Trust Fall

About eight months ago I had a scary accident. I was hiking in the woods near my house, forging a path never taken before. I was feeling especially distracted that day, hoping to walk very far and to new places in order to clear my mind. Along the way, I kept imagining I saw turtles, but they were really just leaves. After climbing over several ridges and valleys, wishing for turtles and peace of mind, I came to another chasm, this time with a large fallen tree bridging across.

Crossing tree bridges is not a typical activity of mine. Honestly, I rarely cross a rocky river without using all four hands and feet! Call me a Venusian Capricorn, but I’m all about being careful to maintain balance in this chaotic world. This day, however, was different. It had to be different. My mind was in a tailspin. Dissociated and confused from the usual overwhelm, unfocused energy drove me into nature to discover details about Who I Really Am. Just as expected, Nature provided. Oh, did she provide.

After a brief moment of logical contemplation about crossing over this tree, which was anywhere from three to fifteen feet above the forest floor, I allowed spontaneity to guide my decision. That tree was my way across the chasm. “I can do this”, I said silently; “I trust myself.”

So I took one step and then another onto this beast of a bridge, and moved forward for just a few moments until I reached my first obstacle. A branch from another tree was blocking my path. I had to find a way around. So I surveyed my surroundings and decided I would grab another branch and sort of swing around the imposing one like a graceful chimpanzee. Well, I grabbed the branch. But as it turns out, that branch was dead, disconnected from any stable thing. In a split second, my moment of playful bravery transformed into a nightmare. Like slow motion, I felt the branch snap, and realized: I’m falling. Stuck in stunted time, I fell, and fell, so peacefully, like I was weightless and free. Then it hit: my body, on the ground, that is. Onto my head, then my back, I fell straight off this tree like a vulnerable baby bird—unable to fly, instinctively bracing for impact.

Thump. I’m sure it sounded something like that, when my body slumped onto the ground like a sack of potatoes. For a moment I laid there in shock, almost in total disembodiment. I did not pass out, though I was sure I landed on my head. That’s a good sign, I assured myself. I continued to lay there on the Summer forest floor. Feeling paralyzed. 

Paralyzed.

…paralyzed…

Oh God. Oh God. I was unable to move, feeling so stiff and scared. The question came over me like a looming wave: what if…I’m paralyzed?

Breathe, Kelly.

Breathe.

All alone in the woods, what would I do if I couldn’t move? How would anyone find me? I would have to crawl. But can I even do that?

Desperation. Shock. Panic. Pure horror.

Breathe.

As far as I could tell, there was a definite chance I may never get up from this ground the same. So I did the only thing I could think of.

I prayed.

I prayed out loud to the angels who could heal any wound that I may have sustained.

I prayed that my spine was protected; I called in Snake to embrace me.

I prayed so hard and so purely.

I prayed,

And I prayed.

Then I breathed, feeling radiance and true faith in my words. A rush of light coursed through my body. Peace enveloped me. Eventually, I found the courage to test my movement. I activated my legs; they worked. I carefully used my arm to push myself up: ow! So tender, my back; it was a massive impact. But I could move, which is what mattered. I experimented with other body parts. I could move my back, my neck, my head, albeit a limited range of motion. When I finally stood up, I was dizzy and disoriented. Terrified, still in shock. But standing.

Then I began the long walk home, holding my back like an old crone. Along the way, I crossed a small river. Within it was a fairly large turtle, manifest like my destiny of falling that day. Turtle, the great teacher of protection, whose shell encases its soft body in solitary safety. I cried at seeing its beautiful shape, cried knowing how profound this moment was despite the obvious pain and suffering, cried at my intuition imagining then manifesting the very medicine I needed on this fateful day. I walked on, carrying profound awe in my tender, injured body. I was at least a mile off, but I knew the way. With each step I verbally thanked the Universe, over and over again, for protecting me. I thanked Turtle, I thanked the angels, I thanked everyone for everything.

While I could have been reeling with despair for having been so rash to cross that wretched tree, I was instead fascinated by the intensity and reality of what had just occurred. As I trudged home, alone in body yet surrounded by Spirit, I spoke aloud words of reverence. Instead of cursing the world for being a dangerous, hateful place, I actually felt blessed for the impact. This acute moment of fear reminded me of my aliveness, of miracles, of the power of prayer. Steeped in spiritual knowing, I felt confident that this divine accident was a gift, perfectly designed to wake me from a spell of spacey slumber.

Finally I got home, grabbed an ice pack and my phone, called a friend, and laid on the ground, shaking with every cell of my being. Traumatized, for sure. Changed, most certainly. That day I wanted something different. What I got was exactly that.

I have since reflected on this impact, but also forgotten about it at times, until someone like a deep tissue massage therapist presses on my back with brute force, reactivating trauma in waves. I still feel my center back pinch during yoga, and tremble with terror when explaining the incident to others. This is one of just a few accidents in my life that have woken me up. The lessons related to this one continue to arise gradually, like a slow-release capsule; slow and steady, like Turtle.

In retrospect, this accident was so divinely perfect. As I fell onto that forest floor, I experienced the most blissful, timeless peace. Even the impact itself felt so gentle, so kind. Though my head directly hit the ground, it felt like I was hitting a loving pillow. When my spine came down to join it, I was equally embraced by what felt like a cloud. It was as if I had come home; like I belonged there, like I could lay there forever, die there, and be okay. Because Mother Earth caught me. She had my back. She held me there, like a child just born into the world, or an elder taking her last breath. She reminded me that I could pray, that I had the power to heal myself. She reminded me that my intuition can be trusted, even if it leads me straight into danger. The truth is, in my dissociated state, I had to fall in order to ground myself. I was in the clouds, floating away. Mother Earth, in her harsh, loving way, sometimes speaks very clearly. Slow down, rushing child. Slow down, dying sage. Time is eternal. Life is sacred. Be here now. Thump. 

This incident also ironically strengthened my trust with nature and myself. Remember as I stepped onto that tree, I thought silently, “I trust myself”—only to fall off onto my back less than thirty seconds later. I could have taken this as a very sure sign not to trust myself or the world, ever again! But it had the exact opposite effect on me. I knew that I could care for my body in the way it needed. I also knew that I was carried by invisible loving arms down to that forest floor. I was not alone in my suffering, because Nature was there to guide me. Mother Earth, when she caught me from that treacherous fall, taught me what trust really is; and most importantly, what it is not.

Trust is not having an obsessive caution of life’s perils, or staying inside one’s comfort zone in an effort to avoid fear. We become no safer by escaping reality or rejecting risks. Quite the opposite. It’s the force field of earth-body connection, and the intelligence of our emotions, which can guide us in novel situations.

Trust is not an agoraphobic approach to life, nor is it one of reckless behavior. Trust is a middle path. It is deep listening. It is surrendering to the moment, no matter how beautiful or horrific it may be. Within each traumatic experience is a wellspring of resources and skills. Difficulty teaches us what we are capable of. While we can take steps to avoid unnecessary challenges, it is impossible to escape tragedy. Pain will happen to us, no matter what. So in the present moment we may as well eat good food, take care of our bodies, live in supportive communities, love one another, and pursue fulfilling work. We may as well follow our bliss instead of daydreaming, because let’s face it: whether we choose to participate or not, life goes on.

May I continue taking risks while keeping my feet firmly planted on the ground. Barefoot and bug sprayed, I take chances while maintaining my wits about me. Nature is the true equalizer. The more I consult her with a clear mind, hopefully the fewer falls I will take. But I won’t hold my breath. Life is here to be lived. So I will cross tree bridges and invest in things that are meaningful to me. I will love fully and comfort myself as often as needed. Nestled within a turtle shell of perfection, I am one with the Universe. I will thrive. How do I know? Because I am supported by the very planet I walk upon.

Because I trust myself.