For forty-three years I have dreamed of climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. Back when I had a chance to go with friends, I wasn’t strong enough. I had battled anorexia, had a head injury, and had clawed my way up and out of many subsequent depressions.

         There is something about Africa that urged me on, like a promise that it would all be worth it if I just keep going. I’ve learned there is a mountain inside me, and I have climbed many of its faces. I had to. I had to, knowing that one day I would be strong enough and ready in every way to make it to the top of Kilimanjaro. 

         Dreams. Even without our knowing, they lodge themselves deeply within us as seeds taking root. Whether it’s a dream during sleep or visions in waking hours, they pull power, giving us strength and guidance. Over time, sometimes, they are the only reason we can find to keep going. All these years this dream was my reason to live.

Well, I just got back from standing on the roof of Africa — by sheer willpower, taking one step at a time; I climbed to the top of Kilimanjaro!
This is what I saw… this is what I know… this is what still urges me on…

         The first day, I wondered if I was really ready for this. Our climbing party comprised two guides, nine porters, my friend and me. They were all young, I was the oldest person present. With all the gear on top, our van was packed as high as it was wide. As we piled in, I offered a word of Swahili to all the guys inside — “Jambo, Jambo”. Smiles and a loud synchronized “Jambo” ricocheted back, with the most extroverted guy in front of me exclaiming “We are the Dream Team, we make all your dreams come true!” Tears started to well up; he had no idea how long I had been carrying this dream.

It was 2:24 PM when we started out in our rain gear. The weather changes as fast as the wind can blow — and it does blow! The lead guide had stepped aside and motioned for me to go first from the Lemosho Gate, I took two steps and he barked “Pole, Pole — (pronounced Polie) Slowly, Slowly” motioning with his arms to slow down. “If you run the mountain, the mountain runs too. Slow, slow — the mountain rests.”

        After my head injury, I figured that this rainforest was the highest elevation I’d be able to get to, and I was okay with that. There are plant species here that grow nowhere else on earth. And where there are flowers, there are butterflies. I had read that very few people come to Kilimanjaro to see butterflies, but those who do are abundantly rewarded.

         My guides knew nothing about butterflies (Kipepeo in Swahili), so I spoke freely to share my soul’s fascination. I’m known as a butterfly girl. I’ve always considered butterflies to be a totem animal. If nothing else, the guides are now aware of the integral part the mariposa species play for their beloved mountain. Over 40 species of butterflies intermingle on Kilimanjaro and within the Tanzania area. I have experiences of being visited by butterflies in the most unexpected places, and I hoped some would be here. Seeing even one is always a treasure.

         The Montane Forest Zone is emerald-green and lush, but because most endemic orchids were waiting to bloom during the approaching rainy season, most butterflies were waiting too. The few that were fluttering around were aloof and preoccupied with nectar sources. They did not pose for photos. Black-and-white colobus and blue monkeys peered from the tallest trees I’d ever seen, and birds often shrieked ahead, seemingly irritated by wanderers coming through their cloud forest. At the beginning of this journey, I felt welcomed by the mountain and it’s vertical “symphony of life”.

         I struggled as the trail got steeper. I wasn’t breathing correctly — inhaling too deeply and rushing the exhales. Already I was reminding myself to just keep walking. As the porters whizzed by with big smiles and incredible loads steadied on their heads, I followed slowly, out of breath and humbled. A mantra became audible within me, as I heard my own heartbeat: Pole, Pole — Slowly, Slowly. Step by Step. Pole, Pole — Slowly, Slowly. Breath by Breath. Pole, Pole — Slowly, Slowly. One Breath, One Step all the way to the top. I regained my confidence when we were welcomed at camp and ushered to our tent. Now, I had other things to think about: I had never been camping without my car nearby.

         My friend and I are nature lovers — quiet, independent, and mostly introverted. We were both here to let the immensity of Mt. Kilimanjaro sink into the depths of our beings. Going ‘slow’ was perfect in our quest for solitude. Every night we would escort each other out of our tent into the wilderness, and then just look up for as long as we could stand the cold temperatures outside of our shared haven.

shoulder to shoulder, side by side

two friends with a special bond

looking up at the bright big stars

in the blackest of black African nights.

    

     At 55 miles in length, the Northern Circuit is the longest route, with the best success rate for acclimation to elevation. It also awards climbers 360-degree experiences of the tallest freestanding mountain in the world. Trekking goes through four climate zones, each distinct and mesmerizing with clouds and mist constantly moving and changing. We experienced more than one zone daily as we acclimated to higher elevations and then retreated to lower elevations to sleep (known as the high-low strategy). The Shira Plateau held mystical, vibrational frequencies for me. Somehow, I knew I had been on these pathways before. The soil smelled like a rooted place I’ve dreamed of many times. Perhaps this is why I’ve been urged to come for all these years?

    We frequently passed through the Heath and Moorland Zone and the Alpine Desert Zone above it. Surreal highland landscapes with Afro flora adapted to high UV and frost cycles and heather-like shrubs. It is here where only the rare “everlasting” flower and a few lichens can survive. We lost ourselves in another reality of isolated boulders, lava ridges with caves, volcanic ash plains of windswept rock, desert, and sand. Here is where the rescue helicopters started coming to get the sick or injured off the mountain. From here on, I had a minimum of three layers of thermals as my clothing base for the rest of the trek. Nighttime temperatures plummeted below freezing.

     Next came the Arctic Zone. Climbing to the summit on the last night of the ascent was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. After having four hours of sleep (due to urgent outhouse visits), with the temperature around zero degrees Fahrenheit, we started out at 11:20 PM. It was difficult to even walk wearing six layers of thermal gear through snow flurries on fresh snow. From base camp at 15,000 feet, it took eight hours to trek to the summit at 19,340 feet. In the blackness, each step followed what seemed like a never-ending zigzag line of headlamps. Hundreds of people are climbing Kilimanjaro every day and night. After hours of seeing them above me, I couldn’t look up anymore; it was too daunting. My focus became on each moment, each step, each shallow breath of air in and out. I had no headache, which was a miracle after my head injury. During the long night, I wondered how I could ever have been ready for this. I was just so sleepy. I had to keep walking… telling myself, ‘I AM going to the top’.

         I was now living my lifelong dream. What I had imagined were merely vague shadows compared to the enormous expanse I saw as the first light cracked the dark, frozen horizon. The firstborn rays revealed the details of the rocky landscape towering around me. I will never forget the first hint of less darkness with this rising sun. How high the boulders I had been stepping on and over actually stood. And how deep the snow had grown under my boots through the night as I crept ever upward. I witnessed a magic wand painting the sky around me in variations of black-brown-red-orange streaks, all with bursting pale yellows becoming the vibrant living dawn.

         Still, with the sun rising, there were hours to go to reach the top. Step by step, air in and out. It was like being in a silent movie: seeing, watching, but there was nothing distracting me from this quiet realm. More people scampered about; some were being held up and helped away to get to a lower elevation. I was unaware of crowds. Usually, along a trail, I search for heart-shaped rocks, but that didn’t matter to me here.

         At 7:45 AM we finally arrived at the summit, then waited in line for photos to be taken at the famous Uhuru Peak signpost. A person doesn’t want to linger at the summit due to the potential for altitude sickness. Five minutes was what my guide gave me to get photos of the remaining scant glaciers and the views out into the sprawling atmosphere. I knew this was a once in a lifetime scene; I would likely not be on this peak again. After everything, it was just minutes of awe after eight days and eight hours of trekking to this point. 

         Standing on the rooftop of Africa I saw space. Above the clouds is an open array, void and yet full. Free, expanding. Nothing mattered. Nothing meant anything. Space was everything and all encompassing. I didn’t look down at people, myself, or at my life. I looked down and out into space. The stillness of it. The silence. The hope of it… what it was, what it is, and what it will become. From time to time, I hear messages, and this one came now:

If you just listen within you will hear more than you see.

You will know more than you dream.

You will see more than you can imagine.

If you just listen within, you will grow more than you ever thought possible.

You will BE more…

    

  

         My guide was by my side to assist if any high elevation symptoms besieged me. Photos taken, it was time to go. As I secured my camera within a padded pocket zipped inside my coat, he wrapped his right arm around my left and we started to run.

         Why were we running? Being totally unaware of what anyone else was doing, I had no expectation of this. We ran like we were on skates down the steep grey slope of glacial scree gravel. Down and down, and down. Finally, the pace became a fast walk with momentum, and I saw lines of people looking at us from below. Bystanders resembled brightly colored crabs scattering and scurrying ahead. I still had six layers on and was ready to shed some at the base camp we were approaching for our breakfast. Crowds were around me now. While behind, more people were still coming down from above. Barafu Camp was like a grand central station, noise everywhere, and celebrations were escalating in all directions. Too tired to chew, I gazed out at the landscape — I realized, I was on the other side of my lifelong dream.

    

         I could speak no words. I was attuned to my body but felt not in it… like I was floating above myself. Feeling dazed, grasping for what I knew was real; but nothing was what I used to know. Then the mountain in me whispered that I’d reached the highest peak I will ever have to climb. All is easier from here. This journey was the hardest and the most deliberate. At age sixty-three, it is a deep sigh of joy, fulfillment and relief… finally I know a peace with myself. I have climbed it!

         As the days go on, I realize how much the dream of Kilimanjaro sustained me, pulled me, comforted me with its presence. Now, there is a space within me to get to know. I never thought about being on the other side of my lifelong dream. Who am I now?

         After the trek, I am different. I am more settled in the present moment; I don’t feel rushed to react. In a way, I’m in my own world. Maybe because I witnessed a world so much more than I ever imagined when looking out above the clouds. Maybe those nine days of walking through the varying wilderness awakened me to more possibilities of the unknown? 

         I am in a space in between. In between with the space within me. I, the butterfly girl, find myself in another cocoon. New wings are forming, gaining strength, and the next journey is being created. My awareness affirms there are more dreams to be realized. Here at home, the Tiger Swallowtail dances in the bougainvillea, while the Kilimanjaro Swallowtail prances its botanical staircase. There are numerous wild explorations that strike a chord within me. The big dream is fulfilled, yet a different realm of it still seems to urge and inspire me onward.

         Three nights after returning from Africa, I was bitten while sleeping. A brown recluse is suspected but not confirmed. Whatever it was, it kept me a recluse! Swelling, pain, lots of sleeping. Lots of thinking, wondering, remembering how far I’ve come. Willpower has been my ally through everything. Climbing Kilimanjaro and then being taken out by an itsy-bitsy spider was not part of the dream!

         Sometimes life still might not be easy. More challenges are sure to come. But who I am will find the way. All my life I’ve stood apart from the norm, never fitting in with the rest. I love to wander and wonder. I always have more questions, not answers. I’ve been a lot of things: the firstborn, the sister, the starving girl, the valedictorian, the artist, the head injury survivor, the caregiver, the writer… the traveler; always the one beckoned to become all she can be. Already I remind myself to ‘just keep walking’. Climbing Kilimanjaro is the dream that inspires the next one. Now, what is important to me?   Seeing in the quiet stillness. Seeing past the stillness… there is another message:

You know.
You know more than you know.
But you only KNOW what you need to know each moment.

So, stay in the now and don’t rush ahead of yourself, or leave the present.

The present is your gift now.
So many have lost it, dropped it and don’t remember.

Share the gift…

And another part of ‘share the gift’…

I thought I would have shared this by now. But “life” has been happening and I’ve been juggling to ‘keep up’ while I get well again. The spider took me out of regular activities for four months — I could barely walk to the bathroom.
It is still amazing to me that after the feat of summiting Kilimanjaro
I was laid so low! The truth is that I am still not up to par…
I know this deeply. And within the last week, more has been revealed as to why.

A week or two after the bite, a mole on my arm festered and changed. Itching mostly at first, then it started bleeding. In June, I finally got in to have it looked at. No, not right; not normal at all. A dermatologist took a look: did biopsies on both arms.

Results: Surgery. Recovery is ongoing at this time.

In the meantime,
I’ve been resting, reading, writing and more engaged in my wondering while wandering mode of BEing… which is my happy place of quiet and solitude immersed within nature.
New insights are being revised within my book; there is a mixing in of the more creative aspects of my skills, so that I share all my gifts as an entire realm to you.
No more vague parts; not just pieces of parts of the sky. Alone and separate.
There is fire and ice. Highs and lows.
Oceans and melodies and oh, so much more to put together!

And
also in the more recent meantime, my father passed away.
WE all knew it was coming, but it came suddenly and unexpected —
after such a long struggle for the last 16 months, he was getting better.
Now he is gone.

i believe it was him who soared circles above me
in and out around the baby blue sky
as that red kite the next afternoon

as a newborn bird          back in my realm          once more

a last connection…
my dad’s farewell.