“I am no longer afraid of heights.”
These words are in my head today, after two nightmares and a revelation in the middle of the night.
The nightmares were the same in atmosphere but not environment. The atmosphere was anxiety and fear, disorientation, confusion, uncertainty about where to go and what to do. There was also the feeling of humiliation, regret and shame; worry about my place in the world and my “status” in the eyes of other people.
Two environments: one, an airport as I navigated through a busy terminal, walking uphill, hoisting my bags, trying to find my way through hallways and corridors, doorways and service desks. I tried to get help from counter agents, and boarded an airport bus, only to realize with panic that it was heading to the wrong destination, far from where I meant to board a plane. I did not hesitate then; I shouted loud enough to get the bus to stop and let me disembark and board another bus that turned around. And as I rode that bus now in the right direction, I noticed that my bag had spilled, with my papers and belongings sliding on the floor. I winced, embarrassed, but resolutely gathered up the items and returned them to my bag.
The second environment was outside in the country. It felt like territory just an hour’s drive away. I found myself driving in my car and noticing a welding company on the side of the road, then speculating if it was a company connected to a friend of mine. I stopped, from curiosity. Explored; walked past a house that seemed to be the office, admired the boulders on a small hill right in front, then crossed the street to see another structure. That was a tall tower, made of lumber, with a ladder staircase and a platform at the top. On the platform was an overlook, where donations were collected. This structure, I somehow understood, was connected to a charity; it was a central point for the community, where needs were being recognized and served. I climbed it once, and then a second time, observing what I saw on top with curiosity, until I saw the ladder move. It shook and shifted, sliding sideways by the platform, not quite disconnecting but obviously not secure.
I had THOUGHT it was nailed down, connected, stable. It was not. It was loose. It was flimsy. It was not secure. It was dangerous.
And I froze. I felt the paralyzing fear of heights which I’ve felt in real life, and in dreams, many many times. It is a visceral, overwhelming and internal terror that makes it absolutely impossible to move. Almost impossible to breathe! The feeling is so specific, so strong, and its partner is awareness in my mind about what is happening. I am FEELING the panic and also KNOWING the definition and the context and the implications of the panic. I cannot move. I cannot do what should be done, what must be done, what I want to get done. I am paralyzed, terrified and frozen in place; mind, emotion and body all trapped in the same vortex of situational fear: the terror caused by my fear of heights.
Heights.
The language of dreams is metaphor, right?
Heights.
In the flesh: physical.
In our broader experience of life: not-just-physical, right?
Heights.
“I am no longer afraid of heights. I am not longer in fear of heights.”
Waking up, I understood that last night’s dreams were meant to be remembered, meant to be explored. I knew, just barely, that there were themes apparent to be pondered, to be plumbed; that there was invitation and revelation buried somewhere in both nightmares; that I must feel through them somehow, to find a message.
How much of my life have I been afraid of “heights”?
All that I can recall.
It’s time for that to end.
I will be,
no longer,
afraid of heights.
I am no longer afraid of heights.