From Belukha with love

I had seen the snow-covered peaks of Mount Belukha from afar. At sunset the mountain seems covered in majestic purple; at sunrise Belukha looks more distant but no less mysterious. Often her face is veiled with clouds.

Now I am walking to the foot of the mountain along the white water of Akkem Lake. It is a sunny day--butterflies accompany me as I cross small streams, climb rocks and finally arrive at the small chapel at the foot of the mountain. The chapel was built to commemorate climbers who died on the mountain.

I light a candle in the chapel, then walk further towards Belukha and find a quiet spot on a stream carrying melted ice from Belucha’s glaciers. I sit. And wait for something to happen. Here I am close to the sacred mountain and powerful spirits, a mountain that can kill people and also gives life to the mighty Katun River that travels all across Russia to the Arctic Sea.

I sit and wait and nothing special happens. From up close Belukha seems a mountain like any other. I feel no awe. Unlike the yogis I have no visions. Belukha is merely there, and if there are any mysteries, she hides them from me.

I am left with a feeling of disappointment. But after a while that thought leaves me. And finally I am without thoughts and without expectations. There’s only joy about this gorgeous day and the spectacular view in front of me.

Comments

[Ad]

O my god, wat ben je allejezus ver weg. Op het drielandenpunt van Rusland, Kazachstan en Mongoliê. De dakrand van de wereld.

Ad

[Isabel]

Het lijkt me fantastische om daar te zijn.Ik geniet door jou beschrijvingen en leef met je mee.
Geniet er intens van en blijven ons vertellen wat je meemaakt.
Groetjes, Isabel