Healing is possible – when we walk

The day started like the last 3 on my summer camping trip to the Yorkshire dales.

Grey. Drizzly. Wet

But, after breakfast and tidying up, the smallest semblance of blue sky emerged. Just the tiniest bit.

The tiniest blue in a sky full of grey, after a day of mist and cloud.

Sometimes it just takes the tiniest speck of blue.

Sometimes, we can barely see it

Sometimes we have to walk, even in the midst.

Sometimes our tiniest blue is something that we cling on to to keep going, it might be our children, our faith..just something that tells us that walking is just about possible, and worthwhile.

The tiniest blue

Do I walk?

Will I get wet? Hurt? Where will I go? Who will be there?

How many questions to overthink before making a move. Thinking is the enemy of flow. Life is for living, not watching others live it.

So I started.

Walking.

The map looked flat. But then again walks aren’t maps.

When walking, the path gave me decisions, like above, 3 splintered off routes, often a muddy one, rocks or gravel, and what I realised some were better for downhill than up. They got me to where I needed to be, but I still had to choose

Some paths were so worn down they’d been replaced, laid in concrete or wood to stop me from slipping, outside help to aid the walker.

Clouds gathered in the distance, sweat pouring from me. Breathing becoming difficult. Hard work. But I was walking.

Every now and then a moment to stop. Take off layers, it was warm, drink and eat.

Signposts that told me how far I’d come. A mark to say, 2 miles done.

We need that don’t we. Someone to say, it’s been hard to walk, but look at where you are, and how far you’ve been. Even if you’re drenched in sweat and there’s walking to do. Stop and notice.

You got this far. Be proud of yourself …..Keep going…

Other things to stop and notice, purple heather, a buzzard in the sky, and somehow energy returns when something natural and beautiful takes our attention. Gratitude moments.

Walking along. Walking alone. Listening.

A flicker of unexpected brightness, a surprise, universe conspiring, something new to focus on for a split second, watching the flight and beauty of something so graceful as the Wheatear, a moment to feel treasure, to see, to hear that chirp. An unexpected gift.

A warning ahead. Previous walks have had bulls in fields, cows even, and even this week I had to avoid a herd right by the gate. But this one had to be walked past. There was only one path. No way to avoid. Must walk through. Keep walking.

Breathe, I can do this one. I know what I need to do. Im less scared. Its been tamed, by many other walkers as they’ve been past.

In the vastness of the landscape, and the pursuit of the climb, small details can get missed, the thistle, bumblebees and wild flowers are scattered around. Ancient limestone rocks strut out from the peat and grass, and attract balls of bright green moss, their intricate weave capturing all the nutrients they can, a myriad of depth perched on the rock

How long has this moss been here for? It looks fresh, but could be weeks, months, years old, and that’s the thing, on the walk, ancient, recent and new knowledge and ideas can help to shape our path. As we look into them the myriad of depth gives us life, encouragement to walk on.

Climbs up to gates that seem hard work, and then a view of the next section, the next climb, and a gate and stile to climb over, and another moment to pause, to take it in, to see how far you’ve come, and also the destination ahead. Legs getting ever more tired, steps hard work, even if they’ve been easily laid out, one foot in front of the other. No going back.

Every now and then a guide present, that map, or someone descending or going faster and slightly ahead. We all go at our own pace.

Another stop, another drink, a moment to learn, a moment to take it the surroundings, a moment to breathe before the next climb. Another decision to keep going, with 4 miles of walking in me, 1 more to go and it’s steep, the last bit. But it’s the bit I’m here for.

The Summit in sight, still shrouded from view, steps to take when walking, ive got this far, how far to go, and will this tired, sweaty body make it up the last bit. How tired am I? How long shall I rest for? What do I need to make the next step?

Its water, a trail bar, and a banana time.

Every step I’m taking
Every move I make feels
Lost with no direction
My faith is shaking

But I, I gotta keep trying
Gotta keep my head held high

There’s always gonna be another mountain
I’m always gonna wanna make it move
Always gonna be an uphill battle
Sometimes I’m gonna have to lose
Ain’t about how fast I get there
Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side
It’s the climb

Miley Cyrus, The Climb

Life at the base of the mountain.

In an amongst the rocks, a circular pool. A swamp of vivid colour.

Dragonfly dancing around, and rock pipits flutter.

Views await as I get to the edge of the mountain, a valley comes into view. The other side.

Ribblehead Valley, and the glorious Ribblehead Viaduct. Until now hidden by the mountain itself. And still hidden by the clouds, which I’m now almost in.

A moment to recognise that there are sometimes many paths to get to the same destination, some snake the valleys, some tantalise on what seems the precipice, some, seem like more of a slow long gradual walk, but paths towards the summit none the less.

But these clouds need walking though, to get to the top, as there’s not far. Encouraged by the new view, and within reach of the summit, one more steep push, one more step in front of the other, one more decision per step, which rock, which gulley, which position shall I put my foot, what’s going to grip, on those last few steps, steps to the summit, and then…

Not a peak, but a large platform, a flat space, with views of other distant heights, Pen-y-ghent peeking in the clouds and others far off.

So I made it, to the top, to the summit, 723 metres up. And that is there the sun came out. For virtually the first time all morning. The first blue sky, since the blue sky when I started. A space to sit, and gather with other fellow climbers, compare notes of the directions they took, their starting points, their perils and journeys, to admire the view, and take selfies with that most important of markers. The trig point at the top.

Elation

Relief

I made it.

And then the descent. Realising the difference of gravity on the tired limbs, its as if the earth calls me back down, pulling me down the mountain. Lighter feet, but careful feet on the rocks, mud and paths.

Almost free flowing back down. Light. Free.

Even as the rain really did come.

Walking feels light. Less in the bag, more in the stomach. Every step the possibility of another, but much quicker, easier.

The climb worth it for the climb. Worth it for the views. Worth it to have the free walk back. Worth it to have seen, lived, felt and overcome.

We make the road by walking

Horton, Friere.

Some paths have already been made.

But we still need to walk them.

Live them, one step at time.

Starting from the first.

Sometimes we need to walk.

The tiniest blue sky in the mist at the base.

The tiniest blue sky at the top.

The journey in-between

Freedom, achievement and energy on the way back down.