How Far Does Your Spirit Reach?

Perhaps millions of other smiles were generated from the glowing one you see in the photo above. Kind gestures, words or postcards spread for miles around her, inspiring most to continue spreading their own light. Most days she sat in her home, 1312 Oneida St, where the walls knew the same stories that danced in her memory, the same people that filled her heart. The steps out front reminded her of the grandchildren in the lawn and welcomed daily visitors, the friends who had been touched by her love over the past 96 years. The basement echoed shouts of children. The living room sang of joyous conversation. The bedroom spoke of the peace in her dreams.

My arrival to this home was unlike any previous visit. The three flurried days of travel, layovers and plane rides exhausted my body and mind. Suddenly back in western culture with absolutely no transition from my position as an international teacher and kayak instructor in Peru left me confused and deflated. Yet I walked through that front door, propped open by the ancient stuffed turkey, and my soul was waiting.

Gently, I took her left hand, the one that hadn't been paralyzed by the stroke 4 days early. I spoke to her. With each word I felt more at peace, more comforted, more at home. I was there, with her. She squeezed my hand and lifted her heavy eyelids. She knew I was there. Her eyes closed and her hand relaxed, leaving her lungs to maintain the slow rise and fall of her chest.

Her agitated movements slowly faded. Her blood pumped slower through her veins, but kept her skin warm to our touch. Her breaths grew further apart until the last one hung in the air with nothing to follow. y la Alma se fue.

What was most amazing to me was the blurring of this line. We assign death a moment, a time, a definition. Yet, I'm not sure when my grandmother transitioned into the next life, and I sat next to her to entire time. Was it when her heart stopped? Her Lungs? Did she begin the transition earlier, remaining peaceful and motionless because her being slowly melted into the divine spirit that encompasses us all?

From this experience, I am inspired. I feel grateful to be spending the next week working hereat 1312 Oneida St. My grandma has not left me, in fact, she has filled me in a new way that her physical body could not have done. I carry her generous, kind, caring, loving, beautiful spirit with me always now.

Thank you grandma, I love you.

Mi Alma

Culture shock with my own culture. Added to the shock of actually being back in the US a whole month earlier than expected. Just using my cell phone brings a slightly bitter taste to my mouth, or perhaps that is just the airport coffee I’m sipping while writing. I receive welcome home messages from collection agencies, not even sure if I still have a job after leaving so abruptly. Thus a list of tasks begins, starting with clear up that whole 2005 tax return thing that the IRS just can’t seem to get. Next is figure out how much that crown is going to set me back.

Yet I don’t regret leaving paradise early. The moment actually couldn’t have been much closer to crossing over the paradise threshold in foreign travel. I’m excited to see my grandma, spend as much time with her as I can. I have stories to tell as I hold her hand, sitting with my mom and aunt for as long as we can. Inevitable difficulty and pain come along with this excitement.

Sometimes the lemons are just too sour for lemonade and you just have to start over with a new batch.

WCKA in Peru: Santa Teresa

View of Cusco, Peru from mountainside

All fourteen of us throw our two heavy bags on the roof of a van we expect to sit in for the next four hours. In my experiences in South America this type of temporal information; hours of travel, meeting times, length of a river run; can almost never be trusted. After seven hours sitting on the hard, flat-backed seats, my body swaying back and forth as the van followed the curve of the steep mountainside, I wished I had remembered this and brought a pillow for my numb butt. The first two hours we were all smiles, taking in the sharp peaks around every bend. Then night fell and we were left with the fantasy of the valleys, rivers and ranges we knew surrounded us.

Home for a month, great view off front porch

Great neighbors

With our hunger and discomfort at unimaginable peaks, we pull into our camp in Santa Teresa. We gathered on the patio, under the thatched-roof, taking in what little we could see of this place we would live for the next 3 weeks. With the light of the morning we saw that Cusco’s high-altitude, dry climate couldn’t be farther away. Tall trees forming the canopy above created a patchwork of shade for the undergrowth filled with palm trees, coffee plants and other sub-tropical species. It felt familiar. It felt like my time in Ecuador. Fresh avocados, eggs, bread and oatmeal for breakfast filled our bellies, preparing us for our first day of classes in Peru.

Dining Hall/Class Room/Evening Hang-out

What happens when students "bathe" in the river

Yet something is off. Our world is imbalanced and we are restless. Nine of the world’s top junior paddlers and four of the sport’s most obsessed athletes hold their breath. Although we have successful made the journey through airports, past customs and over the second largest mountain range in the world our boats have not. Each day our program director and Spanish teacher jumped to appease the demands of the system with seemingly meaningless tasks; notarizing letters, switching names on paperwork and photocopying passports. Each day hopes were high and still the kayaks waited in Lima, not even released into the country.

Following along the impromptu and creative nature of World Class, teachers immediately sought out other activities to relieve the group’s escalating energy levels.

Muscles put to work

We hauled dirt. Not the most exciting afternoon on our list, but one key in the development of our relationship with our host, Gian Marco, and our program’s commitment to service. Its amazing what can be accomplished in 2 hours with 14 strong workers. We practically built a road.

Zipping over The Sacsara drainage, high above the canopy

We went flying. Our location not only provided us with three filling meals a day and a quiet place to live and study, but also the opportunity try out the area’s only zip-line canopy tour. As if playing a connect-the-dots game with the surrounding mountain tops, Gian Marco has strung up six lines so that tourists can truly feel the vastness of jungle below and mountains above.

We took baths. Only five kilometers from our camp, on the other side of the small town of Santa Teresa, pools of warm water from natural hot springs beckon weary travelers. Or frustrated kayakers in our case. It felt like summertime back at the Brookfield pool in Greenville, SC; kids flipping off the side of the pool, wrestling each other underwater and the general horseplay that accompanies youth and water.

We went dancing. Our tall, large american boy students eventually blended themselves into the group of locals in Santa Teresa's local discoteca. Perhaps it was the example set by some of their teachers, some of the first to hit the floor.

Finally boats arrived, not ours, however, but boats nonetheless. As the situation escalated and more days passed without the exploration of the local rivers we were forced to take action and rent six kayaks. For the next week we alternated days and began to remember our true purpose and identity.

Walking to the put-in for the Canyon stretch of the Urubamba...finally!