Flavor of Life

The rush of a flowing river and sound of distant thunder dissipate into dismal forgotten memories. The pulsing thump of a steady heart beat overwhelms all else.

Fifty five feet above the jagged granite boulders and smooth running waters is no place for any self preserving human being to be when faced with an insignificant crack the width of mere finger tips as the only way up. However, this stranger came here to experience life in all of its furious glory. He is getting just that.

The human condition is a temptation of superb suffering. No matter how easy and carefree it is on the other side of the long shining cord of silver, one always comes back for more. Its often easy to escape the harshness of waking reality for the peace and tranquility of astral lounging yet, it only fuels the passion for what awaits upon returning.

This moment is no time to leave the body.

He can commit to the slim line of escape because he know his time of departure is far from near. He can not say how he know this in terms of words but his body and spirit have obliged to work together so that he can cultivate knowledge and learning throughout the long years of existence that await. So, he commits.

Twisting his thumb and three fingers of his right hand into the vertically set crack he jams them tight. A tiny black polished nub inset next to a small crack provides the right foot with just enough surface area to give the false impression of confidence. With a deep breath of chatter free mindfulness he steps up on the right foot, left foot smeared wide and trust embedded in his right finger tips, he glides upward, left hand sweeping out and up into a deep groove behind a flake. Left fingers twisted and set behind the secure flake he places his left foot onto a good edge and ever so slowly release the right fingers and sinks into a solid hand jam high and tight. One more movement of the right foot to meet the flake in the grip of his left hand and he is standing strong on the flake, breath heavy and body tingling.

Water drops lay their touch on his shoulders as he continues to the top, pausing at the summit to taste the exquisitely delicate flavor of life. 

Return to Nature

The land will once again be polluted with forests and leafy green trees. 

Mountains will interrupt the horizons. Rivers will spill into the oceans. Waterfalls will tear into the earth. Clouds will distort the sun. Light from the moon will ignite the night. Fires will burst from the depths of damnation. 

It is told in the song of the winds that collide with natures creations. A song sung of earth. A praise never to be heard.

One day it will be as it always was.

Within a fist lies a truth

A secret longing for abuse

Knuckles bent transparent white

Trembling softly for a fight

Scribble Flakes

I keep tying to fight the rhythm of my pen but there it goes again. We've done it this time.

Peruvian flake and green smoke. Its a birthday celebration, why not? The beach town of Paracas was the last place I would think of finding such substances but so it goes. For 50 Nuevos Soles ($20usd), we have another first together.

Welcome to 23 my baby!

Lines off Big Sur by Jack Karouak and we aint reading. A smokey apple to smooth the mood. Lets play music... but not too loud. We don't want to be rude. Oh wait, everyone here is deaf to the constant noise. Whats a bit of music added to this eclectic mix? We'll just stay in tune with the coughing dunebuggy and shouting horns outside our room.

Briefly mutated.

The news is informing the masses that bus and cab drivers need not, better, cannot listen to music while driving. "Distracting and dangerous".
Bullshit. This culture will not stand for such nonsense.

I could almost swear the people outside are speaking English but if I listen hard... Oh wait, they are. 
Drugs are bad but so so fun. We are something. Its hard to believe that today we got off a bus at 5am in the noisy city of Pisco having arrived from the claimed white city of Arequipa, 13 hours south. Whippidy dee, we work fast. I need sleep.

Desperate.

Time for another Apple.

May 25th 2012. 8am - Quilcayhuanca Valley 

(Zona de Usa Especial) 

Day 5 of my 5 day treck.

Waiting for the sun to thaw me and my gear out. Dry off really, no ice last night, just heavy cold rain. I must be down around 4,100mtrs.

Yesterday while searching desperately for a campsite exhaustion led me down to a valley accesed by a rickity bridge.

I had been hiking for 8hrs and the sun was threating to let the cold overtake me. I´d asscended and decended over 1000mtrs, made it through the difficulties of navigating the 5,100mtr snow blind pass and avoiding falling down the sheer decent into the valley. All this thanks to a white tailed mountain deer who showed me the way down.

I needed a place to sleep and set up camp.

After crossing the bridge I clunked around looking for a flat wind protected perch. Nothing. I wandered higher. The cry of a calf caught my attention. The thought entered my mind, ¨this does not look like an established camping area¨.

My eyes sensed movement. A menacing grey Bull was thundering toward me. Instinctively I ran straight at him, putting a big boulder and high bush between us.  He did his best to circle the boulder and get a good swipe at me. I cricled with him being sure to keep our seperation. We came to a stand still. I could see his nostrals flare as he scared the earth with his hoofs. I pointed my trecking poles at his head. My only means of defense. My mind raced.

I crossed the poles over my head and cracked them together trying to appear larger and louder. ¨Back the fuck up! I mean no harm¨.

I should have spoken spanish. What can I say, I was scared shitless.

While talking to the bull and trying to reason with him I took note of my surroundings and possible means of escape. Lots of open space. I wasn´t trying to outrun this beast. I caught more movement. Seems another bull had taken interest into what the hell I was doing. I decided to take my chance and ever so slowly backed up, eyeing the small bridge 200yards behind me. The grey bull stayed put. His friend strolled over to him. I kept my poles high, my movements slow and calm. Finally I reached the bridge and crossed. The bulls continued to observe.

I posted camp high on a ridge nestled next to the steep dropoff of a cliff and behind a red lettered sing reading, Zona de Usa Especial. The bulls and cows came by for a night time visit but their spirits were light and demeanor friendly. I could see the Valley from my perch.

¨Im watching you cows¨.

Mandolin Magic Magnified 

by 

Mystic Musicians 

Making Magnificent Music

A day in the life

Through the streets I wander.

An old gentleman wearing a soiled grey sweatshirt gives me the Peruvian wave to "come on over and sit a while". He pulls me into a dank hallway of a bar. His friend sits slouched in his chair, drool dripping from his chin, eyes peacefully glazed.

There is no one else around.

The gentleman pushes a glass soda bottle into my line of sight and slurs, "Whiskey". I can see the dark liquid tremble as the other man slams his head against the table, temporarily disturbed from his trance.

 "Why not"?

If Anthropology has taught me anything its to embrace culture in all its forms. Especially when social drinking is involved.

I oblige.

A few pulls off the strong mix, shoot the shit and make my escape, ...after a few more of course.

"The sun is strong".

Time to make some grub and filly my empty belly.