A breath. Is that all that was needed? One breath that would justify thirty years worth of breathing. When was the first day that I forgot to breath? I can’t seem to recall. But death occurred without my knowledge. How many years since I last inhaled...exhaled...? Enough. It is time for resuscitation.
I find myself on the edge of a mountain cliff. Knowing that I am about two hours out of Johannesburg. Two hundred kilometres away from the madness of the concrete. The aim of the game was to slide from one hilltop to the next with only faith under my uncertain legs. My corporate infected soul feeling misplaced in this openness. Maybe it was something about the freedom surrounding the girl hanging in mid-air featuring on the pamphlet of this place that caught my attention. Could have been that small promise of instant peace while free falling that brought me here. To this rock with ropes tied in specialized knots around my waist. At this stage in my life, God knows, anything sounds like a good idea. Not that life is bad, just so confusingly fast. It’s the office and the studies, its the family and the dogs, household chores and shopping and at the end of that finally working on the plan to get to the dream that I am pursuing, the dream that will change my lifestyle. The dream that sometimes feel so overwhelmingly huge.
Sometimes going out of my comfort zone and into the wild, to hang from ropes tied to hill tops is exactly the kind of medicine to bring me closer to the dream. To shock the stressed system back to living. Isn’t that what we are meant to do down here?
The group descend from the back of the land rover. Eight of us in total. All geared in harnesses. Pulleys hanging from our waists. The clattering announcing our arrival to the unperturbed nature. As we walk the guide tells about the plants and the trees, names I’ve never heard and are unlikely to remember. How he does it, is a mystery. I look to the trees he points out, the aloes. I even nod. But my mind is not fascinated by the facts he so admirably points out about these wonders of nature. I am more fascinated by their freedom. Living out here in-between God and unmarked air.
My eyes zoom in on the little girl in our group, the one with long black hair. Kimberley she told me her name was about an hour ago when I met her. Eleven years in age if I had to guess. She is first in line to swing the initial length. Following her eagerly, my eyes are in awe as she swings so carelessly between the mountain tops. So strikingly free. Far too young to fear. I had been there once. At that wonderful point in life where fear didn’t exist. Who hasn’t been there? Yet we all lose it at some age. The fact remains unnoticed to ourselves, until moments like these. I look down after I promised myself that I wouldn’t. Trees far below welcome us by waving in the wind. To call it fear is a possible understatement. Yet I am here and I’m doing it.
Next, my turn and my unnerved legs are confused. Unease fills me. This freedom that I so yearned for is new to me, unknown or maybe just forgotten. I need reassurance from the man with the dreads standing in front of me, placing the pulleys on the correct ropes to assure my safety. He reminds me of Bob Marley but says his name is Sam. I look to the other side, the side where the rope ends and it seems so exceedingly far away. He tries to reassure me. ‘An Afrikaner woman, he says, is strong. They can do anything.’ I force out a smile while thinking about the statement. Is that what I am? Is that the label I will wear today? Why then do I seem so removed from my own heritage when facing the thirty metre emptiness between this rock and the next? My arms shake and I tell myself not to be so bloody pathetic. Trying to stop the never-ending noise inside my anxious head I force my body forward. My body is a stubborn old mule not listening to the mind telling it to move. I hear Sam’s parting words as my legs finally lift and let my body swing over the edge of the rock: ‘Enjoy it...’
Was that the secret to all the leaps I needed to overcome in my life. Merely to enjoy it? The analysis is cut short by the next sound brought to my ears, screaming. It is my own I realize after the second full lunged yell. All the years of not breathing came out into this scenic valley with an audience of strangers that I am not looking at. My eyes are shut closed. I see nothing. But I feel. The wind cuts through my hair and lungs. My awkward body slides at a speed that I cannot control. When did freedom become so daunting?
Forcing my eyes open I look straight ahead and see the brave little face awaiting my graceless landing on the other side. My feet relieved to feel land again, yet the little girl inside of me, the one I so enjoy smothering, cries out for another go. There will be nine more I assure her.
We proceed to the next slide and my heart breaths. I am unable to tell about the joy in my soul. About how I can breathe again. But somehow maybe life will sense it from now on. As we walk back I make a promise to myself: I will never stop breathing again.
