Members Area sneak peak // September // Calibrate
A short story from the not so distant past….
A sliver of blue pierced through the thick grey storm clouds that spread like a ceiling across the sky. We’d been crouched beneath a rock for over an hour waiting out the storm, and now, because of coldness and awkward positioning, my legs were stiff and achy. I stood up slowly, the thick ligaments behind my knees clenched down in protest. It was almost laughable how tight they felt. They were as stiff as a corpse and tried well beyond their years. I quickly shifted my weight from right to left, a teenage slow dance sway, to help them loosen up once again.
We’d been backpacking along the spine of the Winds for just about a week, which meant I was as strong and as an ox, and probably as tired as one after a long days work. Only my work wasn’t done, I still had a pass to climb up and over. I looked up towards that high pass, and I felt as though it looked back at me with its looming presence. Zack hurled his pack onto his back. The blue sliver in the sky swelled to a hole, a big gaping blue wound in the heart of the storm. The hard rain and pelting hail finally abated, and although ominous clouds continued to swirl in all directions, the grumbles of thunder sounded more distant. Perhaps the storm had finally become bored with us, I thought; perhaps the ‘weather’, as they call it in Wyoming, had finally moved on in search of a new pair of dirtbags to torment.
With only a hair of hesitation, on my side not Zack’s, we decided to take advantage of the break in the storm, to buckle down and grind our way up and over the pass. Most people draw a thick and clear line between what they want to do and what they absolutely do not want to do; the yes’s pile on one side, the no’s on the other, the defining line drawn prominent between the two. But the key to enjoying tough travel in the mountains is to learn to draw that line as faintly as possible; to quietly convince yourself that the difference between what you want to do and what you will do seems utterly unremarkable. And so, while that big beautiful blue hole bloomed over head, while the ‘weather’ looked uncertain rather than violent, and while the sun was still high enough in the sky to shine through the chaos, we began our final climb of what had already been a relentless day.
“How much elevation have we gained?” I asked Zack as I leaned against a car sized boulder and attempted to catch my breath. When their is no trail to follow the importance of mileage flattens to meaninglessness, while elevation turns to gospel.
He tilted his head down and squinted his eyes at the black Garmin watch affixed to his wrist. He pushed several buttons, then furrowed his brow, which I took as a bad sign and looked away. Sweat soaked and silent, I hoped, prayed, that we were close to the top. Is that blue patch in the sky growing or shrinking? It was hard to tell anymore.
Something odd but true about mountains is that you can’t see the top of them when you’re on them. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. At a distance mountains look like these simple triangle shapes, one straight upward push that leads to a very pointed and definitive peak; but up close mountains are nowhere as neat, nor as tidy, as a triangle. Mountains are rocky mounds stacked atop more rocky mounds. They are zigzagging stops and starts that are interrupted and obscured by gullies and tarns and false summits, all packed together with strips of loose scree, sharp rocks, snow fields, and the occasional willow. Sometimes you can’t see the top until you’re standing on it. Sometimes your eyes are only good for finding a single step forward. And on long days, like this one, full of many climbs, knowing your elevation, knowing how far you have left to go, can feel as sacred as the hands of god.
“I don’t know.” He responded.
Goddamn it.
“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re looking at the watch that tells you.” My voice was as pointed as the tip of a triangle.
“Looks like I forgot to calibrate my watch before we started the climb. I’ll calibrate it when we get to the top.” He said lackadaisically, then he resumed his slog upward.
“Well, how far would you guess it is to the top?” I hollered ahead to him.
“I don’t know, E. I hope we only have 300 more feet to go, but it could be closer to 600ft.” He turned his head over his left shoulder as he spoke so his voice would carry back down towards me, but his feet continued grinding upward.
That’s 600ft of elevation to go, not 600ft of distance to travel. Remember, miles are useless during a climb; as useless as a watch that isn’t calibrated for the journey.
Fabulous, I said under my breath; just fabulous.
For the past few weeks a single word has been rising up in the back of my mind. Like a kind of tectonic plate, the word uplifts from somewhere beyond me and pushes itself into the forefront of my mind like a mountain rising out of dust.
That mountain sized word is calibrate; and it is the practice theme for this month.
It’s September. Happy September!
Soon the leaves will all fall away, summer will turn to autumn, equinox will pass, and the darkness of the night sky will fill most hours of the day. But for now we get to stay a little longer in this sweet in-between; when the nights are cool, the days are warm, the late blooming flowers are vibrant, and life seems gradual. For many of us, this in-between time of year is an organic time to pull away from the surface in order to reflect and center, to create deeper grooves of harmony within ourselves before the seasonal changes settle in.
When the word calibrate appears in my mind it is immediately followed by two other words; connection and harmony.
Calibration, connection, harmony. Calibration, connection, harmony.
They’re like a string of mountain tops all hooked together.
When you hear the word calibrate what comes to your mind?
Think for a moment.
Most people think of inanimate objects, like Zack’s watch; instruments that provide accurate readings of the empirical world. But it’s not just inanimate objects that need calibration; animate things, living things, like you and me, need calibration too.
And so the question then becomes; What do we need to calibrate ourselves? How do we remember to do it before we begin to climb to greater heights within ourselves? And further more, what standard are we calibrating to?
Our bodies and minds are instruments; and I think one of the benefits of a consistent Yoga practice is that it helps us remember that. Our bodies and minds need to be understood, cleaned, attuned, aligned, and calibrated to a standard that is rooted in our own personal sense of wellbeing. Wellbeing is something we know, it is a felt sense within each of us, and it grows from the inside out. Our daily lives have become so outward facing, with so many things pulling our attention away from ourselves, that we sometimes can forget about the treasure trove of inner resources that’s within us.
Calibration. Connection. Harmony.
When we calibrate ourselves to the standards of our own wellbeing, our own values, and our own expectations we expand our capacity to connect with the world around us. Greater connection on the inside leads to deeper connections on the outside.
It is by calibrating to our own standards, prioritizing our connection to ourselves, and consciously connecting with others that we begin to feel the gentle buzz of harmony humming through our daily lives.
Off the mat practices for this month:
Calibrate : Getting to know who’s in there..
Write yourself a letter. A clean sheet of paper, a nice pen, your best penmanship. A real letter. What are the things that bring you joy? Be specific. What are the things that have proved challenging? How do you draw strength from your challenges and your joys? What is your highest value? How do you embody that value with your actions and behaviors? What would you like to contribute to this world: today, this year, this lifetime? Where or when do you feel the most confident? Where or when do you feel the most support and love?
Connect : Letting yourself be known…
Write someone else a letter. Yes, another clean sheet of paper, best penmanship, don’t be overly critical of your handwriting or you spelling. Who are you writing to? You choose. What do you want to tell them? You know.
If they are living, put it in an envelope, slap a stamp on it, and send it to them. If they are no longer living, read it aloud, then put it in a envelope, slap a stamp on it, and burn it in a sacred fire ceremony.
Harmony : The art of being…
Schedule a date with yourself. Stay in, go out, it’s up to you. Do whatever you will really, truly enjoy; not what you should do, not what you need to do, not what someone else tells you to do; only what you truly want to do. Allow yourself the opportunity to normalize your enjoying of your own company. Being in your own company in joy is a work of art.
This is a peak into the September theme of the Members Area.
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