With only
a small, key-chain light, we slowly proceeded down the twisting stone stairs.
The thought of snakes crossed our minds, but we were overly curious and felt
safe. We made it to the bottom and there was a level stone area with a small
site for offerings, with an ornamental umbrella and statues barely detectible. Automatically, we sat on some boulders next to the moving water. The sound of
the stream merged with the other noises, ebbing and flowing rhythmically. We
quietly sat for a span in the mystique, blending into the darkness and felt the fullness of the place,
neither of us speaking. I didn't have any thoughts. Eventually, our eyes became
accustomed to the indirect light, with the fog rising in layers from the
black water, contrasted with the dark silhouettes of the tall, twisted trees
and vines suspended above, against the softly-glowing night sky. This moonlit
breathe looked like thick, white smoke ascending, and the black masses of
tentacle branches with hanging vines appeared to slither, alive and aware.
They
reached up from the earth’s dark depths, seemingly extending this nothingness
in all directions, like roots feeding on the stars and fog. I felt I had no
reference point and was observing everything, including myself, without a fixed
location, as if I had become the environment entirely, simply a floating, misty
feeling. Cryptically interlocking me with the scene before us as I knew this
was a perceptual opening I had trained to reach on this journey, applying
unerring effort beyond insurmountable odds without coveting results. My recent view of the world collided in a resplendent train wreck, stretching into what felt like
multiple lifetimes. The fog moved high above, becoming low clouds drifting
through the magical forest. I felt my awareness descend gently back into my
body where we sat on the boulders together.
We agreed
that the small river was like our paths which had flowed through time and
brought us there back together again, feeling deposited into this heart of
experience, this current of eternity which we were caught in. Then we discussed how
everything had led up to sitting there in the darkness, under those trees, and
that cycling current, returning to the source which we never truly departed
from, flowing like water. With the feeling of arriving somewhere which was final,
yet fleeting and being constantly rediscovered in this dichotomy of
perennially—renewing expiration.
Listening
to the narrow river without seeing it gave us the sensation of traveling
without movement. We sat absorbing it all for another long block of stillness. We were there for over an hour. Then I was alerted; I got the sudden urge to
leave as I felt there was something there in the dark, watching us or in the
vicinity, aware of our presence as well. Looking around, we didn't see
anything, just faint white lines around the water, rippling, shimmering from
other wet surfaces that reflected the moonlight. We felt it best to return to
the hotel as we didn't want to surprise anyone who would be coming down to seek
privacy.
