One Sunday afternoon this past summer I went hiking on the high grassy balds in Shining Rock Wilderness Area and got caught in a thunderstorm. Sitting on Tennant Mountain eating a sandwich I could see it, and hear it, coming. It was a small storm--and it was moving in a direction that wouldn't bring it right over me, so I kept eating, enjoying the sound of thunder and the feel of the wind.
I also put on a waterproof parka. And when the little storm went by me to the north, I was glad I did. Rain drops, not many, but big, began splattering on the rock outcrop where I sat. I kept the last bit of sandwich dry by bending my parka'd self over it.
The rain got heavier. For the first time, lightning flashed close by. Apparently, as the little storm rose up the highest ridges, it was generating, growing. Time for me to get off the summit and move on.
For the next 45 minutes or so all around and over me lightening crackled and thunder roared and rain poured and I slogged along a trail that had become a lively little stream.
To say the least, it was a powerful experience.
Moments of terror, of prayer, of feeling like an idiot--and finally of a kind of resignation that grew, step by step, into a strange kind of peace. I was in the middle of something wild but wonderful--and something I had absolutely no say over. All I could do was walk on--soaked from the waste down, water squishing in my boots with every step.
Carl Jung used to tell his patients that emotional turmoil is often like hiking in the Alps in a thunder storm. As you climb up from your village, if you keep walking, often you'll climb right out of the storm--putting it behind and beneath you in the valley you just left. You can look down and see the lightening in the clouds below, hear the thunder, watch the drama. It's still storming down there--but no longer on you.
I was thinking about Jung's story as I walked. I'd soon be out of the storm, or struck by lightening. Nothing at all I could do about it.
So I began trying to 'embrace the moment.' To feel the rain on my face and the water in my boots. To marvel at the spears of lightening and the thunder that bounced off the ridges and rumbled and rumbled. I tried my best to let go of every fearful impulse my poor mammal brain was generating--and simply to keep walking.
One worrisome thought at a time...I let go. Again and again.
Breathing in, taking another soggy step, breathing out.
Rain on jacket, rain on face, rain running down the inside of my pants and wicking into my socks and on down into my 'waterproof' boots.
Wind. Lightening. Fast-moving clouds. Rolling thunder.
On and on and on exchanging fear for feel: wetness, wind, light, deep rumble.
It was almost mesmerizing.
What doesn't kill you, some say, makes you stronger. It can also make you just plain happy to be among the living.
Slowly the storm moved on, the rain stopped, the lightening and the thunder were at 'a comfortable remove.' And I was still alive. Really, really alive.
