Rio de Limpiamiento

An excerpt from my early process in Peru:

My grandmother always told me I was a cautious child. I would always do what adults told me to. I can only imagine why, but I don't remember being scared. In fact, I remember a sense of wonder, and having no trouble being alone. My mother tells me I wondered off a few times, making friends with strangers. I gave her a couple near heart-attacks with my innocent trust of others. I was carefree and imaginative. I suppose I remember being sensitive, however, so if someone I cared about told me not to do something, I did not want to dissappoint them. I always looked both ways before crossing the street, for instance.

Things changed a bit in my adolesence, but I still took chances. I did things other kids didn't do, like sneak out at night, ride motor cycles with rebels, and hang out with people much older than me, having mature conversations. I used a friend's ID a few times to get into clubs, and had no worries about getting caught, (and I didn't). I took some big risks, but I was smart, so I didn't overdo anything to the point that I'd get into trouble, or neglect my responsibilities. I had a mildly reckless abandon, far more sensible than the people I brushed shoulders with. I knew how to stretch boundaries without breaking them (with a few sad exceptions, but those lessons have been learned).

I out grew all of that pretty quickly, but I still did adventurous things. I remember dancing on rooftops for a short stint in Ohio, and the boys who watched me leap and spin, dirtying my legs to my knees with tar. I lived in Colorado for 6 months with my boyfriend because we thought we were soulmates. Things mellowed even more over the years, the more responsibilities I accrued. But even through my early twenties, I remember a fearlessness.

I remember whenever I spent time in nature, something within me would wake up. My instincts took over, and I found myself in rhythm with the earth. I could skip across rivers on rocks without blinking. I could climb trees and boulders, and hang out at the edges of cliffs where others would back away and fear for my safety. I would run in between trees in the forest with no hesitation. I trusted my gut, my impulses and the environment. I trusted my body to do what it needed to.

Somewhere along the way, I got scared. I don't know if it was the car accident, or the sickness that almost took me out, or the death of the biggest dream I've had in my life, but everything frightening I never really felt consciously caught up with me, and I stopped trusting myself. I stopped belieiving my body would or could do what was necessary to keep me safe. I stopped taking chances. I was no longer willing to risk losing what mattered to me.

My first week in the village of Peru, my guide took a couple of us to a special, semi-private beach. We had to walk a trail in the jungle and cross a log over a revene to get there. When it was my turn to cross, I hesitated, and almost turned back. I couldn't get a good grip on the wood with my sandals, and my legs wouldn't stop shaking. My companions encouraged me, and I took off my shoes to get a better grip. It worked, and very gingerly, I made it across. I was amazed by the fear I had to confront, just to walk across a log. I remembered what it was like to be fearless, and I missed it.

I made a commitment to myself, to reprogram the fear while I am here. Somehow, the medicine helped me. Before I knew it, crossing the log became no problem. In a matter of days, maybe a week, the fear of not making it was completely gone. And I don't wear those stiff sandals anymore, because I want to feel what is under my feet.

Another related fear came up my second week with the medicine. One day, a girl from my group came in from the river. She had been grabbed by a guy on her way back to the house. He was telling her not to leave, and wouldn't let her go. She got away with some force. As a result, a rule (or strong suggestion) was made not to go to the river alone. It was then that I became afraid of the men here. Very likely, the residual fear trapped in my subconscious from sexual trauma was unlocked, and it was time to let it go.

Day after day, I had visions of being attacked, and even raped. It wasn't extreme, but constant. The pictures would flash into my head so fast I couldn't remember the thought that sparked them. There was so much in a moment of my mind that I became acutely aware of, I was plagued by it. I took the fear with me to Iquitos, and it cut me off from connections with others. When we got back to the village, I walked in fear when alone, and was barely able able to stand being watched by the men.

One day, I was hoping to go to the river with someone. I was on a special diet with extra medicines, and the instructions were to stay away from people outside the center. One of our group invited me to go, so I jumped on it. When we got there, there were too many people, so I couldn't stay. I waited for the coast to be clear, and slipped away onto the path of the other beach, alone. I walked slowly, and listened for followers. There were none.

I crossed the log effortlessly. I continued to walk slowly, so I would not make any noise, but something happened. I realized by doing this, I could really experience my environment. Once I got to the spot, I was amazed at what it was like to be able to see it without another soul in sight. It was a new way to feel the beauty of it. The sun was perfect. It was just me, and nature. I'm not sure I have ever felt that before.

My caution kicked in. I walked to the furthest spot where I could hang my serong, thinking it would be faster to get to if strangers showed up. I put my shoes in the grass to be less visible. I walked into the water, and kept my eye on my surroundings. For half of the time I was there, I stayed on alert.

When I realized I was scared, I made a decision to deal with the fear. I sat in the water, and in the fear. I let it get as big as I could, trusting that the elements would support me. I called to the water, and the trees, and the clay, and told them I was going to trust them.

I let the river wash the fear away. The peace I felt was wonderful. I realized the trees and the reiver and the clay had helped me, so I thanked them. I sat in the gratitude instead of the fear, and opened into a graceful flow of love for my surroundings, and for my life. I remembered what it was like to be fearless.

I would have stayed longer, but I got a quiet message that it was time to go. I got out of the water, and took my time getting my things. I kept thanking my environment. I heard the trees tell me they would watch over me. I heard the river ask me to return. I felt the beautiful peace of confident stillness. I fell in love with the jungle.

I walked slowly back, along the trail, taking in everything I could with all of my senses, and enjoying the movement of my body. I felt harmony.

When I came out into the sun, I opened my arms in freedom. There was no fear in me, and not a soul around. I was alone, and in love. Every step home was perfect. I noticed I was breathing more fully than I have in a long time.

I got back to the house, and was still moving very slowly in my new-found peace. One of my housemates asked me how the river was. I said it was amazing. She asked if I went to the special beach, and I said yes. She asked if I went alone, and I said yes. Then she reacted with fear, saying, "You're not supposed to do that." Then the others who were around, one of which was the girl who was grabbed, joined in the warnings. The girl reminded me what happened to her.

I said, "It was very important for me to do what I did. I'm not going to take that story, and make a belief about it. I got tired of being afraid all the time, and it was time for me to confront the fear, so I did. I'm not going to cut myself off from experiences beacuase I'm living in fear. I really needed to do what I did today, and it was amazing for me."

The girl said, "Fair enough," and let it go. One of the others said she hadn't realized I was going through that, and she was glad nothing bad happened.

I told my guide about it later, and she was very excited for me. She said this is the kind of women we need to be. She said what happened to the other girl had never happened before. She said she had to inform people for liability reasons, but that she didn't want to affirm a fear. She said she goes alone all the time, and that she walks with "ass-kicking confidence", and no one messes with her.

I am walking with confidence now. I am not afraid.

As I write this now, those fears seem like a distant memory. The only part of me that remembers vividly is my body, and that is changing every day. The more I release the fear, the more upright I sit and stand. The more I remember who I really am, the more I walk deliberately with every step I take, saying yes to the moment. I am unfurling from myself, and opening up to life again.