ARRIVING IN CUZCO
“It’s a week and a half away now. The memories come. Hearing the traffic on the streets in front of the hotel, early in the morning. The air is cold. I can smell it. The feeling of rightness when the plane landed in Cuzco Airport. Walking across the runway to the terminal. Feeling in every part of me the sense of being (having come) home — again. “Greetings, old friends”, I say to the mountains. They say, “Welcome home, daughter.” Everything else falls away — the tensions, the stresses, confusions of putting the trip together; it’s gone, doesn’t matter now. Whoever, whatever I am elsewhere falls away, too. Honed down, stripped away, I’m there completely. Jaguar, not hunting, not even stalking really, just alive with the quiet, deep excitement of anticipated adventure. My physical body has caught up to where my spirit has always been, never left. We go through the gate, get our bags, get on the bus for Cuzco.”
