Getting to Trust Despite the Monkeys

It is rare that I am at a loss for words... most of my friends would say that anyway. I am realizing more and more how much of an external processor I am. Inside my head ideas and thoughts jump from branch to branch like a monkey dragging my emotions behind them.

Over the last week or two I have had ample stimulation for these monkey thoughts to start running wild and I have ran along with them. My way of sorting them out has largely been through long drawn out talks with friends and through writing. Writing pins the monkey to the page, keeps it in one place. I can then line them up to look at them one by one, reposition them, erase some, expand others. The monkeys are not interfering with my process, they are my process. All of us have a mind like this, our ego, that jumps and shrieks at every noise it hears. That is the monkey's job; to sense the world around us, the small cues and subtle signals, and then to react to them. The problem is that the reaction is just that, a reflex. Not a thought out, conscious decision about where we want to go or what the reflex will then set off in its wake.

I have an army of monkey's from a time in my life that has now past but they still shriek and yell every time anything remotely agitates them. They are deafening and I have been in the process these last days of trying to round them up and quiet them again. They have strewn my emotions all about me, pulling things out of boxes long since shut and displaying them to the world and it has been painful.

As you can tell, there is a lot I want to write about in this posting but I cannot. It is too personal, too close to home and still in process, yet I still wanted to put out a thought on what is going on at this very moment for me. This last year has seen so many changes in my life and I have grown as a person far beyond the limits I thought possible. This does not mean I have found peace. No, it more closely resembles coming over a ridge to see another mountain range in the distance between myself and where I am heading. Some of these mountains are my own to climb, some are the mountains of others close to me. Mountains I cannot help them climb, I can simply watch and hope silently to myself that they do not slip, that they have the courage. If I am lucky I might be able to belay them on the steeper slopes but that is the most intervention possible. Even yelling out some beta to my partner above seems useless if they are not asking. My current situation reminds me of climbing and the partners you choose for the hard routes.

Climbing is an intensely personal and intimate sport. You ascend the rock above trusting your strength, your technique and at every move you venture into new territory. The risk of a slip, a weak muscle or a bad rock always reminds you of the potential fall awaiting you. This is why you climb in pairs, one person ascending, one with belay on. Your belay guides the rope, not holding you but following your every move. Although they cannot stop you from slipping they can ease your fall by locking the rope off once it starts to slide through the belay device. They keep you from hitting the deck, they keep you safe. The trust you develop in a climbing partner is intense because when you are ascending you must remain focused. You can't be worrying about whether or not your belay is paying attention, whether or not they are waiting to catch you. You focus on the move ahead of you, your challenges, and you trust your partner. You climb together. Then you trade and it is your turn to belay them. Back and forth, risk and trust are shared and a bond grows. I am sure many have written about this relationship in much better terms that I ever could.

(I had originally expanded on this concept here and made an analogy regarding some things going on in my life right now, but decided they were a little too close to home for the public blog so I just removed that portion, sorry... Still, wanted to post the previous stuff)