Canyons
Portola Valley, CA
29 April 1999
Canyons, even the Grand Canyon, are nothing more or less than an expression of the repetitive patterns of rivers and streams over time. Given enough time, water always endures. Rock eventually gives way. What do these deep chasms have to teach us about ourselves? What do they have to teach me about myself?
As I thought deeply on it, what occurred for me was that canyons, at least the ones in my mind, become present to teach me the distinction between denial and avoidance. Denial is a complete obliviousness to what is. Avoidance on the other hand is an awareness of what is, but an awareness from a distance.
I am holding an image of myself walking on a path. I can see a huge canyon ahead. I know it is there. I also know there is no way around it. Yet, I turn south, or maybe north. It doesn�t matter. I create a new path parallel to the canyon. This is a path that I know isn't going anywhere. Except I do know that it isn't going toward that canyon. It is the path of avoidance. And the canyon looms deeper and darker than I have ever imagined. As long as I stay on that parallel path the edge looks like it leads down into a bottomless abyss.
For some reason I find myself moving toward the canyon's edge. Why now? It doesn�t matter. It just is. As I move closer to the lip I am surprised to find that the drop isn't as sheer as I had expected. In fact there�s a trail, a path leading downward. Who knows? I think, there may be a guide or two that I'll meet along the way. I also notice that it really isn't so dark after all. The distortion came from maintaining my distance from the edge. Avoidance darkens the terrain.
Silence is part of the canyon. So is the aloneness. There are rocks and boulders strewn along the path. I know I'll have to remove them, leverage them aside maybe, but there is no going around them. These rocks and boulders are everything that I have been avoiding in my life. Here they are right in my path now. Only now the canyon is working with me. I am on the down slope. I can leverage them out of the way. They needn't be barriers any longer. That is my choice in the moment. Confront these fears, move deeper into the canyon, or lose my footing, slip and slide a bit and scurry back up to the old well-worn path on the side to the canyon. The choice is now unavoidable.
The other difference is that now I can see to the bottom. There's a river at the bottom. A nourishing, clear flowing river. It's as if the water is made up of countless sparkling diamonds cascading through the gorge. Now I notice that barriers are not everywhere along this path. There are level places along the way. Moments to take a breath, places to sit and to rest. There are also switchbacks along the trail. At times it seems like I'm backtracking, but I'm not. I realize that it is just too dangerous to go down too quickly. Pay attention to the pace, I say to myself. Just keep going down. You'll be fine once you reach the river with the diamond water.
A canyon is a stream that followed a path over and over. It became a river that developed its own course, its own pattern. It channeled deeper and deeper into the rocks until they gave way and open themselves up to reveal what was buried for all the ages.
This canyon image is a guide. It is saying that it is me - in all my lifetimes - that has created this beautiful and terrifying chasm. It is showing itself now, telling me that this is the time for me to go into these deep, deep patterns to learn from them. The canyon is inviting me to go to their source, and drink from the water of the first stream, the diamond water that cuts to the truth, that nourishes my soul, my true self, the water that connects me to all that is.
To get to that water I must face down the demons that protect the river. They are of my own making. They are me. I can't fight them, but I can engage and acknowledge them, even thank them for their vigilance. I can tell them that they now can rest. Their work is done.
I wonder what awaits me at the river, I wonder what the diamond water tastes like, and I wonder what waits for me on the other side.