Divine Spirit is the structure of my life. I am safe and loved and totally supported. Louise Hay
You carefully place one foot in front of the other; that’s how you do it, how you climb those mighty “fourteener” mountains of the Colorado Rockies. And you feel it beneath your feet, the solid ground, sometimes a worn-down path scattered with stones, sometimes a grouping of boulders tossed about by forces of nature, sometimes the smooth backbone of the mountain itself. And the mountain, the one that you have chosen to climb on this particular day, supports you as you trace its spine high up above the tree-line, as you breathe in the thin clear air that surrounds it, as you almost feel as if you could take off and fly with the hawk that is coasting beside you now as you climb even higher. Except you don’t take off; you stay grounded, secure and stable on this mountain home, until you reach its peak and the whole of the mountain lies beneath your feet.
I’ve done this twice, climbed a fourteener, with my husband, son and daughter-in-law during the years that they lived in Boulder, and it is an exhilarating experience to feel the energy of the mountain, to feel that you are on intimate terms with this powerful force. And it was the secure and the stable that I focused upon, that kept me from getting tipsy with all this height and all this thin air and all this expansiveness of space. But what is it that really lies beneath your feet when you are climbing a fourteener? Sure, there is the solid surface that can be stomped upon beat after beat as you walk. But beneath that surface-drumbeat, what gives the mountain its power? Over thirty years ago, just months into his practice of dentistry in the mining town where we live, my husband was given a gift by a new patient, a miner at the local pit. It was a foot-long hefty crystal, clear and pale-purple and green, the most glorious of rocks that I had ever seen. And this crystal was found under the ground in the town where we live. We walk on earth that gleams crystal light. And the mountains, those fourteeners, and their smaller siblings, are filled with this crystal light, and deep at their center, their energy is on fire. It is not solid at all; it is dancing and it is thrumming and it is the force of life itself.
And the trees that sprout up from this dancing ground, they are alive with it, too, this life-force energy. It is not just flowing through the roots as watery sap; it is in the cells of the tree itself, in the bark and the branches, in bud and blossom. The trees, like the mountains, are the dancing divine. I met a man recently who can see this force. He says to soften your eyes as you look up at the tips, and, if you relax into it, you can see it, too, he adds, sometimes a soft glow, sometimes shooting sparks of fire. And I wonder if we relax into it, if we can see it everywhere, this glowing shimmering fiery spirit of life. There are times that I see this glow emanating in the people around me. It happens when I settle into the moment, when I breathe deeply, when I’m enjoying myself, at an open mic night at the Joy Center or at a concert or sitting across from a dear friend at a table. And, what about me? If divine spirit is the guiding force, the emanating light of the mountain and of the people who climb the mountain and the people who dwell beside the mountain and the people who dwell beside the sea, and the guiding force within the sea itself and in the sea creatures, and in the cities that are thrumming with song and in the songs that are sung, shouldn’t it be the guiding force within me as well? And within you?
I’ve been thinking about this lately, as I repeat a mantra: “Divine Spirit is the structure of my life. I am safe and loved and totally supported.” It is a mantra that Louise Hay, in her book, You Can Heal Your Life, suggests as a meditation for releasing energy blocks of the bone marrow, the deepest core part of our bodies, our life-force mountain center. It is not a new notion for me to feel my body alive with spirit. That sensation of vibrant sparkling energy has been my body’s dancing companion since I can remember, as I tromped the coastal rocks and swam in the sea of my childhood, as I wiggled and jiggled and giggled in classrooms seats, as I lay quietly in my bed, as I still lie quietly in my bed, as I still tromp about on summertime rocks and skate-ski my way through these wintery woods of January. I know spirit is with me. I know spirit flows through my body-vessel. I know this in my bones. Something feels fresh for me in this mantra, however. What if it is not just flowing through me; what if it is, instead and more, the structure of who I am, of who you are? What if, like our mountain companions, we are made up of spirit in each and every cell and micro-cell of our bodies, in each and every fiber of our being, and this light-filled loving life-giving force is the structure that we can relax and breathe into? How would this new notion change things, knowing that we are safe and loved and totally supported?
I am beginning to get this, not just in my head, but in my body. As I push off in my skate-skiing glides across the frozen and very-alive ground, as I breathe in the sharp fresh air, as I greet the trees on either side of the trail, I hear my own heart beating and I say thank you thank you thank you and I feel myself lifted, supported by the world around me and the words in my head and something deep and visceral and good. “Divine Spirit is the structure of my life.” I say this over and over and over again. And I will keep repeating this mantra until I know it as true, until I know it in the deepest marrow of my beloved bones.