I want to write about an amazing hike I did on Saturday. That night I was pretty tired by the time I got home and jotted down a few notes so I wouldn't forget. And then I was too tired and/or burned out yesterday to flesh them out. Right now it feels as if my feet are wading through sludge, and I'm hoping I'll pick up steam as I remember how much I enjoyed the hike.

The hike was to Fern Lake, one of several hikes in an area of Rocky Mountain National Park called Moraine Park. In that same area is the Cub Lake Trail, which I've done many times (and blogged about), and which I did the previous week.

The Fern Lake trail has an altitude gain of 1,375 feet, and I was fully prepared for it to be beyond my stamina, particularly for my knees. But I made it the whole way up and was well rewarded with some beautiful views at the top. Better than the views, however, was the rushing river alongside the trail for most of the way, with numerous waterfalls. I love hiking beside water: the water gives the path an aliveness that a "dry" hike doesn't have, and I also love the sound of rushing water, there are few sounds I find as rejuvenating.

Sometimes I go hiking because I'm feeling full after working with a client or after doing as much writing as I can do for the day. On Saturday, however, I was seeking refuge and comfort and contact with the Divine. I wasn't sure what that would mean for my hiking stamina. I knew I might end up stopping and sitting somewhere, without the oomph to go on.

I was seeking comfort for several reasons. I've been feeling lonely, with several friends unavailable all week, and doing some very challenging work for my brother, Cliff. I've been transcribing some talks he's given about more advanced ways to understand the archetypes and shadows. My Inner Critic started chewing on me pretty badly as I listened, telling me how stupid I am for not having seen this stuff years ago. One of the challenges of being related to a very brilliant person is that by comparison you end up feeling pretty dim.

So when I arrived at the Park, I'd been beating myself up pretty thoroughly most of the day, and I could feel the emotions waiting just beneath the surface.

In Practically Shameless, I wrote about an event that happened when I was nine, when my father ridiculed me. There were other events in my childhood that were more traumatic than that one, and I chose that one on purpose. I didn't want to overload the information I wanted to get across with a story that was too intense.

One of those other events was an operation I had when I was two. My mother left me alone in the hospital (they had a rule that parents couldn't stay with their children, and Mom didn't fight it). I was terrified and paced back and forth in my crib for hours, possibly throughout the night. Sometimes, if I'm feeling very afraid and don't know what to do, I touch into that little girl pacing back and forth in the crib. And I touched into it on my hike on Saturday.

What terrifies me most about that place is the "I don't know what to do" part. It seems as if I'm going to die if I don't do something, and not knowing what to do leaves me feeling very alone and helpless.

As I hiked up to Fern Lake, I began to speak aloud about how afraid I was, and how alone I felt, and how I didn't know what to do. And as I did so, my legs kept moving. Most of the time there were no other people nearby, so I didn't feel uncomfortable about talking aloud and crying as I walked. And I was amazed at how good it felt just to speak the words aloud. It seemed to help me release some of the fear, and I began to feel much better. I enjoyed the rest of my hike feeling greatly relieved, as if I'd gotten something off my chest.

I'm not sure yet, but it's possible that I got some answers to the "I don't know what to do" part. One answer is, It doesn't matter. This is just a feeling (fear), and it will pass, and I don't have to do anything. Another answer is, Get my body moving. Hike up the side of a mountain, and my body knows it wants to get to the top, and that's the only thing I need to do at that moment.

I've known for some years that releasing is, in general, a very big issue for me -- simply getting feelings out. My friend Jeff Baugher, who's an astrologer, tells me that one reason releasing is such a big issue is that I was born about 24 hours before the new moon, and therefore in the releasing phase of the moon's monthly cycle. I'm sure it's a big reason why I became a writer. And I did pick up steam as I wrote about this, another example of the healing power of releasing.