Sertão Zen

Hidden in the depths of South America, nestled between the Brazilian Amazon to the north and the Pantanal wetlands to the south, lies the Cerrado.  Some say the Cerrado is the old grandfather of the Amazon, unnoticed in its tread through millennia.  Rivers are braided through the canyons and valleys and waterfalls cascade from the jungle as majestic toucans skim through the misty air. 

It’s said the region represents the heart chakra of the world.  Lore of aliens is common amongst the natives.  2.5 million years of biodiversity – now the Cerrado all but hides from the rapacious thirst of industry and man – greed driving his foolish quest to deforest the land and plant soya that’s fed to livestock around wealthy nations across the world.  

Deep within the Cerrado lies a small outpost town where one can access the precariously protected national park, Chapada Dos Veadeiros.  Alto Paraíso – high paradise. It is here in Alto Paraíso where one launches into the hidden realms of the Chapada.  Where fusion with the rhythm of planet can occur.  A launch pad into the sacred lands of the universe. 

One simple road descends into Alto Paraíso, where one is immediately met with rustic crystal shops displaying giant slabs of Chapada quartz on the clay dusted sidewalks and in the windows, next to coconut sized purple amethysts from South Brazil. Art from native tribes and jewelry adorned with macaw feathers and acaí seeds are intermixed with local Brazilian artisan paintings, enrapturing spiritual seekers who wander from different corners of the world. Languid cafes serve regional coffee and organic acaí with baru nuts, where esoteric conversations float between tables and invitations for waterfalls and cleansing retreats spread fluidly amongst the patrons. Toucans and macaws sway on branches in the trees hanging over the main street’s walkway – the air of the wild Cerrado interwoven into the fabric of the city.

Eco tourism maps are ubiquitously displayed around the modest town with natural attractions for the adventure seekers to ponder and explore.  Within the map of exuberant aqua-treasures of the Cerrado, each waterfall is explained along with a nondescript photo next to the image.  Ever since my first visit to the Chapada, one waterfall in particular pulled my attention, as if a dash of hypnosis came rising from the poster. This photo was much less revealing than the others, with most of the water blanketed by impending boulders, while a green valley lay peaking out from the corner of the frame.  Rectangular blocks of stone stacked on one another like a psychedelic game of jango, various sizes of stone splayed in different directions.  Compared to the other photos of cascading giants and turquoise pools of paradise, this photo in its appearance, was all but average.  Nevertheless, an eager curiosity brewed inside me.  Perhaps it was in the unique categorization; ‘very difficult.’ Or perhaps it was the feeling that there was something missing from the photo, a lack of perspective concealed from the viewer, a lack of breadth.  The short description below the photo explained the trail would begin a strenuous climb up exposed rock, eventually leading to a long trail where one could easily become lost in the vast Savannah.  A guide was therefore required to accompany a new hiker.  The difficulty enticed me.  Most of all, I think what drew me in was the name of the destination, simple yet enchanting, powerful yet subtle – Sertão Zen.  

After a dozen journeys to the Chapada Dos Veadeiros, I finally had the time and the solitude to approach Sertão Zen.  The challenge enticed me and I was prepared to venture into the wilderness alone.  Despite my desire to press against the edges of my own safety, friends in Alto Paraíso confirmed that I needed to find a guide.  Connections in Alto Paraíso are like pages of a treasured fantasy novel, each page turned held a new oddity, another compelling character appeared.  It was so that I met Bhanva.  My friend Cristoforo recommended that I check out her clothing shop, which sat adjacent to a mystic cafe selling açaí, coffee, vegan pastries and locally sourced Rapé. So it was, that I casually breezed through her selection organic linens and organic cotton shirts, mostly just flowing with the cosmic frequency of Alto Paraíso.  The slow bpm electronic music in Bhavna’s store fit the unique vibe of the Chapada and I felt my body casually move to the sounds.  Bhavna, who was behind the counter, didn’t say much, but after a few moments we slid into conversations about the music, which then lead to sharing stories of festivals, Burning Man and Universo ParalIo, before finally landing on the Chapada and it’s most secretive trails and treasured waterfalls.  I told her about my mission to reach Sertão Zen and began calling local guides.  I called a guide that I’d met a few days before and he told me he would take me to Sertão Zen for 350 reals.  Bhanva overheard my conversation with the guide approaching a barter, and she pressed her lips together in thought.  Finally she quietly and sternly announcement “For 350 reais, I’ll take you to Sertao Zen myself.”  Bhavna was not a practicing guide but she was certified and traveled the Chapada since she was sixteen.  She kindly agreed on 150, and so it was, she would be my guide.  

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Climbing a thousand steps of steep jagged rock, we pressed up the switch back ascent.  The sun continued to rise steadily, pressing sweat from my body, dripping its way back into the earth.  The urge to walk, to move forward, pulsed through my muscles and bones – a primal thirst – the unquenchable novelty of discovery.  Upwards and onwards Bhavna lead the way, her pace magnificent in its relentlessness, her laconic demeanor inspiring in its fortitude.  Her tempo pushed me to the edges of my own capabilities, moving swiftly up the fully exposed rock face under the warming Cerrado sun.  Her thin, sinewy frame hid a strength that clung to her bones.  The type of strength from years of treks and crossings throughout the Chapada – years of being tested against the elements.  Between us, we shared few words – preferring to satiate the appetite for silence that beckoned from the mountain top.  

Our lungs pulsed and expanded in our chests as we looked back towards Alto Paraíso.  Prana circled through my system and I could feel the spinal energy spiraling upwards into awakening.  From atop the canyon, the small town of Alto looked yet smaller still, dwarfed next to the endless rolling hills and canyons that enveloped it.  

We stopped on a gargantuan slab of stone that overlooked the Chapada from the North, the vista stretching out before us.  Bhavna carried a message from the Andes in her bag. The sacred cactus – and along with the silence we shared the Pachonoi – a fusion with the tribal dust.  

We slowly became yet more perspicacious in our connection with the land.  With each step we noticed the cracks time left on the stones – we noticed each flower that grew from within the cracks, and the intricate fractals within each petal.  

After cresting the first ascent, we came upon an open expanse of Cerrado grassland, rolling south-east along the Chapada mountain spines that lie splaying from east to west, before cresting down into the valley beyond. The massive plateau molded into the canyons, stretching the distance of mind beyond lands of limitless imagination.  It was upon this open expanse of grass where sudden downpours of heavy rains would birth creeks that engulfed the trail and spin ill-fated hikers in amorphous directions, like a shattered asteroid floating through the void.  Search missions would ensue and hikers would be lost in the wilderness for days on end.  But not us, not today – our mission imperturbable, as the dry savannah grass swaying rhythmically in the wind, rooted in its dance with the elements.  

A swath of Mata de Galeria (Gallery Forest) arose and spread through the open grassland, juxtaposing the rugged stones and the weather hardened brown grass – an oasis birthed in the grass sea of savannah.  The gallery forest only appears along river corridors or above natural springs, where a micro biosphere rises in solitude amongst the intermittently arid biosphere of the Cerrado. Teeming with hundreds of endemic plant species, the rare rainforest is a fusion of the Amazon to the north and the Atlantic Forest further east, which makes a cornucopia of sounds and colors that rise from the forest.

 As the wind traveled across the dry vista, layers of colors rippled through the lush rainforest, a kaleidoscope of green drifting through perception. The water source springing from the earth could be felt in the rainforest’s depths.  Juçara palm trees splayed tropical leafs that hung outward, leaning above the thick trunks of the evergreen Guarea, with giant silver trunks thick as elephants.  Myriad plant species intermixed among the larger trees, exotic and rare flowers within the green, composing a mind bending integration of biodiversity stretching along the river hidden within.  

We moved across the savannah like two cosmic explores on an undiscovered planet, floating across the open land in our rhythmic fusion between ourselves and the Cerrado.  The clouds shifted and transformed, melting back into the sky while morphing into new shapes all at once.  

The trail sloped downwards, parallel with the verdant oasis – a narrow passageway that stretched between the rugged stones.  

Bhavna shared her first words in what felt like miles, “chegamos no Olho da agua” – we had reached the Eye of Water.  Hidden within the vast open space of the Chapada, was a two meter wide, shimmering pool of what was the clearest water I had ever seen. Its transparency reflected the sky, and clouds rippled across the waters glass like surface.  The pool sat just below the wind line, creating a perfect mirror that reflected the secrets of the Cerrado, and life’s essence bubbled up from the depths of the earth in seemingly infinite abundance.  The pool had the appearance of seeming shallow, yet its bottom was elusive, hidden beneath the veil of clouds and the reflection of sky.  Water so pure that I asked myself, “Is this reality?”  In the pools’ existence was the universe itself.  The Cerrado was a dome around us. The bright red and blue macaw called in the distance as it soared across the valley beyond.  

The Olho da Agua marked a turning point in the terrain, and a vast vista opened in each direction, framed by a line of craggy mountains that looked like the spiny back of a dinosaur, its head plunging into the earth.  The trail continued to slope downwards, with the sound of the water intensifying as we moved away from the savannah and the Cerrado grass that slowly danced in the wind.  

The trail meandered along the strip of Mata De Galeria, guided by the gentle sound of water gurgling beneath the primeval jungle.  The subliminal island of forest within the high plain was rife with bird song and other exotic smells and sounds, which flowed into the the arid land surrounding this strip of forest, like a brightly colored painting melting into the white canvas.  

The trail descended along the path with the Galeria on our right.  Bhavna’s flinty pace continued, a relentless ballet over stone and trail. Step after step, she glided over different sized rectangular boulders, stacked criss crossed along the trail.  The gentle cascading motion of the water began to transform and twist into a reverberating vibration that entered the body and awakened luminosity in the mind.   Bhavna and I shared little words, but our eyes would lock in deep connection, as our flow down the river was linked by the impenetrable peace we shared from being farther and farther away from civilization.  

The energy increased as we descended down the stones.  Boulders leveled out so the water would surge over the edge, forming rumbling waterfalls pouring into opulent pools, magnificent creations from the dreams of mother nature.  We walked and drifted forward into our expansion of solitude.  Moment by moment, the water became louder and the mist from the waterfalls became thicker – the sheer scale of the Cerrado engulfed us.  

We emerged from the Mata Galeria and looked out into an open expanse.  My mind was rapt with the growing intensity of the water rolling over boulders, coalescing with the continued weight of our silence.  We slowly and steadily merged with the land.  

After passing several more three to five meter high waterfalls that poured into blue and gold pools, we came upon a wider opening in the corridor of boulders.  As we approached the edge, a vibration shook through the earth and the anticipation bubbled within my being.  When we emerged from the trees we stood before a magnificent ten meter high waterfall, cascading into a pool of dark, golden water.  The bellowing rumble of energy had the magnitude of a falling comet, never-ending in it’s descent through the galaxy, the water pouring into the golden sea, endlessly.   The pool was at least fifteen meters wide and another ten across, spilling out over a stretch of smaller pools and terraces of boulders, before finally plummeting over the cliff into the valley below.  The falls disappeared into the depths of the valley – rippling green mountains rolling into lands unseen and untouched by humans. The realm of the animals and the ancient spirits of the Cerrado.  The journey engulfed the destination, and without knowing we had reached the end of the trail. We stood upon and within – Sertão Zen.  

We climbed higher on the cliff to look back upon the waterfall and out into the pulling motion of that great wild expanse. Across the canyon, a fifty foot wide chasm separated our side to the another cliff opposite the falls.  Stone shaped by the eons stacked in strange shapes and angles, forming solidified monoliths holding the truths of time.  Ancient faces of indigenous warriors and alien species carved into the mountainside by wind, water and the vastness of time.  

Out on our perch looking out to the universe, there were the signs of another primate and the moments of its own contemplation.  A pile of neatly cracked Caatinga nuts lay empty on the boulder on the outermost ledge of the cliff.  The Capuchin monkey had sat on this same perch, using the stone tool and eating its eating his bounty from the gallery forest.  The Capuchin had chosen the same vista – the same sublime display of the Cerrado.  The monkey had listened to the same profound resonance of the waterfall, the vibrations rolling through its being.  As I contemplated my connection to the Capuchin, my ears picked up gusts of wind beginning to howl, as it traveled over the valleys stones. As if blown in on the wind itself, bright green Parakeets screeched in unison and dashed through the sky, down into the protection of the valley.  The Guarea trees swayed and clacked together as a sky shattering thunderclap spread across the Chapada. The eternal secrets of the earth could be heard within the rhythm of the land and the vibration drifted through my cellular system.  

Bhanva’s face was set stoically, gazing into the distance, her hair wildly writhing in the gusts.  The clouds grew and shifted, and like an avalanche, in seconds and the sun was hidden behind a dark veil of clouds, the approaching monsoon in its wake.  

Sertão Zen was with me now, subtly making its way into the supple regions of my brain.  I could feel the water flow down my medulla oblongata, a warm sensation pouring down my spinal column. Energy spiraled – pure Prana alive within me. My blood became the river and my bones became the stones, as I slid deeper into the land.  The calls of the parakeets drifting across the valley sky echoed throughout my mind and I flew with them over the Cerrado.  The veil was lifted from my waking dream.  

Words lacked sustenance and our silence stretched across space and time. We had traveled to a place of the soul and our footsteps would overlap with those of the Capuchin, and with the ancient tribes before.  

Stars streaked across the galaxy and we traveled interstellar, our souls soaring through the universe.  Sertão Zen was our launching pad into the celestial realms of the ancient beings of the earth – a portal into the realms all but lost to mankind.  The sky darkened and the thunder rumbled in unison with the sound of the waterfall.  Movement was all around us.  In a streak of black and glowing orange, the toucan glided through the sky and down into the thickness of the Cerrado, finding protection in the swaying trees.  A lizard with bright green skin and tiny yellow spots, nearly phosphorescent, slid beneath the stones as moisture thickened in the air.  As a child follows the ways of her mother, so did we follow the wisdom of the beings of the Cerrado.  We leaned against a the protection of an overhanging square boulder as the thunder cloud approached, passing over us, the rain began to spatter the warm, sun drenched stones.  My reaction was to run to the trees for cover, but Bhavna rested in her wisdom behind the weight of the stone, her steady gaze resting out into the valley.  I followed her beneath the stone as the monsoon rain came pouring down.

The rhythm of the land, of the Cerrado, guided me now – the rhythm that had been there all along.  The rain poured down on the stones, soaking the earth – the song of the Cerrado echoed in triumph, steam lifting into the air.  

My mind was with the toucan, perched within the aggregate of trees and vegetation, flying out into the valley and beyond.  

Part of me forever stayed in that temple of high places, an eternal fusion with the land.  

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A comet streaked across the night sky, and it all comes back to me, flooding me like the river after the savannah monsoon.  Sometimes I hide from the wicked world around me, nestling into the corners of my mind – I travel back to Sertão Zen.  Just as the monkey hides under the stones while the thunder cloud rolls through the blackened sky.