Mountains, tears and baths of flowers

We decided to do a mini trek to some caves (and Incan cave paintings) behind the farm. The day was gorgeous and cool--perfect weather. I was distracted, and not in a good way. The evening before, I received a three week old message from the management of my storage facility back home. My storage unit, containing all my worldly possessions, had been left unlocked.

I was trying to put on a stoic face. But halfway through our morning meditation class and salute to the ten directions, I bailed out. Being present was totally escaping me. I get the whole concept of attachment and letting go, but enough is enough. I'm just not ready to be that untethered. And knowing that I had done something so stupid was making me feel really out of control.

I figured the hike would distract me from my distractions. So, we set off.

Initially, the walk was easy and quite beautiful. The Inca walls and paved stream beds are a marvel to contemplate. The rushing water was clear and the terraced landscape was lush with corn, potatoes, pumpkins, fruit trees, herbs, and flowers. Fernando was our capable and informed guide.

About 30 minutes into our ascent, the wind shifted, dark clouds appeared out of nowhere over the mountains, and we heard thunder. I could see bands of rain in every direction and I asked Fernando if they were headed our way. Yes, he seemed quite sure that our weather good luck had run out.

We decided to go for it. We had hiked up the mountain about halfway when the rain started. All I could think about was getting to the caves and escaping the now steady rain. The trail was steep and getting steeper. The assault forward was more like a hovering scramble as I grabbed rocks and strong plants to pull me up. I was determined to be the first one to the caves and out of the rain. Fernando was patiently herding the rest of our group, Barbara and David behind me.

All the while, I was distantly aware that if I looked over my right shoulder, I might not be able to make it. I put my fear of heights out of my mind and launched forward. Avishai had mentioned that the mountain would get a bit steep. Fernando was going to see us through the tough spots. Finally, I was confronted with a mountain face of rock. "where's the trail?" I asked Fernando. "aribba" he answered and motioned up. "You have got to be kidding" was my thought, but I kept silent.

There was just no way I was going to be beat by this mountain. I'm a survivor! All my possessions have been carted off from my storage unit! I'm unemployed! And homeless! I did the Inca Trail! I'm in Peru!

I carefully found toeholds and places for my hands and began hoisting myself upwards. The rain was now rushing down, I was soaked, my hands and feet were slipping, and the reality of the cliff-like views behind me were knocking on my mind's doors.

I reached a perfect straddle. I probably resembled something like a flattened fly against a rock, or maybe a frog thrown against a wall. I don't know. All I know is that that was the precise, exact moment when I suddenly did not feel much like a survivor, or a mind over matter master, or anything else. I was scared, I was sorry for myself and I was sure that there was no way I could do it. I was finished.

I don't remember if Fernando helped me down to the closest mud patch or if I got myself down. All I know is that I found my humble spot and sat there sobbing my heart out. There was no way I was going up. And in fact, there was no way I was going down either. This was the end of the road for me. I told the others to go on without me. I would wait in my puddle for them on the return. Maybe the sun would come out and dry everything up, maybe Fernando forgot to inform me of an Inca road superhighway just around the bend.

Barbara refused to go up. In solidarity, she was staying tight beside me. David had the good sense to leave us behind and in a matter of minutes he was in the cave, out of the rain and assuring us that we could do it.

I told Barbaran that if she made it up, I would too. I'm that competitive. Fernando was to the rescue and before long, Barbara was in the cave. He came to get me and I was still sobbing away. He instructed me back into my thrown frog position, but this time, I had a steady hand to pull me up and guide me across the steep mountain face and into the cave.

Once in the cave, we were out if the rain, it is true, but the damage had been done. I was soaked and shivering. I plastered myself against the rock face and asked David to explain to Fernando that I was crying over other things, not just the mountain. I vaguely heard David saying something about my mom having died (albeit a year and a half ago, but it helped explain the inexplicable). And then it was time to descend. Fernando had decided the weather would only worsen. I quickly snapped a shot of the cave drawing, which resembled something a child might have drawn as his or her first picture. Later, Barbara would describe it as scribble as we recounted our adventure to Avishai and Viviana. Fortunately, by that time, with plenty of relieved laughter.

Viviana is a shaman, a healer and an all around amazing, gentle person. Intuitively, she realized that my tears were of a broader nature--and she prescribed a bath of flowers.

The bath of flowers is a very special ritual. Each flower was hand picked by Viviana with a specific purpose in mind. I recognized roses, geraniums, daisies, hydrangeas, and the very smelly herb, "ruda", which is supposed to be great for energy cleansing.

The tub was set in the garden with an amazing view if snow capped mountains. Farm workers were instructed to steer clear of me bathing, and they did. I soaked for well over an hour taking it all in, using bath oils, honey, and a large aloe plant leaf as my soap. Afterwards, I took a restive nap. With the great news that my storage unit was secure and miraculously my things were untouched, I was able relax in to being present, fully aware of my attachments.