I have been gone, tracing the branches of overgrown trees that mark the path to paradise. If I make the map, will you follow? 

The truth is, not everyone will make it here. The crossing is lined with warnings and cautionary tales. They say, the hand of death is nearby, ready to grab you at the edge of the steep mountain cliff. But death is not the only one waiting. There is a promise of ageless beauty, and the primitive rhythm that no longer exists on the outside. Primordial knowledge of the land, and the forgotten ways, shape this place and its people—the refugees from the Lost World. 

I was once a young girl, wandering in that darkened, Lost World. Capturing myself in the trappings of illusion and attachment became a game to see if I could remember the way out. I remember now, that the way out is found in the little cracks between seconds. The password is always at the tip of my tongue. It begins with plugging myself into the sound of Earth and Ether, where I can hear every channel at once. 

Now, the distant memories of the Lost World plague me like an illness. Forgotten faces and concrete streets that once claimed me. An insatiable desire for more and the heavy hand of a society built for control. All I ever wanted was to feel the true potential of this­ reality. It is all a distant image faded out by the morning light that rises over the Eastern horizon. 

༺­

Under the heat of the sun, sweat drips from my neck, and my head throbs as the swell of the morning cicadas overwhelm my senses. I am no longer adapted to live so close to nature and my body constantly tries to remember the ancient ways, while my mind screams for a way out. I wonder if I will ever become strong enough to thrive in these elements, like the natives do.

This place they call paradise, I saw it once in a memory. Endless ocean blues crushing into the wild green jungle. I saw it in my mind’s eye and I knew I would find something there. So I made a promise that I would tear myself apart to find it. I would meet death at the edge of the Lost World to claim my piece of paradise. 

I admit that I was scared and I still am. What is the unknown but a pocket of air that can either suffocate or liberate you? I was scared to let go of myself in your eyes.  A rupture in the illusion of freedom that comes with being tamed is both devastating and thrilling.

Somehow, the path to this place was laid out for me. I was brought here to experience a tormented secret transmitted not through words but through another memory—jungle memory. Here, density moves different. In the Lost World, you pass through the physical density of concrete, cars, and the energetic blueprint of unfamiliar human beings. In the jungle, you pass through the density of Earth spirit, which absorbs the memories of all humans that come here to heal. The trees that see everything. The sand that traces the truth before blurring into another pattern. The animals that crawl and kill. Inside this pulsating vortex are a million spirits, a million memories, looking for a home. 

The jungle air is filled with restless dreams and recollections of pain and pleasure. Trekking down the steep, rocky path, I pass through the invisible touch of countless hands that attempt to carve their past and future into my psyche. I cannot place the source of these feelings yet my senses react as if they are my own. 

Beauty and tragedy, compassion and brutality are the messages encoded to me by jungle memory. The jungle accepts all messages of darkness and light, it does not judge. It is always glad to be birthing and dying at once. I was brought here to transmute this fragile cycle, which is whispered through shivering tears and electric joy. 

It has been almost one year now that I experience this bewitching life in the jungle realm. I live shielded from the structures of the Lost World, yet I become a vessel for the memories of the people who sail from that shore. Somewhere between the undying ocean waves and the brutal birth and decay of the jungle, I discover that a key to surviving this realm is to become porous. Almost see-through. So clear and crystalline that the spirits mistake you for one of their own. So anchored in transience that time mistakes you for one of their own. In this porous state, the density and the memories cannot create a home in me, they can only flow through my skin and back out into the air. A momentary touch. A touch that does not become a break, but a renewal. In this place where it is impossible to hide, where there is no separation between outside and inside, the way of survival is taking the pill to become as transparent as the wind that comes to clear the sand anew.  

The way to paradise is always through a doorway of death. He poses as danger but he is an angel of renewal in disguise. The path is a steep and winding road that shakes your bones and shatters your perception of reality. Somewhere deep in these jungles is a predator lurking in a cool corner. I keep having dreams of it coming to find me. I keep checking underneath my bed and behind my door. Within this untamable force, I become a receptor for the memory of the jungle and all the souls that come here from the Lost World. Two separate paths converge in this place, to begin the process of transmutation from lost to found. From broken to new again. 

༺

The line between the Lost World and the New World blurs more and more each day. Here, there is a bridge building between both. I never felt like a participant of these realms, always an observer. But in your hand, I can become something real. Even in the dark nights when I try to lay my head on a place which is not mine, you keep reaching out your hand. You keep leading me back to a place in the jungle that is warm. You keep showing me the ways of the New World, and how I can be real.  

There is no end to this miracle. There are no ends to the promise of crossing into the unknown. I will not deny how it hurts every time, to make the decision to leave you behind in search of another memory. I will not deny how it hurts every time, to take the hand of death and walk with him to the next place of paradise. But slowly, slowly, I remember how to decode the messages on this path that is littered with sand and stone.