By Leesa Collett

The experience related here is as accurate as my memory allows. It took place about 40 years ago in the Middle East. I invite you to go along with me on this adventure. Substitute yourself for me/I and include yourself in we/us in the narrative.

Two family members, who I will call B and C, and I decided to take a wilderness walk through the desert. C will be our guide as this is her country, which we feel makes her the expert in all things related to it. We get up early, hoping to avoid the hottest part of the day, and drive into the desert. The parking lot is mostly empty. Apparently, a hike in the desert in summer did not appeal to many people. We begin the hours-long hike into the desert.

The sky is a beautiful, clear blue. Not a cloud in sight. The air temperature is in the mid-70s, perfect. I feel a giddy excitement as we begin our hike. We walk away from what is familiar and head into the barren desert. Although C assures me, I am on the path, I can’t see it. Everything begins to look the same. Everything is a variation of dirty white and pale brown. There are no trees, no grass, no flowers, nothing to indicate where I am or where I have been on the path. We walk a winding route over rocks, sand and dirt. Looking back, I can’t see where I have been. Because the path winds through high rock with forks and twists, it is impossible to see what is ahead or behind.

As the sun climbs in its ageless ascent, the temperature rises and rises. There is no shade to give us respite from its heat as we walk and climb up the mountain. I can feel the earth’s heat through my sandals. I have a terrible thirst, but no water. I keep walking.

Although the path is not steep, it seems never-ending. The excitement I initially felt gives way to fatigue and the beginnings of despair. How much longer can I walk up this mountain in this heat before I can go no more? And still, I keep walking.

Gradually, the trail C assured us we were on levels off. It also narrows. We can no longer walk side by side. We are now on a cliff. To our right is a steep, vertical wall of rock. To our left a chasm frighteningly deep. We walk on. I try not to focus on the chasm. The path narrows still more. When we stop, we are standing on a ledge about two feet wide. Ahead of us the path disappears into the rock of the mountain. To our right the rock wall towers high above. I turn, keeping my back against the rock. Looking ahead, I see a cave. Its opening is wide, but maybe only six or seven feet high. There is a narrow ledge in front of it. This area is made of a smooth stone, not the rough, craggy stone we have been walking on. The chasm is between our ledge and the cave, an impossible span to bridge. Yet, C says that is exactly what we are going to do.

I look to my left, down the trail that brought us here, knowing I could never find my way back to safety. Wandering alone through the desert when I could no longer discern the path is not an option. I can’t go back. I have to make the leap. C jumps first, landing easily. I now realize the cave is slightly lower than where I am standing, making the leap a tiny bit less terrifying. I jump next, then B. We all land safely. Looking back at our ledge, my legs are shaking, my whole-body trembles with the adrenaline coursing through me and the realization of what I have just done. Looking at C and B, I realize C had gone first to show me the way. B had gone last to give me strength and to be with me if I refused to jump. They are my support.

After resting in the cave a bit, we continue on. The cave is shallow and lighter in color than the rock on the other side, almost white. We round a curve within the cave; it opens to a sight I will never forget. It is a magnificent reward for my effort. Heart pounding, joy filling my being, I step into it.

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Now, Dear Reader, I ask you to imagine what you saw as you exited the cave.