The language of the mountain

At the entrance to the temple there are offerings of sweets, flowers and food. I wonder what I have to give. I search through my pockets and they are empty. If I had something, what would it be? I get tangled up in some thought that leads me to some stone or some seed. What is it that I really want to give?

What is the offering I offer to this small temple that looks more like a mountain? Or what do I offer to the mountain that looks more like a temple? What does the depth of my being have to give as thanks? I remain silent for a moment, not knowing how to speak to the mountain that I have begun to feel communicates with my Andes mountains. Lately I like to feel the communication between them, I imagine it through the air, although it is true that underground communication would be more logical. But communication through the air allows me to feel a kind of vibrations, which at times intersect with my body. Then I realize that they are indeed communicating. I put my heart among the offerings, I make a field for it and place it in the middle, between that sweet offering that is my favorite and some other that I do not recognize. Prasad is the name that these offerings take. In Sanskrit it translates as gift from God.

Then my heart, which was in the middle of all the offerings, begins to be born in the form of my own language. Movement is what I have to give, it is my way of telling the mountain that I love it. When I miss my Andes mountains, they send me underground rivers that make the water from the waterfalls colder, and that is also the language of the mountain, its own Prasad, its own offering, in its own language.

CAMILA CARDENAS (PsychologistAND YOGA TEACHER)