Derrick Jensen
“The blurring of boundaries between self and other in high jumping probably provides a key to my early love for the sport, a bridge between the walls I erected to protect me from emotions raised by my father’s abuse and the dismantling of those walls years later. In both cases – abuse and high jumping – those boundaries disappeared.
As a child, they disappeared because I was of necessity hyperaware, always alert to sounds, sudden movements, the slightest change in musculature or vibes that might indicate the possibility of an attack, that might give me an additional half-second to prepare for my father’s violence by physically absenting myself. Instead of remaining present to my own experience, I was present to my anticipation of his experience. My own self – whatever that means – was silent and submerged.
When I jumped, those boundaries between self and other once again became obscure. This time, though, the blurring was accomplished not by hiding the self, but expanding it.
On the best jumps, those where I approached that ragged edge of control where instinct and euphoria set me free from time and consciousness, the self grew and dissolved until there was no meaningful separation between me and the rest of the world. The bar and the standards, the pit, the slight breeze in the late April afternoon, the sun, the grass, me, we all worked together.”
- from A Language Older Than Words (p. 59)
