We'd
just summated "Oh My God"--the aptly named sheer incline near the end
of the hike. My backpack was heavy, but knowing we were near the end made it
feel lighter. The fall appeared suddenly, not an easy feat for the largest
single drop waterfall in the world. I was dumbstruck, walking around and staring
with my backpack still strapped around my waist. Eventually I came to my senses, resting my bag and approaching the
cliff edge.
I'm
a little intimidated by heights. Being told by everyone in my village that
Kaiteur was haunted by a demonic force didn't help. Some of our group strolled
right up to the edge, not a care in the world. I inched myself closer, baby step
by baby step. But, when I reached the edge, I was filled with the inexplicable
wonder nature often inspires. I was particularly struck by how effortlessly it had
formed. We, as a species, have spent so much time trying to create things which
parallel or surpass nature. We've put such energy, passion, and time into it,
while, often, nature surpasses by simply existing.
Much
of the time at the waterfall, I sat, silent, meditating on it. A change so
constant it became permanent. It was infinite and unique with every second.
Both unchanging and ever shifting. While I watched, Kaiteur seemed to impart on
me the things I needed most at the time. I'd like to share those here.
Let
go of things not for you. The things that matter will remain, and the rest
shall be washed away, burdens no more.
There's
power in accepting something for what it
is, not trying to make it into what you wish it to be.
No
moment can ever be recaptured. Everything is what it is only once. Appreciate
what is, and release what is not.
Kaiteur,
and the time in the mountains, was much needed. Nestled in one of the largest
remaining untamed jungles, the journey to Kaiteur was almost as stunning as the
waterfall itself.
We
took the bus there, and plane back. The bus ride was 6 hours of knocked heads
and bumped knees. We were relieved to arrive at a smaller waterfall, Amatuk---our
first campsite. The next day, Christmas, we watched Amatuk falls for a while, then took a
boat ride. We had a look around a gold mining camp before heading to the guest
house at the bottom of the trail. The guest house was donated by the German
government years ago. In exchange for what, you ask? Gold? Diamonds? Something
much more precious....manatees. A breeding pair of manatees. You go, German
government.
There,
we deposited our things, and went for a hike and a swim in a waterfall called
Stone Creek Falls. Along the steep, slippery trail, our guide stopped. I'd been
following close behind, and stopped too. He shouted something to the other tour
guide, and we all slowly backed up. Sunning itself on a rock was a labara. I
recognized the word. Months earlier, a boy in my village was bitten by the same
snake, and went to the Georgetown hospital. They didn't think he would make it.
At one point, he had blood in his eyes, and was spitting up blood, if the
rumors are true. We got a good view of it when the tour guide tried to fling it
somewhere else, and it slithered under a rock not too far from where we were
walking. We hurried past. We had to take our shoes off once we got up to the
sheer rocks. But, even so, it was super slick from the water in the air. I
stubbed both of my broken toes by the time I got to the top. It was absolutely
worth it to sit underneath the freezing, pounding water of the fall. Far from
your traditional Christmas, but you won't hear me complaining.
The
day we departed, we waited eagerly at the visitors center(also donated by the
German Government) to find out if our plane was coming. Half the crew left in a
small plane, only to come back an hour later in a bigger plane we all ended up
leaving in. When I say bigger, I mean, barely big enough to fit our crew of 9
people. I sat shot gun and pretended I was copilot.
Our
descent over Georgetown made it look so small. We could see the ocean, the
rivers that cut Guyana in pieces. Everything, from the smallest detail of life,
to the largest, can look simultaneously huge and small. It's a matter of
perspective. What else you see it in relation to. Kaiteur, and my last
Christmas in Guyana, was certainly a memorable one. Giving me perspective of
all the things I want to hold on to, letting the be washed away, burdens no
more.
