This was originally published on 6 March 2023 on my blog called The Anchor Within (theanchorwithin.blog).
I want to talk about a moment when I was in Innsbruck.
In this city, I was at a point of deep confusion in my life. That point where you give up trying to do things, and all you crave is some form of gentleness. Do you know this feeling?
The evening I had arrived in Innsbruck, I had accidentally gotten drunk and somehow years of pain that I had held captive in my heart had managed to escape. It escaped in the form of words – that I vomited onto someone who I loved very much. It didn’t take me long to snap out of this liberation, to apologise and then proceed to engulf myself in shame.
I sat in my bed, and I cried that night. I felt afraid, I felt in deep despair and I felt incredibly lonely. I had no one to talk to, nowhere to go, and it all felt so heavy that I started to cave in on myself.
The next morning, I made a decision that I was the only one who could offer myself any meaningful form of forgiveness. It didn’t matter what anyone else would say to me, I would somehow always find an excuse or a reason to believe that I was not worthy of their time or love. So, the change had to be with me, if I really wanted to live my life with joy.
I left the apartment very early, and luckily found a café to have breakfast in. It was busy, but they had one spot available at the kitchen counter and so I sat and ate alone. While drinking my coffee, I felt that strong need to go into nature that you often get after experiencing extreme stress. So, I found a route that I could walk. It was in a part of Innsbruck called Höttinger. I walked there after finishing my breakfast, and found the start of the trek into the forest.
It was winter at that time, so it was cold, but the sun was out and it was a beautiful day. The snow was still fresh and crunched under my feet as I began the path upwards. I noticed every hundred metres or so, there was a post topped with a box. Inside the box was a picture of Jesus, with the cross. Every detail was very finely crafted. Seeing the delicate contents of each little box was a beautiful contrast to the majestic, snow topped trees towering above it.
I continued upwards. My heart felt heavy, and my legs didn’t want to continue, but I kept going. The pain somehow felt good. Maybe, I even had the feeling that I had deserved to feel this pain – so I kept putting myself through it. I cried as each step got a little more difficult, and I was grateful that the harshness of the cold seemed to dry my tears before they could trickle too far down my cheeks.
The forest got thicker and thicker, and moving away from the city the silence became more prominent. The surroundings appeared to become more still, more peaceful. The silence became so loud, that I had to stop at one point and take off my big coat. Even though it was cold, I somehow couldn’t take the weight of it. Everything seemed to be so heavy at that point. My heart seemed so heavy, as if it would burst. I stood, holding my coat and catching my breath, and looked up at the hill before me.
Within the blankets of white and the stripes of trees in front of me, I could make out something that was not tree-like in the distance. It looked like a little house, but since it appeared to be completely covered in snow, I couldn’t really tell. I decided that it would be worth finding out what that little house was, even if I could only move slowly.
By the time I reached the clearing, I noticed that it was a little chapel. I walked inside, and I immediately felt that peace that we seem to feel in any historical place of worship.
The silence outside was loud, like a deafening ring in my ears, but inside this little sanctuary, the silence felt gentle. It was easier to walk into, empty, as if very few humans had approached this place in a very long time. I sat for a few moments and started to feel grateful. I felt grateful that I could feel so low in such a beautiful location. As if being alone, and being in a foreign country, somehow took the edge off my suffering. Made it more bearable, more able for me to see the lesson that I needed to learn.
My walk back into the city felt lighter. I think that I had left something back there in that little chapel, or maybe it had absorbed something from me. It had taught me that I didn’t need to carry my burdens alone.
As I approached the town centre of Höttinger, I found a cosy bakery to sit in. It was busy, but I noticed a big spot at the front. It was far too much seating for only me, but I decided to just leave my bag there anyway. I then walked to the counter, but before I could begin, I noticed a big group entering the bakery. A man walked in, who looked like a Priest. I realised that it must be a church group who had finished mass and were looking to have afternoon tea.
They walked in, and found that there was no place to sit, and were about to leave. I thought it would be a shame for them to go, so I decided to remove my bag immediately. It was a big group, after all, and I was only one person. I was somehow sure that I could find a place to squeeze in somewhere else in the back. I did not speak German, so I couldn’t communicate this to them, but I had hoped that they understood what I was doing.
I ordered a coffee and cake, and actually managed to find the most perfect spot in a separate little room at the back of the café. It was hidden, out of sight just how I liked it. It wasn’t long after I sat down that my coffee and cake were delivered to me. I took out my notebook and pen and started to write.
At this time, I was reminded of a quote from Rainer Maria Rilke. He has been the best companion for me on my life journey in the last few years. The quote is: “There is only one journey. Going inside yourself.” He is a poet that is very close to my heart, because he has written about being alone in the most empowering way that I know. The journey I had just made in the snow up to the chapel reminded me of this part of his poem Loneliness:
“Being apart and lonely is like rain.
It climbs toward evening from the ocean plains;
From flat places, rolling and remote, it climbs
To heaven, which is its old abode.
And only when leaving heaven drops upon the city.”
Sitting at that café, I felt that I had made that trip up into the heavens and back into the city.
It was time for me to lean into this inner journey of mine. And it is a lonely journey, because no one can see it from the outside. The only comfort that others can give us is the acknowledgment that it is there, and the trust that we know how to walk it ourselves.
After a while, I was taken out of my dream-like state of writing by the kind face of the owner of the bakery trying to get my attention. She told me “Father would like to offer you something, is there anything you would like? Another coffee?” I was a little shocked, and it took me a few moments to understand that she had meant the Priest. I refused, but I said to thank him for his kindness. She nodded and left.
We cry for many reasons in life.
Sometimes it is because we feel pain when we are not seen.
Sometimes it is because we realise that we are seen, despite our efforts to remain hidden and unknown.
Sometimes, there are people who simply validate that you are on a journey that is unknown to them. They cannot see it, but they recognise that nonetheless it still exists. I started to consider… could I give myself that acknowledgment too?
That acknowledgement, I have learned, is more powerful than any information, advice or material gift that anyone could give you. Without this acknowledgment, what is the value of anything?
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