August 31, 2011

Perspectives


Another heart, at my feet when I get home to England.

A mark at point A, and a mark at point B. Another heart-shaped mark, connecting to a long line of others.

Point A exists, implicitly different from its counterpoint; B as it is, imbued with the fragrances of everything growing on the path towards it. The journey takes time, and in time things grow and flower. Many things are expressed, and poured out - water on seeds and saplings, life where there was none. It is a sacrificial journey and the seed of A dies to give life to B, bloom and bower.

Perpetually moving on.

A wonderful transformation from a nothing to a something; a great, precious, shiny treasure of a thing.

"Mi precioso."

This 'welcome home' heart reflects something not in the picture, and as much as I move from point A to point B, on return from this amazing Peruvian adventure I rest with one conclusion - B is not the end, but it is a beautiful resting point. There is more to come, but right here B glimmers with a poor, yet delightfully romantic, reflection of whatever that turns out to be.

I am so glad of this adventure, even though it has turned many things upside-down (how jesus of it). I went to Peru knowing nothing and come back bursting with thoughts and ideas. One thing's for sure - being on home turf (or tarmac) amongst familiar people and places is the best place to be, and I feel sure these are the best companions with whom to chart the next leg. That's home, and this is where perspective comes.


{Today's Soundtrack: The Cinematic Orchestra - To Build a Home}

August 18, 2011

My Heart in the Hills

So, some days of living in the mountians - what shall I tell you?

Maybe I could tell you about these Inca roads and their relentless steep ascents to 4000m through wilderness trails and gurgling jungle streams; subtle colour spectrum which seems simple but in fact leaves out no hue and changes with every cloud or gust. I could muse over reflected light from snow-capped mountains, rivers tumbling and washing away concerns far down the mountain. And I could talk about arriving at Machu Picchu's Sun Gate in time to watch a beautiful sunrise over the ancient city, spoilt by grating noisy tourists taking ages to make good their touristic vision in endless group photographs. (A place to engage in mystical serenity that was not.) Further, the ruins and their incomrehensible age against precision like a child's lego construction, all the while sun streaming hot through hazy atmosphere.

There would be loads of stories, our suffering limbs, lovely trek leader Poncho, Jacob and Jenny getting engaged, llamas, coca tea, incredible porters who made our sleeping and eating totally smooth by running with enormous loads all the way - they make us look so lightweight. And some of them run in sandals made out of tyres.

But apart from all of these wonderful experiences, for me the most pressing discovery was how much heart there is in the wilderness of those truly high up places. There is a perfect soundlessness in those breathless heights, where no wheels or wires exist and the only audible movement when you stop walking is air against rough mountain grass. Choosing to be apart from our so-called life lines, a new space for other, deeper life emerges. In the right company, we all found a better attention to life even if in solitude, just yourself.

Gentleness, kindness, patience, peace, endurance for the body to climb, mind to commit and the soul to encounter proper Creator love.

Space, and serenity.

At the top of each peak sits a cairn. We don't put our stones on top, but add them to the side - not conquering, but contributing. How can we conquer the hills when they hold our hearts so lovingly whilst we clamber hard, scrambling further than we've ever been? And how do we even dare to conquer? We are invited into the story, bravely offer whatever we can and discover this effort is worthy and welcome after all. It's difficult to explain, but it felt like things made more sense in a deep down way than normal. And it did not feel complicated.

Not sure if I left my heart in the hills, or discovered that's where it's been all along, safe and sound.


{Today's Soundtrack: William Fitzsimmons - Beautiful Girl}

August 07, 2011

The Mystery Machine



We have spent almost as much time on this bus as off it in the last few days. The american team arrived on Sunday and we came to a town called Anduhuaylas to work with Paz y Esperanza there. They chose this machine as our chariot.

(August 5th)
5am call. Bus for 5 hours to who knows where. We pass through a town, and headlights reveal men pissing openly in the streets and rats strung up from telegraph wires. Depressingly filthy.

8am. Trundling upwards through yellow ochre landscape as sun rises; reminds me of the moors except those don't have enormous, beautiful eucalyptus trees, and we just keep going higher, and higher, and higher. The road is rough, and the bus rattles like constant percussion.

9am. For an age we are under the cloud, then in it, and then breaking through. Little moments of sun happen on my face and it feels happy.

10am. Arrive in a village called Chaccarampa, which is so high up and draped over the top of a mountain, and does feel like a roof of some sort. We are so high up now, slightly breathless. The sky is deep blue again, with pure white clumps of cloud. After us and the bus have been rattled to pieces on rough roads, this village offers wild tranquility.



The Venture Expeditions team was helping build a wall in the village, and organise a small library that's been put in for the education of the kids. They also showed us a nursery they're pulling together on the side of the hill where previously there was nothing, while we gathered round amongst the kids to listen about the work, eat potatoes and drink agualita - a sugary herbal tea they cook up in big pots with whatever's available. The buildings are made of mud bricks, earth floors, corrugated tin roofing. It is basic.

The people here live a very simple life, but maybe because of that they notice something else that the rest of us don't. They have a sheen to their faces and a gleam in their eyes that I haven't seen anywhere before.



El Pastor of The Church at High Altitude (actually, I don't think that's its real name) looks like a campesino, but he spends so much time in prayer he is permanently smiling with shiny cheeks and tell tale crows feet, eyes always half closed ready to go.

"Gracias Papa."

Taking photographs of these people and the work Paz does with them I am feeling overwhelmed, and feel very far from home, not because of anything bad but because I've never seen a shine like it and it has thrown me. Completely inspiring, yet hard to digest because it's so raw.

I have nothing familar to cling on to whilst figuring it out, but as El Pastor may say, 'my soul finds rest in God alone'. Living simply in the most remote of places, able to see something we don't.

After our journeys in the big green bus, this shall forever be my Mystery Machine motto:

The more we learn, the less we know.

August 02, 2011

Bubbles


Living life in bubbles. We all live in our bubbles, to an extent. I've been a little outside mine on this trip, but its an adventure, and my choice.

Most of us create some kind of space around us where the edges are very defined and familiar. We make patterns in home and work and relationships which are cyclicle - routines we like, that mostly we have chosen and developed. Even when a thing occurs that upsets the apple cart, enough stability exists elsewhere in the bubble to help us recover. Although we give them a bad name, bubbles can be helpful.

La Casa Del Buen Trato is a brilliant, necessary bubble. I visited on Friday and Saturday (that horrible night bus over the Andes with vomiting children and a giant snoring man) to make some photographs for them, and here my photography work really began.

La Casa del Buen Trato - The Home of Good Treatment - sits peacefully in the mountains, away over the peaks of the Andes north east of Lima. A huge contrast from the dusty, hectic streets of town, it really is a place of peace and rest, and safety. This is a shelter where women come to flee domestic violence, seeking solace with their kids. There are teenage mums who fell pregnant through rape and incest who need support raising their kids and also space to be kids. And there are a number of kids of all ages who have been abused and need protection. It is the only shelter of its kind in Peru.

There are a few female staff whom the children call 'mamita' - an affectionate term for mother. They are strong women, no joke. There is a great tenderness between the women and girls, comfort in identifying with each other, sometimes in hushed conversation but often silently and with no need for explanation.

The staff say that despite the robbing of life that has happened to these people, when they see the children laugh and play, that is the glint of life they are fighting for and it gives them strength to carry on their work.

This is a safe, necessary bubble.

I saw a couple of times a mamita sitting quietly with a girl in the garden, struck with the openness and gentleness of the place that these talks are able to happen so freely. No one interrupts, no one points, everyone understands. Everyone needs this.

At one point, I stood in the fierce altitude sun listening to the eerie noise the warm wind made rushing through pine trees high up there. All is being blown clean, a powerful force at work up there in a spectacular location with rich blue skys and pumped up white clouds.

This is a righteous bubble - the home of good treat - sitting on a high hillside, quietly and privately revolutionary. And it shines too, as all good bubbles do.


{Today's Soundtrack: Scott Matthews - Myself Again}