Meet on the Mat

In the midst of the desert in Israel sits a mountain out of legends. Masada, the site of a notorious example of human nature in the face of death. And of course it’s a tourist site like you’ve never seen. The flat top of the mountain is home to rather humble ancient ruins, yet every day before dawn and from then thereafter, busloads of tourists flock to the foot of the mountain, to travel up in the cable car, climb up the stairs, or go the “dangerous” route of the snake path.

The truth is, the place should have some kind of deathly terrible air about it, because of the mass death that took place on the mountaintop in the name of never surrendering, yet the energy is entirely different. It pulsates with pure, raw energy. In fact, there’s nothing fearful or deathly or even particularly joyous and uplifting-it simply exists, and is so stolid in its existence that its mountainous energy radiates and vibrates at such a powerful frequency that it is impossible to resist.

I’ve been to the mountain twice. The first time, I went for an extremely common tourist occasion in Israel (a beautiful one, nonetheless)- watching the sun rise from the mountaintop. We climbed up the safe stairs because it was already too hot in Israel in the middle of the desert for us to take a long hike, but we made it to the top, and our tour guide played The Beatles “Here Comes The Sun” as the sky began to lighten across the horizon and light began to peel through the darkness, identifying the difference between earth and water and sky. The peace and stillness of watching a sunrise, even in the midst of one of the most tempestuous nations on earth, knowing that this same sun is rising all over the middle east and has risen around the world and will continue to touch every other single living being on earth, is  experiencing the truth of living, and I was struck breathless with the knowledge that we all share in this same light as I watched the fiery ball crawl higher and higher into the ether over the Jordan River and the land beyond.

The second time I made it to Masada, I decided I needed to hike up the trail, because, like, no big deal, right? Isn’t that what all the tourists do? So of course I can, right?

Except for my fear of heights and my fear of myself sometimes. So halfway up a steep and snaky, stony path, I froze, clinging to the side of the mountain, fearful of the next step I would take, certain of breaking an ankle or at the very least, falling (oh how terrible). And I froze. And I froze. I shook, I giggled nervously, my breathing was coming to me in ragged gasps. And of course, never missing an opportunity to self-abuse, I reflected on how many other, probably less healthy people had made this same trek, and how stupid I was for A) being arrogant enough to think I could do it and B) being scared enough to keep myself from going. And as I sat there, pondering my options, I had to remind myself no one was going to come for me. No one was going to carry me, no magical hero on a horse (or gladiator on strong legs) was going to come out of the rocks and lift me to safety.  And then there was the matter of being halfway up already anyway- there I’d still have to walk all the way back down.

SO I just kept going. And going. And going.

And there, in the midst of a moment I entirely dismissed, was the moment of self-discovery, the first time I ever contacted the inner wellspring of strength that I’d never known myself to possess. I found it when I surrendered to the knowledge that I had to be reliant on myself, and that the only true option was simply to continue onward.

May I find a way to understand what “compassion” truly means.

May I find a way to learn how to dissolve the unhealthy attatchments and walls I’ve created in my life. May I find a way to be strong enough to face the things I don’t like about myself with a kind and loving heart. May I find a way to be accepting of these things, and be wise enough to understand that letting go and forgetting are not the same thing, and that healing requires care and devotion, not further aggravation.

May I find peace in chaos and peace in stillness. May I learn from pain. May I share my blessings with those around me. May I always, always, always remain absolutely thankful, because I truly have so much to be thankful for and so little to be disappointed about, if anything at all.

May I be willing to look past my ignorance and fear to be able to truly connect with the people and the world around me. May I be accepting of the fact that ignorance and fear are natural patterns developed over a lifetime and that they need to be unlearned rather than brushed aside.

May I stop judging myself for my shortcomings, even when I judge myself for my shortcomings.

May all that I do contribute to the happiness of all other beings. May all living creatures be happy and free. May all beings find peace. May all beings bask in the brilliant light in which we all share.

Namaste.