Tempering The Tempest
Art by Colin Frangicetto
Last week marked the celebration of my 39th birthday, a conscious embrace of the final year in my thirties. Satiated from the profound human connections forged at a music festival preceding my birthday, I bestowed upon myself a solitary mountain biking ride, seeking solace in much-needed moments of tranquility. Recent months had witnessed my fondness for Half Moon Bay's mountain bike trail system, hence it felt natural to return to the familiar grounds of that park. Mountain biking, an activity best enjoyed in the company of others, bears risks inherent to the sport—malfunctions and injuries intertwine with nature's elements. Riding in groups safeguards against mishaps, yet my unwavering desire for solitude compelled me to embark on this journey alone. Aware that the park would likely be populated during the 4th of July holiday, I dismissed concerns of being stranded. The park boasted a captivating blend of high-speed descents and enthralling forest trails, a combination that resonated deeply with my adventurous spirit.
To ride a mountain bike demands unwavering focus and razor-sharp reflexes, an artistry in synchronizing with nature's capricious hurdles. It is an art of controlling the uncontrollable, accepting that the bike itself possesses a will of its own. As the day progressed, my fortunes eventually took a turn for the worse, culminating in a harrowing crash. Hurtling down one of the descents, I approached a fork with velocity, my intended path veering left. In a split second, defying my usual instinct of firm braking and cautious navigation, I made a daring decision to harness the momentum rather than decelerate. Suddenly, my rear wheel skidded on a bed of dried leaves, launching me airborne. I landed with brutal force, my left wrist absorbing the brunt of the impact, followed by my left hip and shoulder, all safeguarded by my trusty helmet. The unmistakable sound of bones crunching resonated from my left shoulder, casting an ominous specter of a potential fracture.
As the dust settled, an excruciating pain engulfed my body, compelling me to unleash a resounding cry, an instinctive response to confront the pain that gripped me. Curled inward, I endeavored to slow my breath, to temper the tempest within. After a minute of self-assessment, I gauged the mobility of my extremities—hands, arms, legs, head—all functioning, much to my relief. Although I had narrowly escaped any fractures, my collarbone and the surrounding muscles pulsated with acute anguish. Being aware of the endorphins and adrenaline coursing through my veins, nature's very own pain-relievers, I resolved to curtail my day and return home to commemorate my birthday with friends later that evening. It was an unforeseen gift I had bestowed upon myself, one I had not anticipated, yet I clung to the knowledge that pain, much like everything in life, is transient, destined to recede with the tides of time. Little did I know, two days later, I would discover a dispositioned collarbone, compounded by an unexpected positive diagnosis for COVID, adding yet another layer of complexity to my present ordeal.
Gracefully, I confronted the array of challenges that beset me, navigating their treacherous waters to the best of my abilities. However, as Sunday evening approached, a profound shift reverberated within me. Reflecting upon those moments from my current vantage point, it becomes clear that an overwhelming wave of dense, weighty emotions began to engulf me. Delving into my journal entries spanning Sunday and Monday, I observed my mind seeking to imprison me within its labyrinthine confines. The pages chronicled an unyielding yearning for human connection, an ache for genuine love, an unquenchable thirst for profound intimacy. Trapped within the recesses of my mind, my ego took me on a turbulent rollercoaster ride, incessantly whispering doubts of insufficiency, unworthiness, and resignation. It declared that my efforts were futile, my accomplishments meager, a testament to my incompetence and the unfulfilled expectations imposed by societal norms and structures. I poured my heart onto those pages, chronicling the struggle of finding genuine resonance within my own body and the disheartening rejection I perceived from those I held dearest. The weight of those emotions proved overwhelming, surpassing even the physical anguish of my mountain biking misadventure and the burden of COVID’s relentless grip. My journal entries exemplified my vacillation between being consumed by the turmoil and mindfully approaching the experience, oscillating between losing myself in its tempestuous currents and consciously observing its unfolding, all the while struggling to remain buoyant as a mere witness.
To conclude that transformative Monday evening, I immersed myself in the practice of breathwork, a modality I had previously shared. Almost instantly, I felt the energetic tides within me shifting, tears streaming down my cheeks, heralding a profound metamorphosis. After the practice, a somatic connection with my being enveloped me, reminiscent of meditative states I had previously encountered—a realm untouched by craving or aversion, a bastion of pure equanimity and tranquility. Inspired by this state of presence, I committed its essence to my journal, its pages suffused with heartfelt prayers for my own healing and well-being. I prayed for peace, wellness, and abundance, for the flowering of loving connections and the unfettered realization of my life's highest expression, untainted by needless hindrances. These prayers were devoid of religious dogma, instead emanating as benevolent intentions and pure wishes, permeating my energetic space, beckoning my deepest yearnings to manifest as tangible realities.
What unfolded the following morning was undeniably profound. Settling into my customary morning meditation, a ritual spanning an hour, I assumed a cross-legged position, focusing my attention on the subtle dance of breath at the tip of my nose. Gradually, as my attention settled, I directed my awareness to scan the expanse of bodily sensations, from the crown of my head down to the soles of my feet. Towards the end of my mediation session, I encountered acute pain intensifying in my right knee and calf—a common occurrence in meditation, as stillness often gives rise to gross sensations of pain throughout the body. Though every fiber of my being yearned for relief, I resisted the impulse to move, choosing instead to embrace the agony and observe the ephemeral nature of its existence. Simultaneously, I grappled with the somatic weight of the dense energies accumulated over the weekend. Astonishingly, the pain in my knee and the heaviness of those emotions felt indistinguishable, fostering fertile ground for mindfulness. During the meditation, I opted to be present with the pain, as it reshaped my automatic responses to intense sensations generated solely by the mind. As the session drew to a close, I composed myself, joining my hands in prayer to conclude the practice. At this juncture, I customarily offered prayers aligned with the day's needs. Given the lingering intensity of emotions, I prayed clarity and connection with my higher self. I implored guidance and direction in navigating the mental obstacles my mind had constructed. As the words flowed from my lips, an immense surge of energy erupted from within, culminating in a cathartic release—a torrent of tears. From that moment, everything began to transform. I could keenly sense the tectonic movements of energies within my soul.
Expressing the profound depth of my experiences in the past few days proves challenging through mere words. Yet, through public introspection, I derive immense benefits, weaving the tapestry of my life experiences into a coherent, healthy whole. In the past, when beset by such emotional turmoil, I sought refuge in addictive behaviors, numbing the intensity through overindulgence. Now, I acknowledge that I am still processing the grief of a loss, unwittingly bottling tender emotions that necessitate full healing and processing from the depths of my heartbreak. I fear not the specter of heartbreak; instead, I welcome my final year of thirties with open arms, embracing the endless possibilities of love—falling and rising, again and again. I am confident that love, with its intrinsic heartbreaks, lies at the core of life's true purpose. It is an immutable law of nature, intricately woven into the fabric of existence for the evolutionary growth of our being.
Throughout this account, I have shared the intimate details of my personal voyage, navigating the tribulations that life ceaselessly bestows upon us. Difficulties are an inherent facet of existence, a part and parcel of the human experience, yet suffering remains an optional path. It is my fervent hope that my mindfulness practice may serve as a wellspring of inspiration, empowering you to face your own trials with grace and resilience.