Rituals of Initiation

Stepping on the Uhuru peak of Mt Kilimanjaro was a moment of magic, a true initiation into freedom. I was surrounded by the solid massiveness of the ancient glaciers, embraced by an endless sky the shade of pure high blue. The layer of the clouds spread out a few thousand meters below, offering the protective feeling I had cherished throughout the hike. I was standing at an altitude airplanes fly at for short distant flights. The wind was moaning through the peak’s badly battered sign that stood covered with half torn traveling stickers. We looked similarly battered standing next to it for the photos. And the light… oh, the light… Once I became aware of it, I just closed my eyes in ecstasy, because such absolute, transparent, clear light was entirely unworldly and I was bathed in it, in its existential vastness, feeling small yet surprisingly invincible. Suddenly, the universe’s breath pulsated through me. I breathed in, I breathed out, and I could sense – could be certain, because I felt it in my legs, in my sacrum, in the soul that floats in the middle of my chest – that the Earth vibrated in the sound of her eternal OM, the air around me pulsated along, the mountain moved inconceivably – in and out – and the sky seemed to be coming closer, breathing through me. This could only be the vibration of life that is born out of the timeless erotic embrace of the elements. It was the melodic celebration of the angels singing from a chorus above. I could put my finger on the very point of Creation and, oh miracle of miracles, I believed.

© Photo credits: Konstantina Sakellariou