After years of sprinting and climbing, I took off, went on a journey, stepped out, tripped out, jumped from my life, jumped on a plane and into the tropical waters of Indonesia and Southeast Asia, jumped off a cliff with a leap of faith to end all leaps – or to begin all bounds of belief.
A leap of faith is so romantic, a hallmark card outlook that you will find anywhere and everywhere. I generally most passionately subscribe to this buzz. Just JUMP! No reward without risk. So, deathly afraid of heights, I committed myself to leap, undertaking an allegory of conquering my fears.
And I got hurt. The blunt force of hitting the water from the height of a 5-story building dislocated my tailbone. I was able to get treated. Massage and manipulation, and after the adjustment, a scream that may have turned many a curious ear from far, far away. Flocks of parrots fled from trees. Dogs howled. A village went silent.
Having cracked myself at my root, my base, I realized that I was unsure of what I was jumping for, or into, or from. I was not connected to my self, my source. And, clearly, I was not sufficiently trained in technique, nor properly learned in hazard.
But I did it. And despite the set-back of the pain, I am grateful that I leapt, for the lesson, a deeper understanding… and the story.
So a bit more cautious, more grounded, more connected, I talked to God. I made friends with a deeper, wiser part of my self. And I gave my self and spirit space to spread, expand, and rest without responsibility. I gave myself permission to break down walls, dispel myths, slay dragons. Experience a thing I’ve dreamed of. See the something I’m made of. Have love. Be love.
I stuck my suitcase in storage, grabbing from it a handful of the roughest ware, bought a backpack and travelled. With more rock solid ground beneath my feet, heeding how much air allowed under. Grounded and recognizing the value of being groundless.
One foot in front of the other. Barefoot. Candid. Crazy. I dived the bluest waters. I paddled the islands of the Andaman sea. I climbed mountains, volcanoes and temple steps. I dug deeper, I grew taller. I fell in love with sea turtles and urchins, Buddha lilies and orchids, lemongrass and ginger, sand, sand, and more sand and salt, curries that burnt the tongue.
I filled an entire journal as a chronicle, and I can’t tell you how accomplished that makes me feel. Now back, I will share with you as I remember… my adventure.
Nusa Cenigan, Bali. Morning one. 04:53 am. A perfect time to rise. I sit here after after night one on the porch of this teeny tiny bungalow. Dark wood, with cracks in the walls, sticky glued slats. The ocean roars, restless, beyond the lushness of the yucca, the banyan and the palms. Crickets and bugs unnamed and unknown finish their nightsong while the roosters start their day. Crying and cawing, each answering another, “Is it time yet? Is it time?” Geckos rest in the eaves overhead, asleep in bamboo and teak and straw. Something else calls, “aaahooo, aaahooo, aaahoo…” I imagine in a few days time, I will know what it is. And so the journey begins.