“I’m packed!”
Amazed that I had gathered everything for my upcoming journey to Peru, and fit it all in my suitcase a full day before my flight. Usually, I’m finishing up at in the wee hours of the morning, so this was cause for celebration. There was one thing left to do.
I called my husband to lift my suitcase and guesstimate the weight.
It’s an old ritual, this guessing game that often leaves a fizzle of anxiety in my belly. Every trip we mean to find that luggage scale that’s hidden in the house somewhere. An idea quickly forgotten in the enjoyment of whatever journey embarked upon. Only to be remembered the evening before, or often in my case, the morning of that next flight with the looming specter of a weight limit for my bag.
Right on cue, after hefting my luggage in the air, he exclaims, “This has gotta be close if not over 50 pounds.”
I’m not sure why I set myself up for this. I’m a great packer and can fit everything into any suitcase. It’s just that I like to have a variety of clothes so I can choose to be comfortable in any kind of weather or activity.
This time, however, I also had a list a mile long of recommended items to ensure a safe journey.
During this 12 day trip, I’d stay in 5 hotels, take multiples planes, buses, and taxis. I’d hike mountains, tour cities, chant in open courtyards, do early morning yoga, and attend (stinky) fire ceremonies. I’d also be far from medical care and needed to be prepared for weather changes, altitude sickness, biting bugs, blisters, strong sun rays, and dehydration.
No wonder I packed a lot of shit. I was intent on being prepared for anything.
That’s not to mention that I was carrying a bunch of rocks in my backpack. No, I wasn’t rucking. That’s a new fad that I have no interest in exploring. Yet, here I was heading off to climb to 12,500 feet with a backpack of rocks, raincoat, fleece, water, snacks, suntan lotion, and bug spray. I don’t mean to make light of those rocks as they are a gift to me and those I serve.
As a medicine woman in the Andean tradition, I carry my mesa with me.
A mesa, or altar, is used in healing and ceremony. Filled with medicine stones that have been transformed through my initiations and used in healing sessions, shamanic journeys, and ceremony. I climbed each mountain to enter a sacred site and engage in ceremony. Activating my mesa and my own body to higher frequencies so that I might better serve humanity and Pachamama, this great planet we inhabit. While heavy, I was grateful to have my mesa as traveling companion and wise guide.
Arriving at Philly’s airport, mostly at peace with my packing choices, I was dropped at the curb to embark upon this journey of my soul.
Truth be told, I had some trouble hefting my bag on that scale. I closed my eyes in a little prayer to the angels of the airport. “Did you plan this?” Startled I opened my eyes to a serious agent pointing to the number on the scale with a long red manicured nail.
50.0
Holy weightless wonder! I nailed it! After taking a photo to send my husband, I felt a little heaviness lift from my heart (and belly). I hadn’t realized I was carrying that bit of anxiety. A flash of a memory from my honeymoon to Italy reminded me of our two suitcases splayed open in front of a long line of annoyed travelers as I transferred shoes from that over the limit bag to the almost at the limit bag.
Oh.
