Pucón, Chile

Upon reentering the Andes from the smog-clogged valley, white, conical incongruencies in the horizon perforated the division of heaven and earth; at times, when the light was just right, the two united. In between these divine synapses, ancient arboreals draped over the undulating terrain like a tattered tarp. Water collected in the depressions, trimmed with black-sand beaches around which only the occassional flock of birds perched. Somewhere under the tarp (the green part), among the hundreds of cabins tossed like dice across the forest floor, was a weighted pair that won me a fortune.

Pull came from an encounter years ago on the opposite side of the Pacific at the outset of a different trip; not surprisingly, the bicycle served as the catalyst (the magic in these machines is undeniable). Contact was reestablished on occidental shores at which point I learned the nomadic Chilean family had returned to their roots after eighteen years spent scattered across all seven continents. There, tucked under giant evergreens, they opened their doors to a road-weary, spirit-dreary pedal-pusher. Actually, they gave me my own doors.

Respite came in plentiful portions, served up with heaping garnishes of love. Breakfast huddled around a stovetop toaster, percolated coffee, and dinner simmering in cast iron on the crackling fire provided the material medicine, aided by the waning wine rack that grew leaner with each evening we spent captivated in converstaion. A Polarity session immediately reacquainted my body with itself after having destroyed it with poor nutrition and overexertion on the superhighway. My mind realigned as well after a few days ambling around the mighty Volcan Villarrica on an unloaded rig. Two-wheelers regained presence.

If magnetism hadn´t teamed up with gravity, we would have flown. Good company, both humane and tectonic, reconstituted my vitals with positive energy, propelling me into a heightened awareness that had been obscured for quite some time. The potential I felt was exceeded only by what molten substance bubbled beneath the white, conical nozzles. Until the next time planets align along dual, radiating axes, which, if experience dictates frequency, won´t be far off.