Towards the skies

So, here I am... in the lap of the Popo-Iztac Volcanoes. I am jubilant and excited about the prospect of reaching the summit at 5,250 meters in the morning tomorrow.

Reaching here was a fascinating journey. In Cholula, I went around asking the locals how to get to Popo. Nobody had a clue. Just as I was checking out of my hotel determined to walk the 40kms to base camp using only my compass not knowing if I would ever make it there, in a stroke of pure serendipity, my glance was riveted by the image of a man rappelling from the wall of a cave. It was a shabby pamphlet stuffed into a box on the reception of this cheap hostel. It was the brochure of some high altitude mountain guides. A call to these guys changed the course of my travel completely. For a paltry sum of money, they agreed to help me get to base camp and lead the trail to the summit. Delightful!

This way I actually had a chance of getting to the summit which considering my constantly protesting body seemed a distant dream (nevertheless, a dream that I was determined to pursue) especially if I spent most of my energy walking to base camp.

The next 2 days have been filled with some wonderful moments characterized by my rendezvous with people and nature. It was the first time since a long time since I actually got along with people with such ease and I the mountains provided me with the answer. One of the thoughts that struck me on my way up here which I shared with my mountain guide was that it takes a great amount of honesty of spirit to have a love for being in the mountains. This honesty or purity of spirit stems from the fact that in the wilderness you are confronted with an innate magnified reflection of nothing but yourself.

Popo is on a “Level II” alert as I write this. This is the second highest level of volcanic activity. Level III meant evacuation of all neighboring towns, I was told. Climbing was suspended and despite my attempts at convincing my guide, he politely refused to take me up there telling me the story of a man who almost died trying to get up there only a month ago. What he did not realize was that that did not work as a deterrent in my case. Nevertheless, Popo flanks another volcano called Iztachuatl which is 50 meters lower in altitude.

Naked, dangerous, virgin beauty awaits me and I will respond to its call. I feel like the space around me is sculpted with me being the center of this universe. I feel like it is mine… The snow, the rock, the ash, the wisps of grass, the flowers, the scuttling mice and geckos, the rolling slopes, the jagged cliffs, the hanging clouds, the chilled and fragrant air that fills my lungs, the music of the birds punctuated by a blissful silence...

Only one phrase rings within me at this moment, like the notes of a symphony of the song of my life… La pura vida… La dolce vida…

Cholula

2 days to Popo

I sit here on the zocalo of Cholula, away from Puebla, closer to Popo with my usual lack of directions other than that of the magnificent sight that greets me on the horizon. The locals here don´t seen as fascinated as I am by the volcano that looms over their tiny town. People in Puebla told me I was crazy to choose Popo over La Malinche (A much safer, more tourist friendly, dormant volcano to the north-east of Puebla compared to the constantly threatening demeanor of Popocatepetl).

The tour operator was too expensive... and i don´t want a tour... Maybe I´ll find a local guide who knows the mountains... I must get to the other side to the town of Amecameca. That´s my only ticket back to Geneva since I´m absolutely not in the mood to turn back to the more familiar town of Puebla.

If only time had no limits, I would not have to worry about getting to Mexico City by a certain time and day. It is, however, critical that I get back... I have plenty of unfinished business and something to look forward to.

So, I will now forget about my semi-recovered body and all my worldly qualms and learn how far a man can go with a strong thumping heart.

Until then... Buenas Noches...

1 day to Popo

Dusty old shoes, dirty jeans, an idle knife dangling by the waist, a crumpled shirt thrown off taut shoulders, lying amongst the rocks, ruffled hair, an unkempt beard and eyes fixed upon the sillhouete of a volcano on the horizon.

It is 7 in the morning and I stand on a little hill towering over the quaint and humble little town called Cholula with the towers of some 50 churches within my range of sight. Maybe, I try convincing myself, it´s the fear of this giant furnace on the horizon that drives them to the seek refuge in religion... Alas, I know better.

This thought quickly drifts away with the sight of my only companions flying north... whle some happily hop around me searching for bits of food... The sparrows remind me of freedom... of ebullience... of life...

My hands are cold and my heart is afire with visions of what is to come. As of this moment, I am confronted by a strange conundrum... The vision of Popo is in front of me while the Sun glows at my back and I laugh aloud with the ecstacy of the choice... by the fullness of this moment.

Buenos Dias... Popo, here I come :-)

A walk into the night

A white spray settling on lush green,
glistening in the soft moonlight.

The sight is like a texture in itself
but my heart could not resist the urge
to touch the soft wet blanket of grass.

I bend over and allow my fingers
to be swallowed by those tender blades.

Enraptured in the sheer luxury of the sensation
I spend the moment in pure bliss...

Life! That's the difference!
A fearless embrace to life!

I see it here.
I just heard its manifestation
in the most energized drumming I've ever heard.

Three men and one woman drumming
the beats of their lives... WIld and fReE

PoWErFUL and ecSTatiC

sYnChRoNiSeD and SOULful

and then the language... Spanish...
it rings out like the beats of the drums...

Tortas Cubana y Moca Frio! Ah!
Perfect companions for this night...

and this is the perfect end to a day in Puebla...
i walk back with a new found friend
walking by me like he has known me for years...
bright eyes... brisk steps... black, brown and white fur
thick and untidy like the hair on my head! :-)

In the search of Light

Shielded from the light
lies a dull gray sight.

Hidden amongst the gaudy shades
a masked world idly wades.

I search in vain for eyes that
hold a sign of truth, a fountain
bursting forth with
a manna that I call life.

The empty masks

The world's future leaders writhing together in hedonistic delight; empty and inane. I understand today the reason for most of the world's problems; It's power in the hands of these semi finished humans. Why! Why am I even in the vicinity of this ghastly display of nothingness!

It strikes me though that this is quite an accurate scale model of the real UN, conceptually speaking.

It is situations such as these that a phrase leaks out from my pit of unforgettable, redundant and putrid thoughts; "Work hard and party harder".

Isn't it a a chronic dearth in a passion for life and a reason for existence that drives humans into pursuit of such forms of escapism... I already know the answers but it was never reinforced so violently that draws from me only one declaration - never again.

Around me I sense the cause for the degraded fabric of our concept of humanity and suddenly i'm surrounded by a dark void... The only whole truth remaining is my own.

My song of freedom

Walking down this empty street
intrigued by her soul that weeps

I look beyond into the light
as the sun shines bright and dreams ignite

Of a world beyond
waiting to be found

I found a freedom never lost
only buried at too high a cost

Float above the mindless hoard
or crumble like a rusting sword

My heart, a pebble, rolling off the shore
soon to meet the endless ocean floor.

The vagabond

There was once a vagabond who lived beyond the realm of masks
He walked into the sunset knowing where he lay his head was home.

He gathered all his thoughts by day and caressed them by night
Embraced by frozen breeze he lay, upon the dusty earth.

Life was simple, the world was quaint and humans seemed alright.
He chose instead the mountains to call his home for life.

Solitude, his only friend whispered into his soul
the sounds of silence deepening the bliss his heart did hold.

Yet, one day, he woke up to find himself alone
Even solitude deserted him in this searing pain.

He hoped for only one thing then
it was a hope against all hope

It wrenched at the deepest corner of his heart
Where peace and bliss had once found abode.

He craved for just a moment shared
as his teary eyes closed to rest.

Rippling into eternity

There are times when I want time to stop, times when I forget about the notion of time and other times when I want time to fly by.

The last feeling is particularly unnerving because it would imply that I’m spending my time doing something I’m not passionate about and every moment of my life is simply too precious for that.

I felt like that a moment ago until I picked up my pen and began writing these words. “It must be my throbbing foot,” I think… No, the answer is deeper than that. Even though every step I take seems like an infinite agony being taken more on the strength of my will than my foot. I make this effort for what is to come.

An orchard of fresh blossoms awaits the demise of every tribulation. The space around me is redolent with the fragrance of my own being (and the wafting fragrances emanating from my sweaty socks). These are the moments that there is more to life than suffering. The fatigue and pain will soon wear off and I shall walk yet again into that mysterious horizon with undaunted steps emancipated from the burdens of convention.

Life is so simple. I strived to understand it when it seemed like a blurry vision similar to what one would encounter in the 10th round of a fight. I’m into my 11th round and my vision is returning, my moves are more agile and I take hits so scarcely that I’m overcome with a desire to self-inflict some shots just to know what it felt like. All this while thinking, “What next?”

Why not try to understand the mysteries of creationism as against evolution? It reminds me of my voyage, not that long ago, into the murky realm of religion to unravel its evasive rationale. I found my answers. Now, I feel like moving on to another question.

There are always higher peaks to climb. But, there may also come a time when I look down and feel completely comfortable with my perch with no stabbing desire to climb anymore, not because I lost the passion for it but simply because I am perched on the highest peak there is. I have realized my true nature, beyond human limits. I wonder what it would feel like to stop and smell the flowers in the lush gardens of my memories of moments that I treasure most. I wonder what it would feel like to lie amongst these and die.

Until then, I climb.

Happiness

Ubiquitous yet surreal. This term has entered the lives of some while evading the understanding of most.

My understanding of the world is broadened by the scope of my experience and deepened by my understanding. While sitting back and looking inward, molds the shapeless mounds of knowledge and observations, leaning forward into this magnificent potpourri called the world is the other part of this little jigsaw puzzle called life.

In one of my previous blogs, I had written about the one thing that binds every single human on earth. His or her pursuit of happiness.

Trying to establish a uniform definition of this term is the most illogical act one could indulge in. How can there be uniformity in the experience of a sensation that is common to such a heady diversity!

In the field of politics, for instance... Everyone is trying to make someone else happy so that, somewhere down the line their own happiness is ensured. Is it?

Most of the ambitious people around me want to change the world. I find the world perfectly fine. Though I have absolutely nothing against their perceptions or existence, I wonder what drives them to desire changing the world then? Do they honestly believe that the world could be more peaceful, less bloody, more rational, less complicated, more happy, less tragic, more predictable, less exciting? Well, I don't. Call me a hopeless optimist, if you like! ;-)

So, what is this evasive concept of happiness? wrong question.

So, what is my concept of the pursuit of happiness? - To be.

It is this concept that connects people, builds understandings, nurtures relationships, breeds beauty, transcends conventions, unfolds passion and sparks new life.

The shit and the flowers

"The world is a fucked up place!", a friend once told me. I quite agreed with him back then and do so with even more fervor today.

The world is pretty fucked up. We have communal riots, wars, corrupt politicians, ecological disasters, cheating traders, lecherous humans, parasites, bureaucrats, murderers, flippant youth, senile old folk, poverty, disease, religion, mindlessness, altruism, ineptitude, wastage, ignorance, the list is endless and i'll spare myself the boredom of enumerating every misery we encounter.

So, let me get on with my world. We have revolutions, change, peace, nirvana, innocence, children, selfishness, science, freedom, knowledge, causes, brilliance, beauty, music, pleasure, strength, action, integrity, courage, skill, passion, hope, individuality and bliss.

We have the Ying and the Yang, we have the darkness and the torchbearers, we have it all.

Every single one of us plays our part. The universe is structured around this single binding principle.

"Life is a stage and we are all but actors". Shakespeare couldn't have put it better.

We are actors indeed. Our roles and our characters are not a dance of divine elements but a result of the zillions of big and small choices that have steered us into this wonderful moment called the present.

I look around me and feel it all around. This dance. Let myself flow? Why not? That is my role... To wander down the alleyways of life smelling the shit and the flowers... Fighting and dancing... laughing and crying...

I catch myself going rigid... and relieve myself of the burden with that wonderful phrase... "Why not!" It isn't a question. It's the ultimate embrace, a bear-hug to life itself. A proclamation that I'm not afraid of being myself and I'm not afraid of change.

I think of the people that matter most... They are islands in themselves not convoluted parasites sucking off the sap from the shrubs that cower from the sunlight ashamed of their very existence.

I'm an Island... I have within me cliffs and valleys, beaches and trees, birds and breeze and wings of my own... I'll rest and I'll fly again... That's the reason I am. I look across into the clear horizons dotted erratically with other islands, some lush green and some dry and sinking. Their fragrances waft towards me with the sea breeze.

Then I come back to where I am... This laptop, the books, the university, the people, the inanities, the facades, the knowledge, the experience, the moments, the challenges, the wastage, the risks... I look at it all and smile.

Why should I let it affect me? On the other hand, why not? Let it affect me... I'd like to see how deep it gets. Kick me in my ass as hard as you possibly can, I'd like to know how much it hurts.

I live in me, and nothing around me can change that. The world is already mine just as it is yours. I'll decide any moment to fly and until then keep kicking and I'll keep smiling.