Shaman of the Mist

We came across an old Spirit of the Jungle yesterday. He was just sitting there on a bench in the middle of the jungle trail that we were hiking, admiring his surroundings. It was kind of a shock to see him there after seeing nothing but trees, rock and water for the last three hours. When you’re walking in the jungle there is so much to see. Your eyes are over stimulated by the blur of green that surrounds you in all directions. Your ears are under stimulated by the lack of any noise at all except the rare birdcall and occasional sound of water crashing on rock. Your concentration is focused on the trail and the continuous task of stepping over the rocks and limbs and being careful not to crush those amazing leaf-cutter ants. It is hypnotic.

I was knocked out of this trance by the site of the old man on the bench ahead of us. We could tell that he had wisdom to impart so we sat next to him. We also had to wait for Nate and Katherine to catch up to us. Our pace was a little faster than theirs; we had about twenty minutes to kill.

We started talking to the Spirit with the usual banter that you would use with people you meet on the trail. “The jungle is beautiful,” “Did you see the waterfall today? It is amazing.” “Do you live in Ceiba or just visiting?” We found that we were right, the old man was eager to speak with us.

He told us about the jungle and how this was his home. He came here to this bench often to think about the nature of all the life he was seeing around him. He began to talk about the large waterfall that is the end destination of this particular trail. Specifically, he talked about how when you look at the waterfall you notice all these little plants that have attached themselves to the sides of the cliff underneath the falling water. He had come to the realization that these tiny plants, being beaten and drowned day in and day out for their entire existence, had a purpose. They were there as a part of the larger cycle of the world. That they would work at the rock, break it apart, and over thousands of generations the cliff would break apart and crumble, therefore, changing the mountain and the future of the Earth.

This realization had caused an epiphany in him. As he put it, what he realized was that, “there is an interconnected harmony that is beyond our understanding.” God, Allah, Nirvana, Nature, whatever you want to call it, is that harmony. To him, you didn’t need to name it to know about it, you just had to recognize it and to not disturb it. What was important to him was that you needed to realize that you shouldn’t disturb that balance because you could risk destroying the harmony of the world.

We left the old Spirit on that bench. And as we walked away a little more aware of the jungle, and the world, the Spirit faded into the mist of the cloud forest. I’d like to think that I will meet him again, but no matter how much I hope and search I know that it’s the harmony of the jungle that will decide if we meet again.