Arjan flying at Box, sunset behind Baboquivari.
Some understanding can only be achieved via emotive experience of the whole.
O
Horizon separates earth and sky, shoreline divides land and sea, light differentiates night and day, the Manai’a individuates.
Some understanding can only be achieved via rational reductionism.
÷
The Manai’a has foot, fin, and feather to explore land, sea, and sky; heart to feel; and mind to deconstruct.
!
Purpose Statement
Monday, March 10, 2014
Sunday, March 09, 2014
Ruminations
March 1 was the 16th anniversary of the death of
my friend Arjan. He was 40 years old when he died, and I was 31. I did CPR on
him, a violent and exhausting ordeal, and there was blood and snot and saliva
all over the place, so on the most fundamental level, his death was a traumatic
experience for me. Arjan was my friend and we had a love-hate relationship.
Whenever we would reflect each other’s light, we loved each other, and when we
reflected each other’s shadow, we hated each other. We were kindred spirits in
that we reflected each other’s light and shadow and we were both terrible narcissists,
textbook examples of Jung’s puer aeternus,
eternal flying boys too special for the boring earthly life of jobs and wives
and mortgages, so on a deeper level, his death was traumatic in that I lost a
soul brother. The deepest trauma of Arjan’s death, a trauma I struggle with
even today, was the awareness of my unlived life that Arjan’s death brought
into my consciousness.
Soul Brother Arjan.
I am going to die. Death can come at any moment. It could
have been me that fell out of the sky 16 years ago, just as easily as it was
Arjan. If my deathbed moment came right now, I would be full of regret because have
spent my life trying to please other people, to earn external validation and
approval, and not doing what is meaningful and fulfilling TO ME.
I know a woman that realized her enlightenment in a moment.
She was in an automobile accident and totaled her car but walked away without a
scratch. That was her epiphany. In a matter of weeks, she radically changed her
life. Another woman, a groovy young yoga spirit, was terribly ill as an
adolescent and thought she was going to die. Her doctor told her something to
the effect, “If there is anything you want to do in life, do it sooner rather than
later.” She is one of the most liberated, detached people I have ever met.
We each get to assign meaning to the experiences of our
lives, and hours after Arjan’s death, I knew that I would use Arjan’s death to
transform my life. I wish I had been able to springboard into a sudden
liberation and change my life like my two female friends, but I am emotionally more
like a third woman friend that spent years self-medicating and self-destructing
and is now slowly, consciously, letting go of her old beliefs and trying
desperately to be comfortable with non-believing.
And so it is that 16 years into my quest for liberation and
salvation, my external life does not look terribly different than it did when
Arjan died. My internal beliefs are very different, but intention does not
count, proof is in action. I suppose change is as easy or difficult as we
choose to make it, but in my case, it feels very complicated. What I have been
unable to do for myself, life has, in the last year, done for me. All the folly
I have constructed, the monuments to my ego and image, are being stripped away.
Perhaps liberation has to be painful.
This is the subtext of my paragliding flight at Box Canyon
yesterday. I have been wanting to fly my paraglider, to reengage with the
playful adventurous energy of what I call my Explorer archetype, to remember
Arjan and my commitment to use his death to transform my life, to try out a new
video camera mount my Storyteller archetype invented. On the anniversary of
Arjan’s death, the weather was ferocious - cold, wind, rain – but yesterday the
forecast was perfect. I couldn’t find any pilots available to fly with me, so a
non-pilot friend graciously agreed to go with me and mind the dogs while I
flew.
We parked at the Landing Zone (LZ) and I hoisted my glider
onto my back. Scattered throughout the LZ were the first yellow and orange Mexican
poppy blooms of the season and scads of black and burgundy fuzzy caterpillars –
Spring is upon the desert. I was expecting the hiking path to be overgrown and lost,
but we found it well trodden and marked with green streamers. The hike to the
top of the first knoll was steep and scrabbly, so I made the ascent alone while
my friend and the dogs hiked around the flatter lowlands.
Someone has cleared a very nice northwest launch on the
first knoll and I spent a few minutes studying the wind. There were very nice
cycles blowing straight into launch with very light lulls in between. I thought
if I launched right at the beginning of a cycle, I would be able to climb up
the spine to stronger lift, but if I launched in a lull, I would probably have
to scratch for lift and possibly sink out.
I set up my glider and harness and new video camera mount. I
put on layers and layers of warm clothing, hot while standing on launch, but
essential for an extended flight at altitude.
My first inflation of my wing behaved oddly, so I
immediately set it down. I made sure I had good, symmetrical pressure across
the wing and pulled it up a second time in a nice cycle. I was expecting to be
yanked off launch and propelled up, and I was lifted off the ground, but I was
immediately blown back behind launch, so the wind had more horizontal component
and less vertical component than I was expecting. Flying between the century
plant stalks, I crept out in front of launch and began exploring the air up and
down the spine.
The wind aloft was surprisingly strong and straight up the
northwest spine. I would creep forward ever so slowly flying into the NW wind
and then zoom SE up the spine. In short order, I was well above the top of Mt.
Alazzurra. I made a point of staying way out in front of the spine and the
mountain, because at trim speed, I was barely making any ground speed. Up on
top, the winds were due north.
After ten or fifteen minutes, I felt comfortable enough with
the conditions to deploy my new video camera mount. I flew around for a
relatively uneventful hour getting used to the camera boom swinging around in
front of me. Given that the winds were quite strong with a lot of horizontal
component, the flight was actually a bit boring because most all I could do was
point into the wind and slowly drift east and west along the ridgeline.
This is what uneventful, boring flight looks like.
About the time I would normally expect a glassoff to start,
about 30-45 minutes before sunset, the north winds suddenly became much
stronger. Immediately I noticed my negative ground speed and I got into the
speed bar and pointed my wing NW to head for the LZ. Much to my distress, even
with full speed bar, I was making no headway to the west and I was tracking
south. As I drifted over the spine, I contemplated killing off altitude with
big ears or a B line stall to try and get below the ridge line and stay on the
windward side of the mountain, but I estimated that the increased drag of
either maneuver would put me well south of the ridge line and right in the
rotor. In retrospect, I could have considered working the lift as best I could
to get as high as possible and then turning south and trying to outrun the
rotor, but in the moment, I was fixated on staying to windward.
I stayed in the speed bar and suffered several lee side
turbulence collapses. With each collapse, I moved further and further south,
behind the spine. I had a spectacular series of collapses that ended in the
worst collapse I have ever experienced in 24 years of flying. There was a
moment when the wing was below me and I was falling straight into a huge rock
outcropping on the hillside. Of course, I didn’t have contemplative thoughts in
that moment, but I did have a very clear impression of how the coming impact
was going to break my body. After that collapse, I decided I would stay off the
speed bar and simply focus on keeping the canopy over my head and I would land
wherever I came down in the desert.
The worst collapse I have ever experienced in 24 years of
flying.
I spent the next seven minutes with the wing pointed west,
drifting south, not trying to go to any particular place, just trying to keep
my wing over my head and inflated. There was an overhead power distribution
line to the north of Box Canyon Road and it looked like, of course, I was on a
trajectory to reconnect with the earth right at the power line, but just to the
north of the line, I found some lift and bubbled up and cleared the power line
by several hundred feet.
Box Canyon Road was the cleanest, widest space around and I
didn’t see any power poles or fence lines so I did big ears to kill off some
altitude and had an uneventful landing right on the dirt road. After I landed,
my hands were trembling and I wanted to experience and process my emotions, but
immediately there was a car in front of me and I had to clear my glider out of
the road and exchange pleasantries with the passengers.
Landing on Box Canyon Road.
So I live another day, but I don’t want to waste this
intense experience. Like Arjan’s death, I want to use this brush with death to
transform my life. One observation that came to me right after I landed was of
a parallel between my emotional presence during the “ride” through the disintegration
of my ego constructions this last year and the “ride” through the wing
collapses in the rotor. Regrettably I got myself into these situations, I am up
against forces much bigger than myself, and I have very limited control. It
would be reasonable to feel panic and terror, but for multiple reasons, I am
unable or unwilling to spontaneously have that experience, even offline when I
am safe and secure.
I woke up in the middle of the night last night thinking
about the big collapse and the “impression” I had in that moment of my body breaking
the rocks on the hillside. In the next few days, I am going to meditate on my memories of that moment. Perhaps I will experience feelings that will inform my behavior and my life will be spontaneously transformed by intuition. Thinking certainly isn't getting me there.
Saturday, March 08, 2014
Spring in my Backyard
Apricot blossoms and Boston Terriers.
Blessed bees sexing up my apricot blossoms. Lascivious behavior results in sweet, juicy fruit.This is what heaven smells like. Texas Mountain Laurel.
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