[Please see trip pictures here] 
The last book I read before my trip preparations crowded out my recreational reading was Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert.  After a very painful divorce, Gilbert took a year to travel to Italy, India, and Bali to explore and write about her relationships with indulgence, spirituality, and love.   While in India, she came to a point where she decided that she wanted to spend time completely alone with herself and meet every part of her that she had been resisting or avoiding. I remember reading once that moving towards the uncomfortable is the bravest thing humans can do.  I admired Gilbert for moving towards the uncomfortable, possibly towards that which was for her the most uncomfortable.  I didn't think that moving towards the uncomfortable would also be a part of my Road to Compassion journey; I envisioned lots of fun, new connections, and adventure.  However, the uncomfortable was one of the first things I came upon when I reached my first destination.

I pulled into Creston at about six thirty on the night before my first Road to Compassion workshop.  While driving through town and looking for the workshop venue, I felt a pang of loneliness.  Though I hadn't felt this loneliness for quite some time, it was an old and familiar feeling.  It might be more accurate to say that I had not been completely aware of or in touch with this loneliness for a long time.  I was a little surprised because I thought I had done many things to befriend myself over the last several years in Nelson.  But clearly it is difficult to hide more deeply hidden parts of myself when I am in unfamiliar surroundings with a large lake and many mountains between me and those I know well, or know at all, for that matter.  And of course the fact that I had just become single again played a part in my state of being.  Not only that, there had also been such a supportive connection between Melody and me and such caring support from our community right up until my departure.   Furthermore, I was so full with trip preparations that I didn't take time to fully consider what it meant to be leaving the cozy confines of my community, of Nelson, of what I like to think of as "The Shire".  The moments when I thought about my trip were spent fantasizing about the hiking I would do and the people I would meet, and these two things have been what I have leaned on to help me find my feet on this new path. 

And so there I was, launched out from a whirlwind period of deeply transformative relationship transition and completely full trip preparation into ...newness.  It was something like being on a wild theme park ride that spins you around at high speed while also plunging you down and shooting you up and flipping you around, all while ride attendants carefully watch over you and make sure you are supported.  Then you exit out the back into a part of the theme park you don't recognize without any friends in sight or railings to hold onto for balance.  (Ok, maybe I'm exaggerating a little, especially given that Melody and I had such a healing and supportive ending to our marriage, but it's a pretty cool image, don't you think?)

There was not much time to explore my uncomfortable feelings as I needed to get some rest and get ready for my first Road to Compassion workshop.  The next morning I woke up feeling grateful to finally be under way with my Road to Compassion journey, to finally be engaging with people face to face instead of through a computer screen.  (As much as I appreciate the fun-loving binary relationship with my computer, I prefer connecting with real people who share the heartaches and celebrations of the human experience.)  My body felt a little groggy from the fullness of the last couple of weeks, so I did some yoga and breathing exercises to wake up and get blood and oxygen flowing.  Given my overall state of being, I was very fortunate to have a group of participants who I experienced as open to and appreciative of the material I was presenting.  We worked and played our way through the NVC principles within the warmth and colour of the Snoring Sasquatch   My primary challenge came not with difficult participants but from the mediation I had to do between my digestion and the new protein powder I had put in my smoothie that morning.  I felt somewhat like I was carrying around a lump of clay in my belly that was too big for the potter's wheel of my tummy.

At the end of the workshop Bob, a fun-loving and energetic workshop participant, invited me to join a local group for a hike the next day.  I was so grateful for the invitation as I had forgotten to ask about hiking.  And what a hike it was!  Six hours in the wonders of nature with a group of inspiring hikers.  One hiker who was sixty-five led our group most of the way.  Another who was sixty-four spent the day going back and forth among our group of eleven, helping people across creeks and making sure everyone could get up the steep parts.  At one point, after we had been hiking already for a few hours, the sixty-four year old actually jogged ahead for about fifty meters up the mountain in order to get a good picture of our group.  After negotiating quite a bit of snow and several creeks (I'm happy to say that I stayed dry.  I've discovered that there is an advantage to being a skinny guy with large feet - it's harder to break through soft snow.) we got to the top of an unnamed peak and took in my favourite view: three hundred and sixty degrees of mountain peaks. 

Not only did Bob and his wife Alexandra take me hiking, they also put me up, fed me, and helped spread the word of my Road to Compassion.  Their support and friendship was just what I needed to gently help me on my way.  However, once back on the road, my discomfort checked in to let me know that it had some items to add to the trip agenda.  I could tell that an important part of my Road to Compassion journey would be finding compassion for myself, for the part of me that thinks there is something lacking inside.  One way or another, I intend to meet this part of myself as fully as I can.  Already I have been wading into these murky places with some sitting and hiking alone-time.  Some sweet sadness has been bubbling up.  I have allowed myself to sink into it slowly without trying to figure anything out, or solve anything.

On my way to Jasper I stopped near Lake Louise for an evening hike up to Larch Valley.  I did my customary bear calls as I went along.  When I got to Larch Valley, it was after 9pm and drizzling.  I was fairly certain that I was the only one up there so I began to breathe more deeply and open my voice more fully.  I breathed down to the bottom of my spine and felt an exuberant release of joy.  Then I began to cry.  I'm not sure why the sadness came, although I know how pure joy and pure sadness often swap surfboards while Waltzing and Jiving on the same wave of emotion.  Perhaps I was feeling the loss of all the times I hold back my joy or look for it in a piece of pizza, a warm, buttered muffin, or the smile from an attractive woman. 

I'm laughing, I'm crying
The wind won't keep secrets
The seamlessness frees us
If only we would
Breathe in
Or out

One of the reasons I'm passionate about hiking is because mother nature brings out or reflects my own vast and endless acceptance, joy, and inspiration, sometimes more so when I hike alone: Get far away from the addictions, surround myself with beauty, and only ask myself to breathe hard and put one foot in front of the other, good strategy for some inner peace I'd say.  But I know that my deeper purpose on this trip and in life is not to hike away my days (although what a fine life that would make).  Hiking is hugely supportive for me but, as I've done with other physical pursuits - kayaking, running, yoga -  it could easily turn into a strategy for avoiding things I don't want to face, like finding acceptance in myself,  or believing in myself, or writing.  If I remember correctly, Gilbert put herself in an underground cave for several hours in order to face her uncomfortable places.  I have a sense that I may choose something similar as part of my journey.  Until then I have the writing of these words and short stints of alone=time to nudge me closer towards embracing my discomfort. 

I suppose I am giving a lot of attention to my uncomfortable feelings because they seem to be an important part of this trip, perhaps my biggest opportunity for growth.  However, those feelings are only one part of a Road to Compassion experience that has been a humbling celebration in many ways.  I am getting wonderful feedback from workshop participants; other workshop  possibilities are opening up; I am making new friends and spending time with old friends; I'm receiving caring and support from people I've just met that is almost difficult to accept.  I feel some disappointment as I had hoped to write in more detail about the people I'm meeting, especially since I am receiving so much support.  However, there has been more time then I had anticipated with keeping up with future workshops and other business matters.   My heartfelt thanks go out to those who have organized my completed workshops: Louise in Creston, Pat in Invermere, Karen and Gloria in Golden, and Ginette in Jasper.  My whole body, especially my legs, lungs, and eyes, thank all those who have helped me get up into the mountains:  Bob, Alexandra, and the Creston gang; Chad and Mark in Golden; Kim, Dave, Catherine, Simone, Nori, Mark, and Christie in Jasper. My old friends, Chad, Mark, and Nuala, took me into their home in Golden and spoiled me in many ways, and Russ at Kakwa Eco Village in the Robson Valley (from where I am now writing this post) has welcomed me here and made every effort to support my Road to Compassion trip and make me feel comfortable at Kakwa (I hope to write a post about my time at Kakwa, including my Alpaca sheering experience.)  Old friends and new friends that I'm just getting to know are going out of their way to support me.  My predominant and most consistent feeling is one of gratitude, although at times I need to be disciplined with my attention.   If I don't also acknowledge and work through my discomfort, it can pull my attention away from the shower of blessings and try to persuade me to focus on worry or doubt or seeming lack.  The power and guile of the pain body is not to be underestimated.

Writing is one way that I can acknowledge and bring more awareness to my sneaky shadows.
In some way or another, writing is tied to my destiny.  I know this because I love it and resist it immensely, if not equally.  Many days I think about things I want to write and how I will write them, and every day I find ways to put off writing.  So, to those of you who are reading these posts, thank you very much.  I've rarely found the motivation to write just for the sake of writing, although I know there is great value in that.  For me it is the sharing - the exchange of part of myself with part of another through writing and being read - that coaxes me to dig into the tangled writing forest of thoughts, words, and structures and build something that will stand a while and let some light through.  If any of you are moved to add more foundation and light with any kind of feedback, suggestions for improvements or something you are moved to share, please do.  I hope to get my blog adjusted so that readers can respond right below the posts towards a possible greater dialogue exchange.

On the Inner Road to Compassion,

Eric

I'm determined to have summer

It's already almost July

I'm not waiting for the weather

I've got plans for making love with life

I'm determined to make friends with myself

Before this moment is over

The tears are taking turns with the times when I can't hold back the laughter

Back