Returning to Smith Rock State Park for the first time since my climbing accident there was an event I had been anticipating and had been imagining in my mind over and over for the majority of a year.(<--That's a picture of Carabid, the route I fell on. About half way up the spire is the top of the climb. I fell right before that.)
Some friends and I had driven down a day early, before our climbing class, and they went for a day hike while I ventured out on my own. There was some playful teasing in the parking lot beforehand about me bringing dynamite with me and showing that route just who was boss.
"We'll know that you've found Carabid when we hear the explosions."
"Carabid? Oh that route was blown up years ago by Tamara Turner.... "
The laughing and jokes were a welcome relief from the building nervousness inside of me- nervousness at the thought of finally being back, facing this place again. I had anticipated that it would be emotional and powerful but I didn't know exactly how I would react once I got to the base of the climb again, this time alone, in silence.
Every time I had imagined it in my head, tears would come.
I would mentally relive the whole ordeal: getting up onto the crux, realizing I had committed myself to the move because I couldn't back down, realizing I was not going to make the move and I was going to fall, the fall itself, flipping over backwards, hitting my elbow, the rope finally catching and the hours afterwards of shock, rescue, the hospital, the emergency surgery....
So after almost 11 months of anticipation, here I was- finally.
It took me a little longer than I anticipated to find the start of the climb. The start is tucked up above some ledges which require a bit of scrambling. I'd been wandering around the general area looking for the right place and kept seeing this lone Canadian goose sitting atop a ledge. It caught my eye several times. Too lazy to pull out my guidebook, I decided to go investigate the goose and sure enough, he was sitting right at the base of the route where we had dropped our packs and anchored.
Goose marks the spot.
Because it had already started to snow by that point, I decided not to risk scrambling up the wet rock to the base of the climb and stayed down below the ledge where I could still see the route. And the goose.
When I got there, I threw down my pack, pulled out my stick of sage and eventually got it to burn despite the wind and snow. I let the smoke of the sage wash over me (a Native American purification tradition I had been taught years and years ago).
After all this time, now it was just me and the rock.
Feeling somewhat empty at first, waiting for the emotion to hit me, I noticed I was almost holding my breath to see what would happen inside. I took some pictures of the route, even a couple videos. I took some self-portraits of myself with the rock in the background.
Then I sat down, staring out at the river with the climb at my back and recalled an email I had received from my mother that morning, encouraging me about my trip back to this place.
She had reminded me that I come from a lineage of incredibly strong women and that to her, I was like a phoenix rising from the ashes of this whole ordeal. She went on to tell me how proud she was of me but the words about the phoenix had lodged in my head.
Then suddenly, as if a light had just switched on, the realization flooded me that the name of the area where I had fallen is called the Phoenix Wall. The symbolism of that hit me in that moment and emotion rushed over me. Chills went up my spine. Tears came rushing in. I couldn't believe that it had never occurred to me before- the metaphor. After the many times I'd answered questions of where I had fallen, "The Phoenix Wall..." it had never clicked in my head how symbolic this was, considering all I'd had to overcome since then.
That was the moment I felt a mysterious and beautiful purpose to all of this. Something bigger than myself was in motion here.
Now, I wouldn't say that I'm necessarily a superstitious person but it is these sorts of moments in life that confirm for me that there is much more going on in our lives than meets the eye. It is these types of moments that make me continue to want to listen carefully and intently to the ways life whispers wisdom to us, whether through other people, animals, "coincidences" or whatnot. These are the sorts of moments that drive my own personal spirituality.
The moment I made the "phoenix" connection was the single most powerful moment of the experience being back there. From that moment forward, I felt a kind of peace and acceptance I'd longed for and had not yet felt. It was almost as if everything in my life was unfolding the way it was meant to. How much more encouragement could I possibly feel from the situation than to realize that I had fallen on Phoenix Wall- and I had succeeded at being a "phoenix"? Being a person who looks for and appreciates multiple levels of meaning and existence in life, this was inexpressibly heartening.
The moment that the phoenix symbolism hit me was the perfect timing. It registered just when I needed it most: within moments of being back. I could not have really fully appreciated it before that moment.
"You have risen from the ashes of this event.... "
I spent about 2 hours at the base of the climb, mostly just sitting there looking up at it, studying the route, trying to decide where exactly I fell, what I possibly hit on the way down, where I came to rest about half way up the pitch. Then I studied the ledge which I was lowered off after the fall and in one of the cracks of that ledge, I tucked a piece of crumpled-up paper.
On that piece of paper I had written the word "Loss" on one side and "Gratitude" on the other. I had so much to be thankful for and yet, had so much I had to grieve. It was necessary to embrace both.
A phoenix really isn't a phoenix without the destruction part. That's the beauty of it. There's a death/destruction of some kind. And then, there's the rebirth/resurrection. Both parts need to be there. So in making peace with the Phoenix Wall, with Smith Rock State Park, it was only appropriate that both elements be present in my process. Both Loss and Gratitude. Death and Rebirth.
Already blown away by the symbolism of having fallen on Phoenix Wall, having risen from some pretty overwhelming ashes, I decided to look into the meaning of the word "Carabid" when I got home. I didn't think my jaw could drop any further than it already had, but it did.
Carabid is the name for a type of beetle.
In Native American spirituality, as well as other traditions (such as Egyptian mythology), the beetle has tremendous significance. Because it rolls balls of dung and lays its eggs inside, it has long been associated with new life and turning "shit" into something useful. In addition to that, the beetle is a symbol of resurrection because of its dynamic metamorphosis from the grub stage to the winged stage.
The parallels just keep getting more intense...
Just weeks previous to me revisiting Smith Rock, but completely unrelated to it, my sister had sent me an email about the symbolic meaning of the beetle. And on top of that, my mother had been to Egypt in the recent past and had bought me a beetle bracelet, after having seen the beetle symbolism all over the Pyramids.
As I sat at the base of the climb that day, along with writing Loss and Gratitude on a piece of paper, I had taken another piece of paper and had written all sorts of other words on it that had meaning to me. Resurrection and Transformation kept landing on the page. This was before I learned the meaning of the word "Carabid."
So, I'll say it again: for something so unfortunate to have happened in my life, I am beginning to think that there is something bigger at work here- maybe even something quite beautiful unfolding. Considering where I've been, the emotional and spiritual and mental territory I have braved since my fall, I could not feel more cradled and cared for by life, the universe- whatever you want to call it- than I do since making these connections.
In my mind's eye, returning to Carabid had always been a kind of agonizing experience. When I would play it out in my mind, intense regret and sadness would come up. There was a lot of angst over it.
But being back there, although emotional, was actually incredibly freeing and releasing. I didn't feel angsty. Tears definitely came flooding over me, remembering the experience. But there was a feeling of acceptance emerging inside of me that I hadn't expected. They weren't hot tears anymore- they were cool tears. Tears of acceptance rather than tears of regret.
And although I would take back that fall, undo it if I possibly could, opt for not having had that experience if I had the choice, I feel a growing sensation inside that everything in my life is unfolding as it should- or at least as best and as beautifully as it possibly can.
Not only am I now a phoenix woman on Phoenix Wall who has risen from the ashes, but I am a winged dung beetle on Carabid who turned a big ball of poop into something promising, something hopeful, something transformative.
