Connecting to Source
It’s in the midst of nature where we can behold the miracles of Life and Creation. We can witness the simplicity and complexity of it all. We are all an extension, an integral part of all that is. It’s here that lies the connection with Source below, Universe above, and God within.
Basecamp of Iztaccíhuatl
We are hard-wired to want to belong to something bigger than us. That’s why religion continues to be one of our oldest, most constant institutions.
I have pursued alternate avenues to find God, interchangeably calling it the Universe or the Source. As a once-practicing Catholic, I learned that the Holy Trinity - the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit - are one and the same. It was something I could never quite understand as each seemed to have its own identity. Similarly, when I consider my newfound Holy Trinity - Universe, Source, and God - they are inextricably the same, yet each has its own distinctiveness. All I know for certain is that this sanctity is greater than and a part of me all at once. I have abandoned the buildings and gone out into the world in search of it.
Connecting with nature, I behold the miracles of Life and Creation. I see the simplicity and complexity of it all. I know that I myself am an extension, an integral part of all that is. In nature, I connect with Source below, Universe all around, and God within.
My choice activity to attain this connection is midnight hiking for a sunrise summit. Something about this experience expands my soul from the depths of my core to the outer field of my aura.
Just outside Mexico City lie the dormant volcano Iztaccíhuatl and her active neighbor Popocatépetl. I go here to summit Izta and to behold el Popo from a respectable distance.
The mountains invigorate me. They stand tall and unshakeable from their roots to their tips. Iztaccíhuatl is a Nahuatl name meaning White Woman but she is also known as La Mujer Dormida, the sleeping woman, in Spanish. I see a part of myself in the ferocious beauty of Izta, as well as in her name. When I compare myself to the mountain, I channel its might and majesty.
At midnight, we wake to begin our upward trek. The cold mountain air wakes us from our current state of being mujeres dormidas. Perhaps our movement wakes Izta from her deep sleep for she presents us with unpredictable and volatile weather conditions. As we walk up her side, wind gusts halt us mid-step. The wind hurls dirt from the earth violently against my face and into my eyes, hindering my eyesight for the entire day. We must stand immobile as the wind rages so that we do not lose our balance in this precarious location. With the wind comes below-freezing temperatures; I beg Izta to let us continue our ascent so that I don’t freeze solid in place.
The climb itself is godless. Not only is it a steep ascent at high altitude, but the footing is unnervingly unstable. For a large portion of the hike, I find myself taking one step up and sliding six steps down the mountain. The high altitude drills nails into my brain as I struggle to adjust to the thin air. My hearts pounds and my lungs heave. It’s a test of both mental and physical prowess and I max out my limit both on the way up and the way down.
During the course of this summit, a holiness that descends from the heavens wills us adelante (onward and upward): the light that proceeds the darkness. The light means we are reaching the peak of our journey; it gifts us with a sublime performance to remind us of our reverence for nature. Hot pink streaks the sky, illuminating Popocatépetl, the Smoking Mountain, behind us.
Popo may not be emitting smoke now, but wisps of smoke swirl all around. The extraterrestrial landscape and out-of-this-world beauty of Izta are revealed to us. We simultaneously turn to see the sun breach the horizon in a gold so vibrant that it looks like it is on fire. We stand immobilized not by the wind gusts but by the sanctity of the sun. We regain strength from her light and breath from the air. Our renewed inspiration and sustenance from the rising sun push us toward our destination.
My first midnight hike was on the Indonesian island of Bali. Watching the sunrise, layer-by-layer, as I crouched atop Gunung Agung, I experienced the mystical powers of nature. I touched clouds and surfed the sky. I stood at the very peak of the world. So profound was this experience that I haven't stopped chasing it.
I've fallen asleep on top of an 18,000-foot Andean giant in the mountains of Peru.
I've watched the most active volcano in the world erupt like clockwork in Guatemala.
Walking up the side of a mountain in the dark of night is where I find my religion. Night has a way of transforming the earth and transporting me to an ageless time. The billions of stars hang above in the vast unknown, reminding me of the limitless possibilities of this thing called life.
It's here that I get lost in time and space, lulled to a meditative state, connecting deeply with the magnificence all around.
This is where I connect to Source.
Where I feel God within me.
Where I feel loved and supported by the Universe.
How do you connect to Source?
