Ten years ago, I climbed Mt. Sniktau in Colorado by myself. The mountain rises to 13,234 feet and at the top, I took in views of Loveland Pass, the Gore Range and Arapahoe Ski Resort.
But it's a cheater's mountain.
With a starting elevation of only 12,000 feet and a hiking trail which requires no rope or gear, almost anyone with acclimated to high altitude lungs can huff and puff his/her way to the top. Even on this summer day, low clouds huddled in their own grey cloaks to keep out the cold, wind-chilled air. I certainly had on my sweater underneath my wind cheater. And at the top, I had my "Hills are alive moment," complete with me singing and twirling around, patting myself on the back, and in the age of cell phones, calling my workmates to gloat about my accomplishment.
But that night as I tried to fall asleep, anxiety and fear twisted my bowels and kick-booted my heart; I had nearly died that day and only now, did I remember how close I had come. The memory gave me, and I assure you this is the best way to describe how spooked I'd become -- a good case of the heebie jeebies.
With only 10% more of the climb to pursue to the top, I had managed as always to lose the trail. I am very good, adept really, at finding new paths in parks no one has ever thought of before. I'm also excellent at getting turned around and walking back the way I had just come, misreading maps, and not finding which end is up even with a compass. Getting lost is something of a talent I claim. So well above the treeline and with the trail clearly moving off to the left, I went right toward a severe slope covered in scree. At one point, I decided it would be safer to scuttle on my butt across the medium sized rocks sliding under each step of my hiking boot, but as I turned to sit down, I saw a fellow hiker. I had just passed him making his way down twenty minutes before and now he was already a good half-mile away. I could barely make him out, but he was clearly watching me, and even from this distance, I felt his helpless, wide-eyed gaze. He could have been in his warm car by now. Why was he so interested in me?
And this is why I believe in ESP:
I heard his voice in my head, "You stupid, stupid bitch. You're about to die and it will be my sorry ass that has to tell the rangers I saw you fall."
And this is why I believe energy imbues all things:
I looked around. The slope area had shortened in width and its face had tilted up onto its side like a Fun House floor but with a thousand foot drop to the valley below. The rocks sang and danced, "we've fallen this far, what's a thousand feet more?"
And this is why I believe in the Divine:
My inner voice, just a whisper, said, "Go back. Carefully."
On my bottom, I inched my way back toward the edge of the scree field. The rocks jutted their pointy chins into my palms of my hand, but even so, slipped toward the drop. The hiker watched me scoot back, a good fifteen minutes, and when I was safe and able to stand again, he shot down the rest of the trail towards his car.
I try not to think about that day because I have the same reaction; panic builds in my cells, my breathing quickens and my heart bursts. I had kept on walking across the scree, I had slipped and slid over the cliff face. I had fallen so long that for a moment I believed I was safe and could fly, but then I hit the ground.
And this is why I believe in multiple universes. One of me died that die. It all felt so real.
