From the Awesome Veggie Reader (Late Summer, 1993)
Those experiences changed my life. Although we have been close for twelve years, our relationships deepened this summer. I’ll tell you why.
Rachel, who was once referred to by her second grade teacher as a flibberty-gibbet who couldn’t settle down or get serious, asked to go with me to the 1993 Summer Pilgrimage to Mt. Shasta with Huichol Indian Shaman, Brant Secunda. It was my third year on the mountain with Brant and I looked forward to sharing it with Rachel.
At first she wondered what she was doing there. “How much chanting, praying, drumming and singing can we do in seven days? I wonder if I can get out of this…” But, by the evening if the second day, she had collected many hearts and friends in her usual way, had settled into the rituals and routine of dance, dirt and drums and… began to enjoy herself.
I chose not to go on vision quest that year, but to participate in the support-team fire circle of chanters and drummers, sleeping by the campfire, drumming at midnight and praying for the successful vision quests of those who walked into the mountains on their own for the night, without protection, food or water.
At first, Rachel wasn’t about to go out there alone, planning to spend the evening with me and ten others who chose to keep vigil by the fire. At the eleventh hour (an I do mean the last minute), she gathered her courage, along with some warm clothes and a sleeping bag, and off she went.
She looked so small and young as she disappeared into the forest, her blonde hair tied in a scarf and her bare feet in Birkenstocks. I knew she would be all right, but still…
After a sleepless night of prayer and song by the fire, we watched the hillside for our 60 friends returning. They straggled in, one at a time, beginning at first light. A motley crew, a bedraggled band, a groggy group they were: and we, too, who had kept them in our thoughts for 24 hours. But they beamed with self-love and satisfaction, particularly the young and first timers. I breathed a secret sigh of relief when I saw her form appear on the edge of camp, her face a journal of thoughts.
Rachel met a shaman, made friends and learned something about herself that summer.
Dylan, on the other hand, chose to put our lives at considerable risk, by jumping out of an
airplane at 13,500 feet. See the drawing to the right? (One of those lame, 90's line drawing I mentioned in the previous posting) Just how I looked as I hurled through space, panic uppermost in my mind.It was not in my thoughts or plans to do this crazy thing myself, it just seemed to happen. I got caught up in the moment, as they say, and before I knew it I was signing a form that practically gave my life away… and in fact, said, “I understand that sky-diving is a dangerous sport and can result in bodily injury or even death.” That was encouraging, and as I dressed in one of those Pillsbury Doughboy flight suits and listened to Jess, my tandem jump master’s instructions (it did NOT help that his name was the same as my brother’s) my lunch of guacamole, chips and Dos Equis rose to throat level and stayed there for the duration of the “experience.”
Dylan kept saying “G, I can’t believe you’re doing this with me!!” I kept saying, “I can’t believe I’m freaking doing this,” over and over again. I was wondering if I was a very gutsy and courageous person or if I had completely lost my mind. For those who know me, this was a truly awesome undertaking, no pun intended. My usual favorite sport is reading, with a cup of tea, by a very warm fire.
I’m not sure I even heard the tandem master’s words, “Ready! Set! Go!” That was when I was supposed to jump. Since we were attached, he jumped and I had no choice at that point but to go along for the ride of my life.
I cannot express the feeling that came over me as I looked out of the open door of the King Air at 2.5 miles above my precious earth and contemplated what I was about to do. I wasn’t quite there, if you know what I mean. I checked my brains at the front desk with the coats and literally floated through the event, brainless and therefore protected from myself and my logic.
We each have videos of our “experience” of skydiving... for proof and for memories. At the end of my video, I am seen hugging Dylan with all my might for about ten minutes, my face still pasted back into my hairline from the G-force. (Oh, and let us not dwell on the fact that Dylan’s first chute malfunctioned and they had to eject it in favor of the back-up chute. He truly loved every moment and even went back the next day with a friend for a repeat experience. Truly his father’s son.)
Dave, one of the owners of SkyDive Hollister and the person I blame wholly for my having succumbed to this, said to me, as part of his accomplished sales number, “You and Dylan will bond for life. Besides, you’ll never look at life quite the same again.)
Well, Dave, my friend, you were right. My only regret is that I never did really relax: I was so completely poleaxed with abject fear that my body was frozen for the entire one minute free fall, which, of course, is also captured on video. But, it was a kind of fire-walk for me, a stretch of my courage and surrender into the hands of fortune. That indescribable feeling upon vaulting into the air comes again and again, and I say to myself, “GB, ol’ girl, you did it, you actually did. HA!”
Thank Dylan. We ARE bonded for life.
Thanks for listening. GB
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