Climbing volcanoes

I was on the phone to Australia, catching up with someone who had up until recently been a very big part of my life. It was our first conversation in about two months, and it was brilliant. It was brilliant on one hand – certain people are just a joy to connect with, but on the other hand it was brutal. After two hours of questions and answers, posed without hope holding me back, answered without hesitation, faced with honesty and reality, I set down the rose coloured glasses that I had been holding onto. 

I heard many things that I didn’t want to hear, but that I needed to hear. With every disappointment in life I learn to accept what is, and grow to let go of my expectation of what should be. 

Some people can touch your life for an instant and leave a mark for a lifetime. Sometimes touches are sweet, but the marks burn deep. Sometimes you stick around, basking in the glow of the hopeful future, because you have tasted the potential of everything you have ever dared to dream for. When you find a unicorn, it seems that you are spoiled for life. The shine of the pot of gold, waiting at the other end of the rainbow, blinds you and binds you to drowning in the moment. 

I was so full of excuses for him, of understanding; the downside of the intense optimism of which I view the world through these eyes, had caused me to overlook a few simple facts. Distance isn’t easy for most people. Hurt people hurt people. Timing and constraints can count for a lot. Connection is difficult when you are afraid of being hurt or hurting like you had before. I am resilient. I tend to forget. I love the feeling of those rose coloured bloody glasses and I have trouble letting go. Not that it was made completely easy for me either. Nothing will make a person cling faster than an unanswered question, an response awaited. But I understand, and I forgive, and I feel for this man, and I thank the universe for the opportunity to choose my strength over my weaknesses. 

So upon ending the phone call with a song in my heart, a smile on my face, a tear on my cheek and a pain in my chest, I resolved to let him ….go……

The sum added up: it was three am, I was feeling very emotional, I love photography so I decided to seize the opportunity as a positive and climb up the mountain to capture the volcano in the early morning sunlight. Picture this, barking dogs, full moon, noisy jungle, gusty mountain and a girl, climbing the volcano in the dark but for the light of the moon. I was a woman on a mission. To arrive before the first of the morning light appeared, and on this epic journey to the top, I had to let it all out, I had to truly let him go. 

It was a long way. It was a tough walk. I stopped on the ridge to admire the glowing lights of Baños, the adventure town below viewed through bending palm trees as a strong wind blew from the 5000 m high volcano above. It was an incredible moment. I felt real, I felt made of substance. I felt a thought creeping in, a hope of a maybe, an if only, a what if. I let the thought in, I let it consume me. And then I let it go. 

There are seven stages of grief. I made a point to do each stage justice on my way to the top. The physical journey met me appropriately. Providing the slippery surfaces, the biting insects, the stinging plants and the unmarked paths and opportunities to be frustrated and lost. I had moments crying my heart out under the glowing moon, in the stormy wind. Crying for the fool that I had been, crying for the hope that I was letting go, crying for the love that I hold, that is to beautiful to go to waste, but needs to go to waste anyway. Crying for the sense that isn’t made. Crying for the timing and distance that wasn’t right. 

And when I reached the top, just as the full moon was lowering behind the mountains, I was wiping away my tears, accepting the time for what it was, and the situation for what it is, and thanking the universe for such a profound experience to grow, and love, and to be bold, and brave, and beautiful. I managed to let him go, but I will never let go of the passion that he inspired within me. 

And such commenced a freedom flight, a photo taking frenzy that my world has never seen. I made it to la Casa del Arbol, the swing on the edge of the earth at about 5.30 in the morning. It was closed. I wasn’t expecting such a spanner in the works so I engineered a solution – I climbed the barbed wire fence using bamboo and vamos, I was in. The whole place to myself, the first rays of sunlight touching the gorgeous Volcano Tungurahua high above me, armed with my camera and tripod and an insatiable desire to swing the shit out of that swing on the side of the cliff.