The day I touched the sky

When the Volcano sowed a seed

                                                     The land beneath my feet 
                                                         Was born from fire
                                                   Rising up from the sea bed 
                                                    The soil upon this giant 
                                                           On which I stood
                                                     Was ancient and sacred 
                                              Feeling both foreign and familiar 
                                       For the Volcano had reached for the skies 
                                          And now resided there in splendour 
                                                           ~ Georg Cook

I was seven years old the first time I remember touching the sky. Holding it in my arms, being aware of its presence as a “thing”, rather than a background.

When I stood above the clouds floating beneath me, in bright sunshine and breathed in the expelled air of Mount Teide. The sulphur rich air clinging to the back of my throat, to be locked away as a core memory. Never before had my child-self thought it possible to touch the SKY. Before this moment sky was something I had only thought about when I had been fortunate enough to fly through it. My window seat allowing me to watch fluffy white clouds sail past beneath me. However there I was standing with my arms out straight, stretching into its vastness.

Of course you could argue that we each touch the sky everyday. For the air that exists in our atmosphere is as readily available to us inside a coffee shop as it is standing in a field. If we look upwards, even from a widow we say we can see sky but in reality it surrounds us constantly. But when we are standing in an elevated position, such as a tall building, the sky comes to us. It moves differently, it behaves differently.

The air on a Volcano moves and behaves differently again. Despite the sunshine it has a coolness that dances on your skin, the soil is dark and brooding little more than rock and dust but it has a dormant energy to it. That remains in its stillness, the fire is only sleeping, it seems to whisper.

Standing on Mount Teide that August morning, the sky appeared to swim around me. Consuming me in a blueness that I could only see if I looked into the distance. On the summit there was nothing around me except the ground I stood on and air. There was no landscape except what was below me, it was an eery yet exhilarating experience. I could see for miles, all the while not moving at all. The volcano had done all the movement for me.

It was at that moment that the Volcano sowed a seed in me. To remember to embrace the wind whilst staying grounded. To hover in that place where I remained flexible enough to move and bend, whilst also feeling grounded into myself. To feel rooted in the present moment.

Of course I forgot this seed. This wisdom. Which is why I think, this is a lesson I am constantly returning to. To lean into deeper. To find new ways of returning back to myself through nature, each time going deeper than the last.

After years of feeling lost, I find myself more and more enjoying synchronicities. They act as little confirmations. Breadcrumbs that I am on the right path. One of the most recent synchronicities was the image that I have shared at the top of this essay. It is an image that I found and felt drawn to, using it in an instagram post months ago. Only when I re-discovered it this week did I discover that the image is in fact of Mount Teide, found on the Island of Tenerife, in the Canary Islands Spain. I now feel re-connected to the volcano and to my past fleeting visit to her summit.

I hope you enjoy the synchronicities that arrive in your life 🩵