The art of falling

 

November 2020. My son Kristof discovers a path accessible from our backyard and which he aptly named, ''The Enchanted Forest''. During this chapter of humanity characterized by collective fear, depressing isolation and suffocating uncertainty, this trail with mythical trees (Omega, The Tree of Infinite Love, the Temple, or Medusa, named such by Andreas) became the witness of almost daily expeditions generating insights that I immortalized in a journal. The last entry for this trail was #166, in July of the following year. I had been there only once after that, still in shock and grief from the turn my life had taken, accessing the trail from a different entry point since I had relocated. This morning, wearing an old t-shirt from Andreas, and even his outgrown shorts and socks, plus a brand new (and my first) pair of trail-running shoes, I decided I needed to go back. To practice running on uneven terrain in anticipation of my ''goddess-like'' adventure to stretch my limits and expand my awareness in a couple of months.

I parked my car by the fire station. I was hoping it was allowed. It was 9:30 when I made it up the hill to the trail. It was already super hot (after work yesterday, my car dashboard indicated 113 F, and I am not joking, my seatbelt was burning my neck and I was regretting not having left an oven mitt in my car because my steering wheel was like a stove at its maximum intensity !). Walking on a narrow trail with my boys was already challenging as I could recall. Running was a whole different story. I immediately became annoyed by the sound of a collection of over-the-counter pills bumping against their plastic container. I thought I had emptied my backpack before putting the granola bar, mini first aid kit, phone and small water bottles ! Then I thought it was probably not such a bad idea, as the chick-ah-chick-ah sound would serve to alert any potential forest king or queen (AKA mountain lion) or rattle snakes. Towards one end of the path, I found The Temple with the swing where we used to sit a little, and where I would briefly meditate and have a gratitude practice. I turned back, I was already feeling hot. I greeted joyfully two brave young teens on their bikes. They didn't respond. Then, a few moments later, THUMP !! That's right: my face met the dusty ground. I knew this would happen sooner or later, but I didn't think it would be THAT soon, like 10 min into my training ! I had an unpleasant déjà-vu... I once fell while jogging many years ago, and I had an abrasion on my right knee that had taken forever to heal... I immediately moved my limbs to make sure all was intact. I checked on my teeth, too, because my right cheek was also violently kissed by the earth... There was a 1-cm abrasion on my right palm and a bigger one on my right knee (what's with the right side ?), but nothing to stop me. I kept going. And replaying what had happened: I was in my mind too much, of course (and off course !), not paying attention to the ground and rocks and other elements I stumbled into. I also realized that I probably overestimated my capacity, and should have done muscular training more than just twice in the last week. Even though I am a fast walker and have a pretty good balance, I might be more on the flimsy side these days, which can be a disadvantage when it is time to maintain some grounding with endurance.

So I fell, and as I engaged in a futile attempt to remove the prickly pieces of hay-like stuff all over my clothes, even though I felt like crying my whole life, and all the injustices plaguing our world, collective and individual, I kept going. The art of falling is not so much in falling than it standing back up and pushing through. I have a perseverant nature. I am also old enough to realize that it has its limits. That we cannot control the outcome, no matter how hard we try. The true perseverance is really about persevering to this thing we call life...

I paid more attention to the path, noticing that, like everything else, it is alive in some way. Dynamic. As feet, storms and bikes dig it, it gets molded by people, forest creatures, and the elements. Another lesson in impermanence... I could find some of the mythical trees but not all of them. And where we used to walk, there was a sign discouraging to go further because of risk of injury from archery. That was at Medusa, where I decided to pause to do some wound care and hydration. I also realized I had lost a water bottle (I had put two small ones on each side of my backpack. One was most likely propelled during my fall).

        Medusa (not the disheveled girl, the tree 😆😅)

After that point, I decided to head back, and I chuckled as I imagined being reprimanded by muscular firefighters for parking by the firestation, and to whom I would have said that I was either on fire (LOL), or a clueless, out-of-shape person, wounded and if they could kindly assist me ? Hahaha...

I didn't find one of the trees that had a red heart painted on it (the Tree of Infinite Love), as I remembered an area where we had paused, the boys and I, to snack, or take a picture. I kept looking for the past and within it, my sons' laughter and imagination... 

I went down the hill with some resolutions about my training program that obviously needs some adjustments. I shopped nearby and found so items on sale. In the changing room, I also had another confirmation that the fall must not have looked very elegant, as I discovered dirt in my face and even underneath my bra !

But again, the art of falling isn't so much about how we land as much as how we stand up. And keep going. With grace, hope, and joy. The joy of imperfection and from the permission to have fun and not to take oneself too seriously.

This was a new experience for me. I will keep working at it. From this point on, and until the trip, I know I will improve. When we find alignment, magic can happen. This trail was called The Enchanted Forest, after all.