Al-Kabir
Al-Kabir الكبير
Reciting the names of Allah while riding this lonely cycleway along the green shores of River Po, northern Italy. A gorgeous springtime morning. No one else here except for the chirping birds and leaves dancing on the trees. Completely flat surface of the Pianura Padana, well-cared paved paths, a sunny line on the horizon. The wind on my face, freedom. It is a dynamic silence, a gift from the heavens. Since some months ago I try to memorize the ninety-nine names of Allah. An effort for the mind and a sweet invocation from the soul. Each name, every God’s attribute, is an intense connection with the immensity of the universe.
The Great, the Abundant. “Indeed I gave you the abundance, so pray to your Lord and sacrifice only to Him.” It is always illuminating. Enigmatic also. Mystery. I’m thinking on my life. Not material riches, not wealth or properties. A boundless shower of blessings and “lucky” chains of events in my long path. All those stares fixed on me, the sparking eyes of those I loved, pushing my steps forward. Also, the unknown shepherd, the boy saying hello, the old woman offering water. I feel so grateful.
Things that happened. They looked so dark and meaningless at the moment. Death near me, sickness, hatred, injustice, anguish. With time, every piece finds its way to complete the puzzle. Even if the present can be full of darkness. Fear.
| Refugio Frey (Club Andino Bariloche) |
Refugio Frey. My beloved Bariloche in the majestic mountains of north-west Patagonia. I am fulfilling the dream. Skiing up to the Pagotida, a col that separates the Cathedral ski resort from the highest part of the mountain. I am carrying two heavy backpacks with food and provisions for a lengthy staying in the hut. My friend Nito doesn’t want me to go because of the heavy snowstorms that covered the mountains during the last days. But that was our commitment. I will guard the hut during the first winter opening to the public.
Arriving at the col I throw one of the backpacks, the one with cans and hard things that can't break. It speeds up like a rolling stone down the steep slope. I carry the other one, very heavy. I take the skins off the skis and start the difficult descent on icy surface. A shadowy couloir between two walls of pink granite. Rocks hidden under the snow. I am distracted by the far songs made by the wind. I should have taken with crampons instead of skis. A black bird flies. I fall on the icy slope. Time passes with vertiginous tempo. I am falling and falling towards a group of boulders on the middle of the couloir. Something makes me rise. I fly over the rocks and then stop on the softer snow. It’s sunny here. Just some bruises on my face and hands. A glove and one broken ski pole some metres downwards. I resume skiing on good snow towards the frozen Van Titter stream. I recover the second backpack. A juice and some almonds under the sun make a great lunch break. Then comes the hard ascent to the hut with the seal skins.
Some days of brilliant chilly weather and then it starts snowing heavily. Avalanches down the valley and over the small lake. I need wood but I hesitate to go down to Piedritas, the small place under the boulder where Nito left the cut logs for me. It may be dangerous because of the avalanches. But I am using old construction boards for the fire and they will not last for ever. Let’s go.
Members of the Slovenian mountain group built this beautiful hut, Piedritas, under a huge boulder. It has a few bunks and an old wood stove. The stoney ceiling is decorated with mysterious figures. The hut is completely covered under the snow. I need to shovel to find the door. It starts snowing and I can hear the avalanches up there on the way back to Frey hut. I hurry to dig out a large log (Nito cut them to be carried by mules, not humans). It is too heavy, and now it is late and dangerous to go back to the Refugio. I will have to sleep over down here, but I have nothing to eat. I find some teabags and salt. Llallao mushrooms on the trees, nothing else. I make a fire on the stove and melt snow. My diet of black tea, mushrooms and salted water is not good and I throw up on the snow. The night is full of motion. I listen to the far away avalanches. It keeps snowing and snowing. Maybe I will need to stay here another day. I don’t sleep while continuously feeding the stove with wet wood. It is freezing outside. The tall coihue, a local tree, sings a funerary song. I dream without sleeping a very dark time in my life, when I was confused and blind to any possible way out. Sectarian religion drowning my spiritual life.
Early in the morning I load my backpack with a heavy log and start skiing the way up. The fresh snow is very hard. I am afraid of more avalanches. No wind on the motionless tree branches, no birds chirping, everything completely quiet now in a sea of white and grey. Something big is on the still air. Al Kabir.
The snow starts moving in slow motion. Tons of snow like the waves of a giant sea. I submerge in the mass of the freezing material, desperately trying to keep my head off the menacing thick white slide. I lose the skis, poles, the left shoe. The ice ax that I brought in case of hard snow hits against my breast. Blood all over and the intense pain. The snow current stops down the valley. It hurts. I’m scared.
I can hardly climb up to the Refugio, skis, wood and everything else abandoned down there. I have a serious wound. I put alcohol on it. It hurts too much even to breath. Fixing a fire is challenging. I drink many teas and sleep. I sleep so much that don’t realize it is dark again. I feel bad. Change the bandages many times but hygiene is a problem.
The reaction. The sun’s back, at least for some hours. No matter how dangerous and difficult is moving I must go down to the town. I recover the skis and keep going between the trees. The wound hurts. Near the ski resort I see a fox. It looks back, fearless. I arrive and go directly to the clinic.
It doesn’t look good, says the nurse. She can’t believe the wound is not infected under the dirty bandages. Healing is painful. I keep quiet. She gives me antibiotics. I spent the night at Nito’s house, his mother coming all the time with hot coffee and sandwiches. She says I’m crazy trying to stay up in the Refugio so much time alone and under these snowstorms.
Friends come and go down here in town. Cars, motorcycles and a few lorries. Noisy place. I’m hungry for silence. I need to go back up to my Refugio. The quiet grandness of the snowed valley, the tall trees, the sunny slopes.
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| Refugio Piedritas (Club Andino Esloveno) |
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