Traveling the narrow path, 1,000-foot drop to the left, flower and grass covered rock to the right, I am walking single file in a line of women artists, sister seekers, fellow travelers who have come together for the extraordinary. Glancing furtively at ancient terraces far below, I walk steadily, intentionally placing each foot. Heart racing, palms sweaty, one thing is certain: In this moment, I am fully alive.
To usher in my fifth decade, I gifted myself a 12-day writer’s retreat to Peru. I had longed for the adventure, a pilgrimage of sorts, after having spent a lifetime dreaming of travel and excitement, yet never allowing the desire to realize.
But then I turned 50 and, internally speaking, all hell broke loose. Never one for stressing about age, I suddenly found myself in a panic that grew exponentially with each passing day. From deep within, fear bubbled up and I began facing the unavoidable truth: the journey ends. From that, a question: Would I continue to exist half alive or would I fully commit to change?
And so, I made my decision. Despite resistance at home, I searched for and found an experience that catapulted me headlong into learning, communion, and unforgettable adventure, and brought myself back to life.
Surrounded by the Andes mountains and guided by the Urubamba River, I journeyed through Peru’s Sacred Valley with an eclectic group of women. Together, we made our way from Lima to Aguas Calientes and various points in between, talking, sharing stories, exploring ancient ruins, and learning Incan mythology.
In one surreal moment high in the mountains, we interacted with women weavers keeping centuries-old practices alive. Dressed in their customary bright colors, they showed us their craft and made us a meal cooked in an earthen oven. We sat in a circle and ate with our hands, nodding our heads and smiling at one another in a striking intersection of culture.
One day after returning from our awe-inspiring hike through the Machu Picchu archeological site, an experience I was still striving to absorb, I met up with Amy, a healer and artist from Long Island. As we stood in the lobby of the Apu Lodge, our respite at the base of Apu Pinkuylluna in Ollantaytambu, Amy called to me.
“Have you read Rumi?” she asked, misty-eyed and smiling. I recalled reading something by the 13th century Persian poet, scholar and mystic.
“A little,” I replied, quickly working to conjure words I’d read.
“My husband sent me this and I have to share it,” she said. She held out her phone, shaking her head in disbelief.
Amy’s husband had been sending her poetry every day on our trip. When I expressed my envy at the daily missives she was receiving, she confessed they were a pleasant surprise.
This one, though, leaves us speechless.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
You must ask for what you really want.
Don’t go back to sleep.
People are going back and forth across the doorsill
where the two worlds touch.
The door is round and open.
Don’t go back to sleep.
As she speaks, I watch her face. A wave of emotion fills her eyes and adds a quiver to her lips. It is a moment of wonder and love, and the meaning of the message is profound.
Virtually every journal entry I have made on the journey to this point was summed up by Rumi, as spoken by Amy.
“When I return,” I had written one night in relaxed cursive, “I want my life to be conscious, awake, intentional.”
In that moment, standing with my stranger-friend on ancient, Incan land in the shadow of the apus, the meaning of the poem was not lost.
Three years later, I rewrite the words in a notebook and recount the experience in detail. I am striving to stay out of my own way, to not fall back into the paralyzing space of depression, worry, and inaction.
It requires conscious daily effort to remain awake, to live intentionally with an open heart. The practice is daunting and some days are more successful than others. But I allow Rumi’s words to resonate and I welcome this day, and the coming decades should I be fortunate enough to have them.
The breeze at dawn has secrets to tell you.
Don’t go back to sleep.
On the last leg of the Peru journey, I am reminded of the commitment I am making to myself. Our final stop before home is a boutique hotel in the heart of Cusco’s historic district. There are signs positioned like artwork above the beds. Mine reads:
“El poder del cambio…¡Atrévete!”
Dare to change.
I love this so much Dyana.