Fear Not

My brother Mike and his friend climbed the cliff ahead of me. They scurried up the loose rocks as if they had done it a million times. But I hadn’t. I was ten and it was new to me. I looked up and saw them walk over the top of the ridge and disappear into the woods.

I slowly turned my focus to the railroad tracks eighty feet below. It might as well have been a thousand. Fear gripped me. I started to whimper and panic began to consume me. I had a solid grip on the rocks above me and yet the sheer drop didn’t give me much comfort. I took a deep breath and pinched the tears away. Mike was long gone. I couldn’t stay there forever, so it was either make it to the top or fall to my death below.

This was old school climbing. I had no rope and no gear, just free climbing with bare hands and Red Ball Jets (claimed to let you run faster and jump higher). That’s how we did it when I was a kid. I would climb a hundred foot fir tree and not bat an eye. It was easy. The limbs were like rungs on a ladder. Hand over hand, foot over foot, till I reached the top. At the top of the tree I would sway in the wind and look over the glistening blue of nearby Oswego Lake. Neighbors passed by on the road and I called out to them. They stopped and looked around our yard, unaware of my presence. I laughed. “I’m up here! In the tree!” The looked up to where I was waving with one hand and curling the other around the thin tip of the tree. They shook their heads and walked on. After enjoying the view and the solitude, I climbed down as easy as I came up.

This was not like a tree. There were no limbs to get a grip on, no bark to keep my footing steady. It was time to move up this unstable dusty cliff. I envisioned my next move as tumbling down to the bottom like a rag doll. I wanted to cry, but crying is for sissies—and I knew it would only make me feel worse. I had to leave. I let go of my left hand and right foot, then pushed up with my other leg--less security, only choice. I tickled away the loose gravel until they gave way to the edge of a solid stone. With my little muscles I pulled my right knee up until it hit my stomach to find a new place for my foot. My right foot was able to find a flat spot--it crumbled beneath my weight. My stomach flipped and yet I found the strength and quickness to pull my body up where my left foot found another solid position. I moved quickly and put out any ideas of doom from my mind. Pebbles and stones tumbled to the ground below but my momentum propelled me upward and onward to safety. I scraped and clawed at the dirt and juniper saplings to get to the top. Within a few moments I was laying with my belly on the summit.

I pushed myself from the ground and bent over with my hands on my knees, breathed deeply, then stood up and walked to the nearest tree. Taking hold of a sturdy branch, I looked back down at the railroad tracks below and understood how narrowly I had dodged death. I was too shaken to feel proud of myself. Wanting to be with my brother, I ran into the woods and out to the clearing where Mike and his friend sat talking.

Mike stood up. “Where’ve you been, Gary. You okay?”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t about to tell him that I almost fell off the cliff they had just scaled without a sweat. I’d ruin all credibility as a reliable brother.

“Let’s go then,” he said.

Off we went to play outdoor games. I never spoke of my near-death to him. I would have been thought of as a wimp. At the time, I was sure I was a wimp. Nevertheless, it was an event that shaped me into the man I am now. In my young marriage, I stood on the edge of a cliff at Multnomah Falls and looked fearlessly straight down into the fall’s pool hundreds of feet below. My wife seized up with terror when I did such things. It’s careless of me to think that I couldn’t have slipped into oblivion. And it’s careless of me to think that my actions do not affect others.

Day in and day out we all walk the line between carefree selfish pleasures and responsible behavior. I lean toward the hazards of self determination and sometimes cast off the potential fears others have. I believe climbing out of near death experiences gave me an odd sense of accomplishment. Then again, I could have just as easily perished, never to have lived another moment or spoken another word. And yet here I am. I cannot change the past and how it has affected me—I am who I am. But that doesn’t mean I cannot change.

My past has a way of dictating my actions in the present. The future, however, hasn’t been written. Each day is an opportunity for a new start. If I as a kid could scale a dangerous cliff at ten, certainly as an adult I should be brave enough to face other things like a mortgage, or rejection, or saying “I’m sorry” when offending another. Many times I’ll let these fears grow until they are like boulders of burden, to climb around as I live life. But instead of accepting these boulders as part of life, I should clean them up. The initial push on the boulder (our choice to change) requires great effort, but once it’s rolling, the momentum takes over. Soon the burden moves aside and a sense of peace is restored. We hold tremendous power to change the future of our own tomorrow. Be strong, be bold. The time is now.

The Wheel Threat

The beat up ‘70s Ford sedan began to pick up speed right in the middle of rush hour. A simple trip to the grocery store turned into a nightmare. It all began when the car window couldn’t be rolled down any further.

“Halfway is better than no way,” Marco grumbled. Trouble ahead, he squeezed out the window. “Get out of my way!” Realizing it would have little effect on his situation, he slung his body back inside, then gripped the steering wheel so tight, his fingers turned white.

Man this sucks! The air gushed through the window and yet his face dripped of sweat like a leaking faucet. He laid on the horn. “You morons!” He felt better yelling.

Marco pressed on the brake until his foot was buried into the carpet, but the vehicle only continued to gain speed.

“Look out! I can’t control this thing!”

He pressed the horn again and again. The cars ahead stayed their course.

“What is wrong with you people?” What good is a horn if everyone ignores it?

Marco swerved in and out of the traffic, nearly missing every car by inches. A red light had stopped the cars ahead of him, which forced him to veer into the oncoming lanes. He whizzed by the stalled line of cars and headed straight for the cross traffic. Even as he continued to lay on the horn, all motor vehicles continued as if he weren’t there. He pulled the emergency brake, but the engine was at full throttle. Burned blue acrid smoke billowed up behind him. He swallowed hard as he neared the moving cross traffic.

“No! No! No!” God, I don’t care if it’s a cliché, but I’m too young to die! ”

An opening appeared and he cranked the steering wheel hard to the left. The car spun 180 degrees, slipped through the opening between a truck and a smart car, then spun another 180 degrees before heading forward into an oncoming double tanker oil truck.

“Helllllp!”

The oil tanker skidded toward him with its deep horn blaring, the rear tank fish-tailing to the shoulder of the road. Marco pulled hard to the right and his car shot over a medium and tipped up on two wheels for fifty feet before slamming back down to the pavement. It skidded, ricocheted off the curb, then raced forward once again at full speed—his periphery caught one of his hubcaps rolling away at an angle. In front, was a garbage truck with blinking lights lifting a plastic recycle bin. Marco saw a service road to the right and aimed for it.

The sedan slid on to the access and sped down the little road until it ended at a pristine cut lawn. As he rolled onto the grass, he glanced in the rear view mirror. Brown parallel streaks followed behind. The green space was a city park with rolling humps and walking paths. People stretched out on the grass taking in the sun or walked leisurely along the paths. Captive to the vehicle, Marco could only watch as he went down one hill and up the next. Empty boxes of McDonalds nuggets and fries danced on the floor at every bump.

He pounded on the horn. “Out of the way!”

A man holding a baby turned around froze when he spotted the oncoming threat.

“What is your problem, man--Move!”

Marco swerved left and the right rear bumper clipped the man’s leg—he cradled the baby like a football while falling to the sod in a graceful pirouette. Dirt flew around like a sprinkler, casting soil on everything within thirty feet.

“How can I stop this hunk of metal? Where is the sand box! There is always a sandbox in a park!” He scanned the green. “No, of course not. Not this one. How about a pool? There is always a pool in a park.” No pool. “What kind of park is this!” Come on God, throw me a bone!

People screamed, shouted, cried, and even threw rocks at him as he flew by. Marco’s shirt was saturated with sweat and sticky remnants from a half-filled stray coke container. He wiped his face with his forearm and steered around obstacles as if he was operating a video game.

“I can’t stop!” He shouted at them. It’s not my fault! I’ll sue the manufacture, I’ll…. Oh no… A set of bleachers full of people listening to a band was straight ahead. “I didn’t mean bleachers, God. I meant something soft. Okay, I removed the keys from the ignition, pulled the emergency brake till it broke off, haven’t hurt anyone, and I even have clean underwear. What else should I do! What else can I do? On both sides of him were tightly packed families. The only option seemed to be straight ahead.

“So what would you do?”

“Are you looking at me, Professor? Why are you asking me? Ask someone else.”

“But I’m asking you, Carl. So what would you do?”

“I don’t know. Plow into the crowd to see how many I can put into the hospital? That’s a crazy question.”

“Is it?”

The professor leaned over his desk. “We have to answer crazy questions every day. Should we blow up Iran’s nuclear facilities and kill a hundred, because they may kill thousands? Should we send a drone into Pakistan to eliminate the dreaded Al Queda, possibly killing innocent bystanders?”

“Yeah, it’s stupid. You put me in an impossible situation. I will have to kill either the people on the left or the people on the right or the people in the stands. Somebody has to die.”

“Do they?”

“According to your scenario.”

“Think, Carl. There is always a way out.”

“There isn’t! Somebody’s gotta die!”

“Oh Carl. I am so disappointed in you. There is a way out.”

“Well I don’t know what it is. And I doubt anyone else here knows.”

“I know,” said a young woman in the back.

The professor looked to the back to see a redheaded woman with black cat-eye glasses. “Heather. Good, tell us.”

“I know the answer, but refuse to tell you.”

“Ha, ha!” laughed Carl. “You don’t know either.”

“Oh yes I do. I texted my answer to my email account. The answer is there, but I’m not going to say it here.”

“Why?” asked the professor.

“I don’t want to give you the satisfaction of knowing the answer.”

“Oooooh,” said the rest of the class.

A weak buzz sounded from the clock.

The professor shook his head. “It seems as though you were saved by the buzzer. I’ll see you all tomorrow and we will continue this discussion.”

Carl came to the side of Heather as she was leaving the room. “Can I walk you to your car?”

“Okay, what’s up, Carl?”

He leaned in and whispered. “So what’s the answer?”

She gave him a sly smirk. “If I tell you then--”

“No, I promise. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Sure you will. No way mister.”

Carl hung his head like he had been scolded. “Fine.”

“I’ll give you a hint. Is the assumption really true?”

Carl growled. “Nevermind. I hate philosophy. It throws out theoretical scenarios that never have anything to do with real life.”

Heather stopped and tipped her head. “That’s not true.”

“Yes it is. When some old guy that can’t even open a pack of gum says that reality is only in the mind, or quotes stupid sayings like ‘losing an illusion makes you wiser than finding a truth’.”

“Ludwig Borne?” Heather asked.

“Yeah, him. Come on. Truth is truth and we all know when we see it.”

“Do we?”

“Don’t get weird on me, Heather. This is a wall,” he said pounding on the concrete school building. “Try to tell me different.”

“I don’t know, Carl. Is it a wall or is it a collection of tiny pieces of sand and gravel?”

Carl rolled his eyes. “This class is just a game that is played with philosophical mumbo jumbo and you’re hypnotized by it. You drank the professor’s kool-aid.”

“Just because I get A’s in the class doesn’t mean I drank the kool-aid.”

“Listen, I’m a real guy with real thoughts…and real needs,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder.

They approached her ‘66 Plymouth Barracuda and she removed his arm. “Nice try. This is where we part, Carl. If you can’t figure out the answer, call me.”

“How about you drive me over to your place. We can discuss a few truths a little further.”

Heather chuckled. “That is one truth that is a figment in your imagination. Call me, later.” She opened her door and stepped into her car. She started the engine and a cloud of blue smoke spilled out the tail pipe. Heather revved up the engine and waved to Carl.

In another moment, she was whisking her way back to her apartment. Something gnawed inside her. She pulled over and took her phone out to text Carl a message.

It said: Okay Carl, here is the answer. Marco must ignore the physicality of the situation. Reality is how we wish to view it. In ‘A Course in Miracles’ it says “I have given everything I see…all the meaning it has for me.” So you see, reality is an illusion and, therefore, there is no car accident and no one dies. It’s all in his mind.

She stuck the phone back in her purse and continued her drive back home.

The heat had built up inside. She tried to roll the window down, but it got stuck half way. “Old cars,” she mumbled.

Heather wound her way up a curvy road on the outskirts of town. Once she crested the hill the engine suddenly revved up and the vehicle began to gain speed. She took her foot off the pedal and tried the brakes--no affect. She pushed the brakes to the floor with zero response and looked ahead of her.

“Oh no,” she muttered as the car descended into town at rush hour ….