I’m sitting on a huge rock, probably in someone’s field. I’m surrounded by manure and of course have the ever present ring around my shoes and the hem of my long black skirt that I so fashionably wear over my new wool tights with my Peruvian wool knee socks leaving no leg skin exposed. The stake driven in the ground to my left means that I could have company at any minute. The last time I chose a nice rock to journal on I was met by a herd of sheep clamoring around me on my little perch.
All around me are little fields expertly placed on the slants of the mountainside. Thankfully the ring of manure around me doesn’t actually smell, though the pies are kept perpetually fresh from the daily afternoon rains. A simple hand made wooden plank creates a narrow walkway connecting the land on either side of the trickling stream behind me. Almost everywhere you can hear the sound of mountain water flowing through the ditches. Fresh, cool water for washing clothes and, a little ironically, for washing off that nasty ring round your shoes. What a combo—clean clothes and muddy boots.
Huascaran towers above the clouds in the distance. You can almost trick yourself into thinking it would only be a quick jaunt up to the snowline, but locals say it takes a good 4 hour steep hike to make it that far and another full day to reach the summit with the right ice climbing gear. I’ve been told people die on it every year. With that thought, I think I’m content to sit here on my rock and gaze at the peaks in the distance. There’s something almost magical about these mountains. 22,000 ft. of mystery. What lies beyond them? What hidden treasures are there to be found as you climb higher?
There is a definite treasure I’ve found in the tiny town of Utupampa. Listening to a store owner play intricate tunes on his flute as he peeps out his half open wooden door and the smell of fresh mountain air. The children who scream in delight over seeing the group of gringos arrive. The giggles from little grannies as you practice Quechua with them. The accommodation and hospitality of our hosts that always exclaim, “Si, hermana, si, yes, si!” at every simple request.
Yes, there is a peace here. A peace I’ve never known before. Simplicity at its simplest form…if that is even possible. I’ve found the mystery lies beyond the faces of the people here. What are you thinking about underneath your heavy load from the fields? What is the condition of your heart as you stare with a grin at me? When you laugh at my silly worlds is there true joy in your heart? What is it that you’re not saying? It’s what I’ve come here to investigate. Hearts. The mystery we each hold inside. The truths only God knows. My prayer for the people of this place is that they know God’s heart. That they may have His heart and live the mystery of a God whose heart bursts with love for them. How precious you are little children,
how very precious.
