Dear Mom, I write. Today I flew through the trees. For twenty-two US dollars, I strapped, webbed, and clipped myself to ropes and cables strung high in the treetops. I moved from platform to platform hoping to spot wildlife and to take in plant life, all up where the majority of the forest's activity and life reside. It is not easy to reach, but suspending the cable in this loft — the canopy — gets one up there.
The green from above was astounding. The steep sides of the river gorge are covered with trees of all types. My guide said that a hundred or more varieties flourished in an area I was suspended over. Imagine. Some are flowering now, some are leafless, some sow dry seeds on the winds, and still others are bearing luscious fruits (which, I guess, technically are seeds, no?).
I flew high above the river. Its pools and cascades looked flat and dark from above. What a rush it was, zinging from wooden base to wooden base. At first I wished that I could stay that way forever: suspended, hanging with a tickled and edgy feeling. Air surrounded me on all sides — underneath, above, around. Only suspension in mid-air — weightless.
Secured with carabineers and a grotesquely large but well-reinforced braking glove, I moved between the platforms by racing — whizzing — down the cable line. Accelerating to the next stop. Feet first. Brake hand on cable. Slight, even pressure with palm of hand. Receiving guide corrals me in. Clip here. Clip off to there. Constant vigilance in these parts, where there is only down.
With each passing platform, every ensuing safety clip, and the repeated careening along the cables, I realize that there is no reverence here in this cathedral-like venue. Here, amidst abundance and richness, there was little time for communing with nature or the animals.just a hot ride through the delicate treetops. An exhilarating, obtuse rush, rocketing through this spiritual place.
And then, Mom, I continue to write, as I left one of the platforms, I hurled more rapidly along the cable line than before. The swish and slide was fierce and uncontrollable. Panic flashed for an instant, but then clarity ensued. I sensed colors and heat. I tasted air. I let go of the turgor of everything. I simply unclasped my hands and gave into complete and total suspension: aloft and unbound on the winds of the Earth's spin.
Mom, I have written, I have learned that the forest canopy is sacred. To plunge through, at the price of some easily exchanged greenbacks, with such alarming aplomb, is sacrilegious. I might as well run and scream through a church. I am changed by my experience. My eyes are open, and respect for Mother Earth knowledge is infused reverently inside of me.
I am on quite a journey. Thinking of you always, your Daughter
Specializing in short fiction, Elizabeth Striebel's writing is culled from equatorial and far-east living. She lives in Central America. Her work won her an award in the Traveler's Tales 2007 SOLAS contest.