Fear This past autumn, I learnt to lead climb. In contrast with 'top-roping' (where the rope is already threaded through a clip at the top of the wall, and, when you fall, you are immediately caught by the rope), lead climbing is when the rope is tied to you and your belayer, and as you climb up you have to attach the rope to the clips on the way. The implication being that you are held up only by whatever clips you have already put the rope through. If you've climbed past the last clip, and you fall, you'll drop twice the distance between you and your last clip. The falls (which can be 20 feet or more), in combination with the warnings about 'factor two falls', the dangers of having your leg between you and the rope, pushing away from the wall, or your belayer having too much rope out, etc., makes it a bit of a scary proposition.

After this past sesshin (meditation intensive), I returned home with a vast sense of freedom. I felt empowered and confident that everything would be unconditionally awesome. My mind found ways of sustaining this sense. I read Dharma Bums, a book that speaks to the freedom we have to shape our lives regardless of social convention. And then, this flowing freedom which I knew was not only our path to happiness but an inherent attribute of who we are most fundamentally was subjected to the loud, jarring, irrational interruption of fear. As a screaming piece of interference in the sound system would interrupt an otherwise beautiful piece of music, fear was this completely out of place, unecessary, ugly constraint on my freedom.

Fear is truly the largest constraint on our freedom. Although adaptive in some occassions, it is more often than not simply the voice of social or behavioural convention, the small, weak voice of "I can't", "I shouldn't", and most insidiously "it doesn't really matter" chattering away at the deeper, more powerful sense of empowerment and possibility. Fear is our habituations undercutting our aspirations.

And so one of our challenges in life, one of the trials we must face to earn the freedom that we've had from the beginning, is that of facing and overcoming our fear. And so we return to the wall. There's a number of different ways of summitting this peak. First, there's doing it over and over again until you're not afraid anymore. So I climb up, clip in, and fall from the clip. There's a small, one-foot fall. Then I climb a bit above the clip, and fall a few feet, and so on until I literally have my face in front of the next clip, and am six feet or so above the previous one. I could easily clip in, feel safe, and not have to take the fall. Everything in me is shouting just to clip in and be done with it. "Oh, you don't have time to do this, your belayer wants to climb too, why don't you just stop and go down?" and "Maybe there's a better way, what if you just keep climbing and eventually you'll get over it." and "Don't you like bouldering more anyways?" I have to search for the smallest gap in this incessant fear-voice to just let go with my hands. A second later, and fifteen feet or so further down, the rope catches and I stop falling. Everything is fine, and eventually, after enough falls, I am sure that my mind and body will realize that there is nothing to be afraid of. The advantage of this strategy is that I feel like I'm directly confronting the beast, and the disadvantage is that I wonder if, by focusing on the fear, I'm not transcending it.

There's also the strategy of proceeding as if there is no fear. In this case, I simply climb up, keep clipping in, and ignore the fear voice altogether. So I'm fifty feet up, and my arms are tired. It's late in the day of climbing and although this is a climb I know I can do, it's near my limits given my strength and the fact that I'm leading and so have to have the stability to clip every few moves. Now I'm a few feet above my last clip and there's a few more feet to go. There's a couple tiny holds and it will be a serious balancing act just to make it. The thought of falling is somewhere in the back of my mind, and my heart starts racing, I can feel the fear starting to expand throughout my body. I either succumb to it, or, in suppressing it, become incredibly focused on the task at hand. Everything in the world dissapears, and there is only the toe onto the tiny hold, the hand up to the crimper, the flag with the left leg, the reach, and, finally the clip. Safe, exhale.... Ahhh..... The advantage of this approach is that pushing the fear out of my mind creates an immense amount of concentration, and I become more familiar with the feeling of climbing without fear, and learn that it is indeed possible. The disadvantage is that I wonder if suppressing the fear is just ignoring the problem, just not facing the beast but sticking it into a darker and darker place from which it will surprise me at some later point.

In any case, I am certain that either of the above is far more empowering than the alternatives. I could simply climb easier routes, or boulder, or just use the top-ropes that are on most of the climbs in the gym. There's a hundred ways I could have just as much fun for now, without having to go through the heart-pumping, nerve-jarring experience of being a ways above the last clip, and looking down. But if I did this, then I am sure I will perhaps unoticeably, slowly, but very certainly suffocate in the small cell that I will have built for myself. I will never taste the freedom of being able to go out with friends to a large granite cliff, spread out my rope, attach the clips to my belt, and be the first one up.

Indeed, it is those who are able to conquer their fear who lead, in climbing, and in life. For, as Emerson said, "God will not have his work made manifest by cowards."  ¶ 9:03 PM