Amigo… yes, you! Halt! Don’t move… an audience! The promised encounter, at last. I’ve been thinking about this date with you a fair bit, in fact, believe it or not, chilling out by the mountain lakes after moonwalking uphill with a wad of coca leaves behind my cheek. I got one right now, typing this in Tarai’s maloka listening to Nawang Khechog’s cascading flute flow, it helps to remember.
All I got is bits and pieces, but I am sure I will forgive me. It’s been quite a ride, considering we got to Cusco fairly hammered by Cordillera Blanca and township of Huaraz permeated by fairly intense electromagnetic frequencies of upcoming brighter future proudly broadcast from towering edifices erected of late in the name of super-connectivity that tends to induce headaches and diarrhoea in sensitive types like ourselves. That’s the problem with being full of medicine and walking around wide open to vibrations, be their source mechanical or purely human.
Avoid poisonous foods; bad mood, as everything else, has frequency of vibration. Last thing you want is engaging with low vibrations. The issue of coming down has become a driving force in our concurrent pilgrimage and there’s only so much time we can spend in town before heading back to the hills to recharge. Walking some fifteen hundred meters uphill is hard on the knees but it gets you out of the matrix to bathe in silence and put your heart and mind at ease. What to do? You flee the valley, answering the call from above.
…I tell Rachel that I feel like passing out and slump down on the ground, smiling from ear to ear. Another wee epic excursion, who would have thought; I was spilling my guts out just the day before, having spent a day in Cusco petitioning in high offices of immigration authorities, waiting in bank cues and printing authentic-looking vaccine passports to be granted entry into abovementioned institutions of power. To pass the time we were snacking on opportunely purchased treats only local markets boast in abundance. My digestion works fine in the mountains; soon as I come down, there’s no telling what will happen. Chicha on top of avocado and bread, albeit artisan crafted, isn’t a best idea, as I found out… but I am not telling the whole truth.
When we got to Cusco, riding in a packed colectivo, I was prepared to let Rachel go on her way. After unbelievably good time in Ausangate and long-sought rendezvous with a legendary Indian Chief in the flesh having scrambled to the Eagle Nest on top of the mountain affording unbeatable vista of Seven Lakes, after baptizing in the sacred waters on the one of the above mentioned lakes below, entertaining bypassing tourists with nonsensical songs made up on the spot and finally entering the temple of Eagle and Condor prophecy with its front door decorated by a pair of spread wide rainbow wings embracing golden heart in the middle, after receiving gifts of the Crystal Mountain, after numerous bathings in the healing mineral waters and being restored to vibrant state on a cellular level, after all of the high states we’ve been privy to and shared as one, I found myself suddenly deflated and impotent to support the crushing weight of unconsciousness seeping from my beloved drop by drop until my cup was full and I could not take any more of it. That was the real reason for the upset stomach and being unable to digest food properly.
When you are depleted, it is not a question of willingness to open the portal of love back to the radiant warmth and embrace each other as you did once before. It’s the question of energy. You either have it or you don’t. And when you don’t have it, there’s nothing one can do but wait and be patient. Depletion to the point of cessation of thought. All one can do is lie and observe the breath entering the chest, then going out. Nothing more to give: no hugs, no words of consolation or forgiveness to offer. Negativity drains you completely, slowly but surely, if you are on the receiving end. And there’s a final point when the cup is full and not a single drop can be accommodated. That’s when you call quits and it ain’t up to you. The other must realize what’s happening, must turn their gaze inside and become aware.
Climbing mountains ain’t no joke. It stirs up all that doesn’t serve, all that schlock and trash deposited on top of the innocence and radiant joy, blocking the sunshine like a thick blanket of cloud obscuring true vision of beauty of creation revealed moment to moment: one must be open to receive it, tuned in to the divine. It’s a question of awareness. Up high one is meeting pristine wilderness where both man and animal are but brief visitors, drinking glacier water with no memory of human hind, crystallised into frozen ice eons before great pyramids and Mayan temples were build, conversing with puffy white clouds drifting seemingly with reach yet miles away at the same time, one enters high states known only to a blessed child, acquires innocence long lost. Highs cannot be without corresponding depth, every high needs its low as a background to push from.
How many times did I pray on my knees to remember the blessings, the peace and tranquillity without spilling the elixir on my way down the mountain… it takes years of going up to come down and not lose the vision, the great vista of inside landscape that includes and accepts all things under the sun as divine. God and divinity exists everywhere, everything is it, without exception. Including your nuclear bombs and warheads, if you extend the logic beyond morality that tends to block the obvious.
Take nuclear holocaust as a warning, as a wake-up call. It’s been on the cards ever since Einstein recounted and expressed his wish to having been born to become a cobbler instead of a nuclear physicist; we seem to be awfully kin on waging war against each other, a cumulative effect of negativity that engulfed the planet to the point of such commonplace madness that it is accepted as the norm. Ultimately, human body can be destroyed, yet enlightened spirit remains free. If you happen to achieve such a blessed state, that is. And I’d rather be here in the flesh to celebrate the awakening, naturally, than going down with righteous patriots determined to see their flag on top of the conquered ruins. Grim stuff that serves as a background against which the miracle of life shines ever brightly and deep appreciation arises.
Speaking of the ultimate background, death is but a transformation of energy. An apex of life, the highest point. If you investigate sutras, you will gleam that unless one experiences oneself as energy, a rebirth cycle continues and one goes back to school. One doesn’t graduate, falls back. Because the amount of radiance and energy one is exposed to upon leaving condensed confinement of human form is so unimaginably huge, it cannot be assimilated without adequate preparation. One must be thoroughly cleansed and pure to pass through the gate of disembodiment in full consciousness, without shrieking back in hysterical panic that comes from never experiencing oneself as energy. And best preparation for dying, ironically enough, is living life fully and enjoying the gift of existence to the utmost, with every breath. Smiling and finding positive sides in every experience, even if the experience in itself is painful it affords great opportunity for learning. And resulting gratitude is a key to the completion of healing from whatever fall or injury you’ve suffered. That’s what mountains teach you a great deal, how to love, laugh and forgive yourself for whatever stupidity you had done, being aware of it at the time of the calamity or otherwise. Unawareness, after all, is the one and only downfall of humanity. Don’t blame it on lizards and billionaires riding in a bejewelled buss over poverty-stricken landscape of the third world, laughing as they plunder and enslave; they are unconscious of what is going on, that’s why all the wars and pollution and strife driving good old Gaia to resort to extreme measures of never before seen hurricanes, massive floods, earthquakes and tsunamis. You just wait! Long as average Joe believes in the necessary goodness of mortgaging his homestead and takes his dog for walks in the park, madness will continue. Till he can’t afford neither the bills nor the dog biscuits, that is.
Being up high gives one a sense of perspective. I remember first time I climbed mount Tongariro, I had found a comfy rock to sit on to smoke a joint provisionally rolled… after three hours of watching white puffy clouds drift over the landscape in absolute tranquillity I realised I still had the joint in my hand which I forgot to light, a box of matches in the other hand… silence was enough. It was vibrant, filling my cup to the brim. And none of the things I’ve been worrying about and trying to achieve down below mattered up there. No frustration, no condemnation, no ambition, no past, no future. Just a flowing continuum of the elements in harmony of coexistence and effortless grandeur only Nature can afford without claiming neither credit nor recognition from outside of itself.
Mountains are incredibly generous. No offering is needed to receive the welcome, apart from your presence and willingness to arrive. The gift of silence stays in your soul and nourishes you from within. That’s the reward. Watching the mind doing its acrobatics every step of the way, huffing and puffing under the weight of the backpack, until breathing clears thoughts away as your total energy is required for locomotion. I’ve never been diligent enough to practice meditation techniques in a controlled comforted environment such as a room or a hall; the notion of indulging in such contrived waste of time, at least as mind is concerned, is an obstacle. Going for a walk, presumably to a mountain pass or a glacier, is much easier accepted and meditation – going beyond the mind – happens naturally along the way. Enjoyment is the key.
Enjoy every scratch and bruise, every skidding fall, every prickle as a gift of the mountain. Every time you are blown off the ridge, swallowing your breath pushed back inside by a gust of wind, every time your toes ache from being defrosted, fingers unwilling to deal with shoelaces, is an opportunity to catch yourself sliding down into low frequency of vibration and correct the thought pattern that causes suffering. Mind and body, after all, are part of one mind-body phenomena and not separate as linguistics suggests. The truth lies beyond language that simply in not adequate to encompass the whole thing, hence true learning is existential and cannot be accomplished by intellect alone. Enjoy patching up your shoes while at it, and mending holes in your pants with aged hands that boast a landscape all of their own, etched lines made starkly visible by grit and dirt stuck in the cracks of dry and desiccated skin. First it strikes you how quickly aging happens, then you get used to it, and finally affectionately proud for the realisation dawns that one is part and parcel of the earth one walks upon.
So yeah… what to say? All is well. Rachel came through time and again, shining and smiling and dwelling in the heart space, dancing with gusto and gentleness through thick and thin to meet me on the other side. Hand in hand we descend into the abyss... hold me tight with all your might, I beg you please!!! We sang this improvised verse more than once, sliding down precipitous slopes or marching through the hail back from the Chief's round house in the Beyondville, swaying in the gusts of wind, romantic as it gets, if you survive the ordeal, ha ha ha... Nothing, really, can come close to being immersed in the elemental and feeling the breeze go through you, setting waves of vibrations travelling along your skin, nerve endings, tingling you inside and existing through palms of your hands, your feet and the crown of your head to connect you at once with the ground down under you are magnetically bound to and the whirlpools of air currents up above that make clouds part in fractal wisps and wrap around themselves, dissipating in the process.
We offered a few prayers along the way for the land, for our friends and families, and humanity at large, as you do. A prayer requires wholehearted innocence, as a side note, which is why a notion of praying gets stuck in one’s throat. The case of lost innocence plaques well-educated developed world. One doesn’t need to go back to paganism… I laugh at the notion of worshiping deities from the safe distance. A spirit of the place is a tangible entity, it is a presence that awaits your arrival, both in physical and spiritual sense. A bow aligns the body, allowing energy to flow freely. Kneeling down is best body posture to rest and receive, especially when your forehead touches the ground. Palms of hands brought together complete the circuit of energy and allow for circulation.
When you come close to exhaustion, energy flow becomes readily apparent and easy to observe. This knowledge is worth acquiring and worth passing on. The reason I’m boring you guys with this rhetoric is that someone will find it inspirational, if not useful just yet. I’ve thought many times of dragging my friends up to experience the ambiance and receive treats on offer, especially a couple of young fellas in my supposed care, but it is a matter of willingness and the necessity on their behalf. The ironic thing is, unless one has a taste for the mountains, there’s no way to know. A person might have the best medicine available at hand and never take it for the lack of recognition. It is rather ironic that re-cognition implies cognitive process of coming together in ability to comprehend, a mental act as a necessary prerequisite to going beyond the mind and thinking itself. Which is what any medicine work ultimately is: curing dis-ease, distress, correcting being disconnected from omnipotent present moment one who is hopelessly lost in futile shuffling between impotent past and non-existent future, both phantasmagorical ghosts.
That’s the old news from my end, friends. Same process, same landscapes walked, yet illuminated in different light; mountain breeze is always fresh, regardless on which day you sample it. It’s been grand pilgrimaging around. Got offered land in Ausangate, free for taking. They want us there for some reason… got offered free house in Qoya, by a total stranger, scribbled down his number on a matchbox with a borrowed pen. Must have been our rascal smiles and open-end conversations held with sheep and donkeys on the way down the mountain. We got so loaded with crystals and semi-precious stones on one the hikes that by backpack straps got torn at the base – and what we took was a mere fraction of what we left behind… just for presents to the friends in the jungle, who never have a chance to visit higher mineral realms in their own country. Too busy making bark remedies, healing patients and astral travelling in their ayahuaska trance.
Feeling greatly privileged and ultimately grateful for the adventures had, I might just break into we-are-the-champignons-of-the-world song, praising hidden mycelium network permeating dark forest with ticklish joy of recognition of interconnectedness of all things and spreading itself far and wide, spanning sterile void of interstellar light years (in case it takes this long for this song to reach ya) unharmed and undamaged, as wise and tiny mushroom spores are infamous for such unparalleled feats, in attempt to deliver the fun fungi vibe to your picnic cloth or a dinner table of your preference as a gourmet change to the menu, which I hope you will welcome and cherish.
Have a good day, amigo… tis great to see you got to the bottom of this love song of devotion to the towering cliffs, gurgling streams, puffy clouds drifting above old landscape and merry craziness of adventuring through it all. Proud of you, as a matter of fact! Let the words fall away and leave you with the tingling sensation and warmth and excitement for inhabiting this very moment on this earth in the blessed flesh, divinity manifest… amen.
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