The Sacred Scramble
Lake Bohinj was the perfect choice for a six-day sojourn in Slovenia. Quiet. Not many tourists. Serene as can be.
On our second morning, we slept in, ate a delicious breakfast prepared by our host, then set off to roam the paths surrounding the lake. After wandering a bit, I spotted a quiet little nook by the water, perfect for meditation. Chris was about to leave me nestled in the tree trunks when, out of nowhere, a tiny little bird hopped up and sat on the tree branch just to my left. I greeted him warmly and invited him to hang awhile. That he did. We called him Chester. Chris snapped a few photos of Chester & I before setting off to wander on his own.
I sat & meditated for a bit. I felt myself relaxing and then, soon after, my heart opened so wide that it revealed all the pent-up fear I’d been denying for weeks on end. I was scared. Scared because I no longer had a home. Scared of how the journey might change me. Scared it wouldn’t change anything at all.
And as I sat there wet-eyed and suddenly limp-bodied, the bells of the church across the lake began to ring. I hadn’t noticed it before, that church over there. And as its chimes danced their way across the water and into my ears, two words drifted into my mind on right after another.
Scared. Sacred.
Scared. Sacred.
I was immediately struck by how the order of just one letter could make such a difference. And then a thought arose from this space of wonder:
What if my fears are just scrambling the unseen order of things?
In my tenderness, this thought comforted me greatly.
* * *
Chris & I met up again shortly and continued to strolled along the lake path. At a distance, we saw a woman walking a baby goat on a leash. Intrigued, and ever the Capricorn, Chris approached her and asked if he could say hello to her little ‘kid.’ The goat was shy and wasn’t really all that into his advances, so instead we smiled and waved our goodbyes to the baby goat named Vivi, and Lucy, her human.
We continued to stroll along the lake’s perimeter for awhile, before heading back to our rental car. In the parking lot, we ran into them again just as Lucy was guiding Vivi into a jeep advertising ‘tandem paragliding’. Chris is an adventurer to the bone, so the seed was immediately planted. I knew immediately it was a done deal.
There was no expectation for me to join him, but I couldn’t shake the itch that I, too, was being summoned. When we got back to our room, I read through reviews online and that’s when I found it: Kumulus — one of the most highly-regarded paragliding companies in all of Europe. Chris made the call and booked a pilot for each of us for the very next morning.
I tossed and turned all night long, my mind rehearsing everything that could possibly go wrong. We would be jumping off of Mount Vogel. It’s 1700 meters high… that’s almost 5600 feet and over a mile above sea level. The plan was to take a running leap off the top, jump through the cloudline, and float over Lake Bohinj for a half hour or so while strapped to a parachuted pilot who, quite literally, held your life in his hands.
It seemed insane to me. A totally unnecessary risk. An act reserved for people much braver than I.
Which is why I knew I had to do it.
Not for the thrill, not for my bucket list or the Instagram photo opp. But because it was an opportunity to transmute my terror into something transcendent.
Scared. Sacred.
For months I had been living in defiance to fear in order to follow my deepest impulses, doing the unreasonable simply because it felt right. Jumping off of the edge into the great unknown, not knowing where I would land and if whatever was pulling the strings above was actually equipped to carry me. This jump was the perfect metaphor for where I was headed next in life.
When we awoke the next morning, there was a dense fog blanketing the neighborhood. We couldn’t even see our car outside, let alone Vogel in the distance. After a bit of texting back and forth with the owner — who was extremely patient with our questions — he convinced us the conditions would be perfect upon launch, even offering a discount if we weren’t completely blown away by the experience. After it had been decided we were going, I ran into the bathroom to relieve myself. What I was about to do, quite-literally, had scared the shit out of me.
* * *
After an initial meet-up and transport via van, we rode a cable car to Vogel’s summit, then took another bumpy ride in the back of beater truck to arrive at the launch spot. Both pilots we had been assigned were veteran fliers. I felt perfectly matched with Klemen. While it was his twenty-sixth year of soaring, he had a groundedness about him that made me feel immediately safe. After a few minutes laying out the gear, we were ready to fly.
Klemen strapped in behind me. We would be the first to jump and he explained that it was imperative I follow his cues.
“Walk quickly and then run when I tell you, as if your life depends on it.”
He chuckled at his dark choice of words, and I laughed as hard as I could to loosen the fear that sat lodged deep in my belly.
Then Alen, Chris’s pilot, approached us. He stepped in front of me to stand between my body and the horizon. He stared me dead in the eye and spoke:
“Candice, if you hesitate upon takeoff, you will not go as high.”
And so (of course), on our first run I hesitated. As promised, it screwed with the entire operation, so we had to back up & start all over again. Alen reset our canopy behind us then graciously reminded me once again.
“You are ready to do this! You must run without stopping. Do not look down. Look straight ahead and move as fast as you possibly can.”
Then without skipping a beat, he tugged at my harness encouragingly, walked Klemen and I back toward the cliff’s edge, and stepped aside. As if on cue, the wind suddenly picked up. I felt an invisible force filling the chute behind us, tugging at the harness. Klemen seized the moment and urgently pushed us onward, chanting aloud again and again:
“Run, run, run, run…”
This time, I did exactly as he asked and ran full-speed right off the edge of that damn mountain, my fear and my faith marching in time with one another.
And then I felt it. Support like nothing I’ve ever known. Klemen invited me to sit back in my harness and rest my weight into the seat in front of him. As I looked out at my feet dangling freely over what felt like the whole entire world… all I could do was weep. I was utterly and completely awestruck.
“It’s just… it’s just so beautiful,” I managed to choke out through tears.
“Yes. Yes it is,” he replied softly. “I think I must have the best office in the world.”
He invited me to let go of my grips, urging me to lift my arms to my sides. Birdlike. And just like… I was living inside of a flesh & blood miracle.
I was fucking FLYING.
We rode the wind to another nearby peak, coming so close to it I thought we might soon be goners. Klemen explained that we were on the hunt for thermals, pockets of air that promised to lift us higher. And boy did they. We were well above our launch spot in no time.
By some trick of physics I won’t pretend to understand, we floated there for another 3–5 minutes, waiting for Chris & Alen to take flight. Eventually they came soaring nearby with a wave and a hoot before we each set off on individual voyages through the valley above Lake Bohinj.
Klemen and I chatted a bit… yes, it’s so peaceful you can DO that up there… and I learned that he started paragliding back in 1994. He became addicted immediately, soon making a career out of his passion for flight. During the high season, he averages five flights per day. He works in various locations around the world, currently splitting his time between Lake Bohinj and Cape Town, South Africa.
He was an intuitive guide, knowing when to speak and when to allow adequate silence so that I could fully experience the moment. The ‘high’ was a bit overwhelming, so I continually had to remind myself to stay present. I took only five or so photos before settling in to savor the ride to its end.
As we rode along on invisible currents, my fear slowly faded to a deep calm. A majestic ease fell over my entire body. It was a deep & abiding peace that I had never known. I understood immediately why Klemen had devoted himself to helping others usher in such profound moments of grace.
* * *
After about a half hour, we landed at the far end of the lake’s shore. Even though we launched first, we came in after Chris and Alen. Chris was able to capture a video of my landing. It was remarkably smooth, Klemen effortlessly easing me onto the grass right on bum.
I landed like a lit-up ladybug.
There were lots of hugs and high fives. Chris and I both raved about the experience, paid a little extra, and snapped a few photos with our pilots — talk about a bonding experience. We were both certain we would do it again, if given the chance.
It was on that day that another journey began.There will always be my life before that jump. And my life after.
I can’t say that I believe every fear is meant to be faced in quite the same way. But I am clear now that facing what scares me, even if it means crossing over the edge of everything that came before… this has the power to wake me up to a deep state of presence, to the sacredness of life itself. And, if you ask me, that’s an aim always worth scrambling toward.
Originally published 4/15/20: https://medium.com/@candischutter/scrambling-to-the-edge-715b35ac16be
