Pensamientos
High Camp 3, Camp Colera, Aconcagua
I’ve arrived at a point in my life in which I can honor & even thank all that I have been through in my life. To me, the acts of acceptance & enlightenment are the backbone of living a luminous life.
Acceptance for all that has come, for that has passed, & for all that never quite arrived. What’s really put the wind of freedom under my wings is musing the reason as to why such things have crossed my path. I’ve found it to be a penetrating salve to reach any conclusion as to why heartache, grief, & loss befall any of us.
It’s a thought I’ve tossed over many times & the answers seem to evolve with each contemplation. Where there are endings, there are new beginnings. Where there is death, a rebirth. Where there is great pain, an opportunity to reinvent ourselves. It may seem like a lofty goal, but…
Will we ruminate in the bad, thereby immobilizing ourselves? Or will we see the lesson in it all?
The thoughts came to me as I take painfully short, baby steps up the steep, dusty trail that leads up the tallest mountain in the Americas. I focus on breathing in deep through my nose & exhaling slow through my mouth. As I climb up to 6000 plus meters, my oxygen levels drop dangerously low & it’s a marvel to feel my lungs at work, actively trying to acclimate to the scarcity of air.
How interesting it is to find my lung capacity in tact & thriving whereas this was the very organ that failed my father.
Could it be the marking of patriarchal sacrifice? That life was given at the price of death? Did he suffer so that I may flourish?
Did his death incite inspiration for me to escape the possibility of ever being suffocated? When I wonder why his lungs failed, I wonder if it was a metaphysical manifestation rooted in feeling like he couldn’t breathe due to the constraints & pressures of life. Whether or not that’s true, it’s led me, on some level of consciousness, to chase fresh air & to savor its freedom. In the literal sense, I’ve chased it to depths of the world that are, somewhat, untouched by the hand of man. In the more figurative sense, I’ve chased freedom through cutting the strings that tied me down to obligation that did not fully serve me. It’s been my motivation to chase that which I love so dearly & to leave far behind me the rules & regulations society tried to impose upon me.
I’ve thought many times how my life would be different should my father’s had not been cut short at 46 years of age. I don’t remember much but I know he was protective. As an incredibly impressionable young girl, I always played by the rules, did as I was told, & fulfilled the good girl role to a fault. But following the status quo was never aligned with what I really wanted from life.
I wonder what I would have been brave enough to do if he were alive. Would I ever have had the courage to travel the world on my own? It was hard enough for me to do so with the mere thought of disappointing everyone around me, let alone face direct opposition. Would I have been strong enough to defy direct orders from my father should he have opposed me?
Perhaps that’s why I’ve found that on my travels I’ve been guided & protected in ways unbeknown to me. He simply had no choice in my decision making and it could be that he vowed to fulfill some type of fatherly role from beyond the veil. There is not proof of it, but how much of life is righteous magic? How much of this world is insane coincidence & perfectly aligned conditions? Do the pruebas, the proof, really matter? Or does it only really matter how we perceive & interpret our experiences?
Shall I choose to see catastrophic tragedy in death or do I see it as sacrifice? A sacrifice that inspires me to honor life & death. I see more & more ways to honor this precious life, especially in the light of my father. May my breath forever carry his in all that I do.
