We were at a retreat at the San Patricio retreat house. In those days, the Cumbayá area was not as populated as it is now. There was a lot of nature and open country; you could walk freely without restrictions, without walls or highways to block the way.
Vicente had asked for a guide to explore the area because he wanted to do some “work in the jungle”; since I lived nearby and knew the surroundings well, I was asked to go with him and show him the place.
And so, we set off together. I was young at the time, and to be honest, I was a bit nervous, on alert. Vicente had a strong presence, and I felt exposed, as if he saw more in me than I wanted him to see. As we were walking, he asked me, “do you remember what we talked about…?”.
Vicente looked at me with compassionate eyes. I didn’t answer him; we kept walking as a storm of emotions swelled in my chest.
That conversation had happened on December 21, 1994, I know because I wrote it in my personal diary. During a sharing session, I told Vicente that I had difficulty sharing in the groups and that, with the latest assignments, I had begun to observe a hard, stubborn, sullen part of me. He told me: “that hardness comes from the affective, from something you must let go of, forget, forgive, and get closer to knowing who you truly are.” I felt that with his words, he had shattered my upbringing, my beliefs, and touched upon my fears. Finally, he said: you have to let go of the old. I felt exposed, I wanted to cry, my companions were looking at me and I, all haughty and rebellious, looked back at Vicente defiantly. It was the only resource I had left.
Three years later, that question was still burning in my chest; however, I had found a goal: to let go of the old and try to find who I truly am.
Now, 33 years later, I am still asking myself that same question: “who am I?”, no longer from a place of anguish, but from serenity, from sensation, from a language that has no words. Something in me understands. I now have the certainty that this will always be my question.
My mind kept ruminating on that conversation, remembering the details as we walked. I was trying to find a suitable, intelligent, elaborate answer; I was afraid of being nothing, of being nothing more than a lie. Besides, I was the guide, I knew the place, and yet, Vicente was the one guiding with a sure step. We moved forward, I didn’t know where to.
Suddenly, he stopped short. I, who had been distracted, lost in my own misery, almost stumbled into him. My face turned red, sweat was running down my back. “Stop,” Vicente said, and closed his eyes, right there in the middle of the hill.
I obeyed. I stopped, closed my eyes, and felt my inner whirlwind. I tried to breathe, feeling my body tense and sweaty; I kept trying, and then I finally surrendered, accepting my inner state, and the air began to flow more freely.
After I don’t know how long, something started to release, something began to yield, and suddenly, I heard the singing of birds and felt the wind on my face. Vicente said, “that’s good.” I opened my eyes. Something in me had fallen into place, I felt calmer, a little more myself…
We continued walking. Vicente would bend down and take the earth in his hands, looking at it and smelling it with great attention. “This is good, fertile earth,” he told me, “it must be well prepared, and it will bear good fruit.” Every comment he made, I felt on a personal level, as if he were talking about me and not the land.
We kept walking and he said, “there is a church around here.” I was surprised, as he had never been to this place before. I replied, “yes, Santa Rosa, it’s a small church in a hamlet, about a twenty-minute walk from here.”
I had the feeling that Vicente knew where he was going, and every step he took, he took with his whole being. I felt like a kite in the wind, fearful, insecure, but at the same time, with a great desire to know, to find myself, to live myself, to know who I am, so I kept walking.
We arrived at a ravine full of nature, with ferns, red orchids… A beautiful forest of the Andean highlands. The eucalyptus trees, the penco agaves, and all the shrubs and plants, many of them with healing properties, others edible like blackberries and Andean blueberries, gave the place an air of solemnity.
We started to climb along the edge of the ravine, and Vicente walked very attentive to his surroundings, active, energetic, yet at the same time serene and present. Even when he decided to slide down the edge of the ravine to reach for a very red orchid, he maintained a presence, a dignity, a composure, while we both crawled on the ground, which was full of burs and stickyweeds.
Vicente was trying to reach the orchid, and I held onto him as best I could. I thought, “if something happens to him, the group will kill me.” He reached the orchid and, when he finally had it, he just stared at it with his full attention, with his whole being.
We continued walking very peacefully, in silence. He, triumphant with his flower in his right hand. And so we reached the top of the hill. The sky was an extreme blue and, in the back of the valley, the majestic Cotopaxi volcano stood, its snow incredibly white.
We stood there, marveling in silence. Vicente asked me, “what do you see?” I replied, “the Cotopaxi.” He smiled. “What do you feel when you see the Cotopaxi?” I closed my eyes, trying to feel; when I opened them again, I felt serene, I felt my breath, soft and slow, reaching down to my lower belly. I felt myself and said, “a God, masculine, imposing; I feel the beauty, the harmony of this moment within me.” He only said, “good,” very softly.
We stayed there for a moment.
Then we returned to continue our day at San Patricio. When we said goodbye, he thanked me and gave me his red orchid.
