Reserved for The Aware

It was less of a sunrise than the yielding of darkness. The question lingering over the past days had been how to achieve an image of the place that would evoke a new, fresh, different perception.

It didn't take long to realize my mistake.

The evolving emotions during the train ride along the Urubamba river were the first sign that any attempt to completely harness sensory elements would be futile. Following the flow of those waters, as if gently guided by their ancient, simple wisdom, the same that perhaps once herded an entire people in their quest to discover a platform from which to elevate their innermost longing, an overwhelming force began to rid me of my pride.

Fade to black

Upon the death of night, another machine carried us upward, crawling the impossible slant of our mountain captors, astounding monuments. The living, breathing soul of their mass revealed itself at twilight as enormous, dense lengths of fog moved at awesome, yet silent speeds through the chasms of the land. By then, and half awake, the metamorphosis to humbleness was complete.

Sharing the soaked state of all vegetation and rock formations around, we timidly walked onto the stage at the narrow plateau. Then it happened.

I cannot recall when the drunkenness began; only that I felt winded, dwarfed, defeated... weightless. No image, no tale, no text and no expectation would have ever prepared me. I suspect the same must have happened to the first humans to set foot upon the galactic launching platform that we now, in this blink among the eons, call Machu Picchu.

Thus, in decimated humor, I put my body to the earth, bowing to even the blades of grass above my eyes, and paid tribute to the stardust that forms all we know, beholden, with this modest capture.