Exit Glacier: The Alpine Path not Climbed

We arrived at the Kenai National Park. Exit Glacier sprawled from the bottom of the mountain to the top in a curvaceous configuration, so that it was visible at multiple angles. From the bottom, it was a crust of diamond overlaying the desolate rock and loose earth of the lower lands. Blue undertones, the vivid color of transformation, that state of being locked between ice and water, ran along the glacier like veins. Yet it was far from pristine, grains of soil were embedded on the periphery, tainted by the footprint of man.

Then we began the climb. The landscape began to change as the elevation increased. Shady paths and stately trees appeared; everything was so overwhelmingly green. Countless tiny waterfalls spilled silver water and made music as they flowed from ledge to ledge. Sunlight filtered through the swaying leaves, and I remembered a verse from my youth, a verse that inspired me in my most impressionable years:

“Then whisper, blossom, in thy sleep
How I would upward climb
The alpine path, so hard, so steep,
That leads to heights sublime.
How I may reach that far-off goal
Of true and honored fame
And write upon its shining scroll
A woman’s humble name.”

I wondered if I still sought fame. What I seek becomes more simple as the years go by. As a teenager, it was prestige and success and wealth. Then in my twenties, it became a search for love. Now, in my thirties, it was a quest for serenity within my own heart.

My reverie was broken by the tinkling bell Marie wore to ward off bears. Of course, Marie’s year of hiking also made it impossible for me to keep up with her. I watched her limber physique and red coca cola t-shirt disappearing up the mountain.

I entered a clearing with a gorgeous view of the glacier, like a frozen waterfall, ice ridges blinking. Around me was a grassy meadow, dotted with wild bluebells. Such a splash of scintillating color, it reminded me of a Monet painting and those vagrant poppies that seemed lush enough to pick.

I grew tired. My legs trembled as if I was a marionette that lost control of the strings. I continued towards the snow-covered path which led to the top and slid inconveniently back down on my butt. Sweat broke in beads on my forehead. On my abdomen, my scar began to burn. I felt my body betray me. And I accepted my limitations.

Once upon a time, I was too determined to give up. Once upon a time, when I set a course of action, it was inevitable that I reach the destination. I never changed course; I never weakened; I never allowed failure. To do so was a devastating blow to my psyche.

I watched as people passed me, doing what I am unable to do.

In that instant, I gave myself permission to stop. To stop trying, stop struggling, stop thinking. In this moment, I am enough. Wherever I am in life. In whatever I am doing. I am enough.

When you have nothing, you realize that your very essence is far from nothing. I am not defined by what I have. I am not defined by my career or association with others. I am not defined by youth or beauty or health. If I lose any of those external things, then I would become lost again.

I found in myself, the raw divinity of the self. It is the part of me that touches God, the part that is connected to everyone and everything, the part that understands the immortality of love, the part that is too vital to die.

That is who I am, who I will always be.

A daughter of God.