finger between the two peaks and discovered a spot called Home Lake.
After an ill-planned attempt – OK, unplanned – I found a book to guide me in crafting the quest. The first suggestion was to “not traipse into the woods by yourself.” Right.
Find a guardian, it said. Someone who will keep an eye out for you throughout the four-day quest.
Hmm. I knew several people who were adventurers, but they were more about burning calories than sage. The spiritual nature of the Quest night not be their cup of Gatorade. I did know of a man who seemed a good fit, but I didn’t know him that well and hadn’t talked to him in over a year. Great. A list of one name.
Suddenly a sense of calm came over me. “You know what,” I said to myself, because I live alone and talk to myself quite often. “You don’t have to sweat this. If this is a spiritual quest, the guardian will be provided.”
The next day, standing in line at the counter of a little organic cafe in Anacortes, the person in front of me turned around. You will never guess who it was. OK, maybe you did since I talk a lot about synchronicity. Mr. only-name-on-the-list.
The cafe was loud, and as I said, I did not know him well enough to jump in with an invitation to traipse into the woods for four days. That sort of thing would have to be done later. On the phone, maybe. In a couple of months.
But no. All that weekend I was badgered by the urgency to call him. Augh. OK.
I had to look up his number in the phone book. When he answered, I just blurted out my wild idea. When I finished, he said, “Well, that’s interesting, because I just got back from my Vision Quest on the Olympic Peninsula last weekend.”
I’m a mystic and a poet and I love a good metaphor. I’m a Mt. Mystery kind of gal, which makes me about one peak over from the general public.
It’s Mt. Constance – the physical realm – that gives me trouble. For instance, as delighted as I was to find the Constance-Mystery-Home trifecta, I didn’t pay much attention to all those lines on the topo map. The easy route was a 9-mile backpack. One way.
Instead of contemplating physical limitations in the abstract, I actually lived it in 3-D. An embarrassingly short distance from the trailhead I heard the sirens go off: May day, May day, we are not going to make it. Cheryl Strayed I’m not. The guardian suggested setting up my spot by the river. 87% of me really liked that idea, but the other 13% was quite vocal about what it would mean if I stopped. It’s one thing to quit, it’s another to have four long days to think about it.
The conversation in my head turned brutal. I was a quitter. I even used the M-word. Just like that, using only the initial, because the full word was too humiliating. Mediocre. Ugh.
Then, just a few weeks ago, I stumbled upon the etymology of the word “mediocre.” It stems from the Latin “medius,” meaning middle and “ocris” rugged + mountainous. It literally means: stopping halfway up the rugged mountain. In that moment something clicked. Twice I had set out on a journey, and twice I’d come up short. I knew, without a doubt, I needed a do-over. I needed to make it to Home Lake.
Yes, yes, yes. It’s the journey, not the destination. I get that. But in this case, at this point in my evolution, I feel there’s something to be learned by actually reaching my self-selected destination..
Now, understand I’m 18 years older and 18 pounds slower. This is no slam dunk. I’m technically starting below sea level.
I’m not attempting to climb either peak. Just getting to Home Lake will be a stretch. The easy route up Mt. Constance includes a leg called the Terrible Traverse. It’s the ultimate slippery slope, the miscalculation of which sends you over a cliff to your death. That even sounds terrible. The alternative is the Finger Traverse named such because you have to hang on with your fingertips while you shimmy across a rock face. OK. Maybe shimmy isn’t the technical climbing term. I just don’t see either of those scenarios happening realistically. I don’t feel the need to conquer any peak other than the one Abraham Maslow described.
“One’s only rival is one’s own potentialities. One’s only failure is failing to live up to one’s own possibilities.” Abraham Maslow
In “Why We Climb,” Michael Levenhagen, Ph.D., describes three reasons people climb mountains: For the physical achievement (that’s not me) to build character, (got me there), and a third that emerged during his research, “to realize a greater spiritual Self.”
For me, the point is not to climb the peak, but to climb new ground both internally and externally.” ~ Climber Mark Twight from Kiss or Kill.
Root for me, if you’re so inclined. I’ll need all the support I can get.