Zen and the Art of Sky-Diving

“So, what about this skydiving we’ve been talking about.  You wanna do it?”

I didn’t.  I had no desire to put myself through the stress and terror of throwing myself out of a perfectly good plane, just to prove a point.

“No.  Absolutely not.” I thought, but heard myself saying, “Yeh, ok”.  I did my best to look as cool as a cucumber, as did Jason when he heard my response.  But who were we kidding?  We knew each other like the back of our hands, and we both had an aversion to heights, particularly heights over 3 metres.

“It’s not the jump that’ll kill you, it’s hitting the bottom,” I laughed nervously.  Hoping that he would bottle out, call the whole thing off, and I could go back to my beer without losing face.  But it didn’t happen, and within two hours I was being briefed by a burly South African, ex stunt-man with a limp.  He was a nice guy, reassuring us that it was more dangerous to drive to the jump site than to leap out of the plane.  His positive attitude instilled a bit of confidence, but driving through Cape Town was not exactly a picnic, and a severe limp in his left leg was rather disconcerting.

We pulled on our parachutes, buckled the harnesses, and did check after check to make sure they were tight.  It was a quiet few minutes, but my mind was racing.

“Why do I always open my big mouth?  Why do I always get myself into these situations?  Why isn’t my Mummy here?”  It’s funny how the mind is capable of doubting everything, but give it a bit of ammunition, like a rickety old plane that had been built in the 50’s, and a pilot who was far too overexcited for my liking, and it has a field day.

Ten minutes later, we were crammed into the plane, with the pilot, and two parachutists who would be strapped to our backs for the duration of the jump.   I shouted to one of the instructors,

“What happens if someone doesn’t jump, do you just land with them in the plane?”

“They always jump,” he smiled, “sometimes they just need a bit of encouragement.”  The way he said it made me realise that encouragement was most probably a kick in the bum.  “Besides, this plane won’t land with more than the pilot in it.  It’s too old.”

By this stage I should have been a quivering wreck, but something happened that I never expected.  I actually felt very relaxed, detached from the chaos, the noise, and the chatter in my head.  As we circled up and up, I felt quite good, and even a hint of confidence crept in.

It was as if the enormity of what I was about to do had short-circuited my mind.

Bang.  All of a sudden this calm was shattered by the door opening.  The noise was deafening, and in a flash Jason had edged his way to the jump spot, and then him and his instructor were gone.  It was time, I wanted to be scared, but as I looked down from the plane, sitting 8000 feet over the Savanah of Africa, there was no time to be afraid. 

“Go.”  The next 3 seconds were the best of my life that far. I was weightless, formless, completely free of thought, emotion or even the concept of who I was or what I was doing.  I had no fear, no problems, I was just space, and it was heaven.  Then, as we stabilised and started to free-fall, this freedom slowly faded.

That experience was unique to me, because I realised that it had nothing to do with the parachute jump.  It was all to do with my internal state when I jumped.  Something happened that disconnected me from all the boundaries and ideas that I held so dear, and connected me to awareness, consciousness, unlimitedness, freedom.

I don’t think that I realised it at the time, but from that moment forward I was different.  I had tasted a state that I previously did not even know existed, and there was no turning back.  I had an insight into why people do extreme sports, why people push themselves to the limits, and it appears that many of them are chasing this experience of freedom.

It was many years till I experienced it again, but this time I was well and truly rooted to the ground, and had my eyes closed Ascending (meditating).   These days that state comes and goes. Sometimes it is very subtle, other times, exciting and vibrant. Sometimes it is filled with love and peace, other times it is just empty space.  But it’s there, inside everyone, just waiting to be found, and you don’t need to hurl yourself out of a plane to get it.