Greenpath

Justo Celsi
 Greenpath

Greenpath

To even attempt to describe such a marvellous place should be

considered no less than disrespectful, but I will assume the
responsibility for such an offense; I would never forgive myself if
I didn’t. This untrodden location was merely a rumour when
baptized by early explorers in the 16th Century as “The Green
Path”, which may not be the most creative name, but it surely is
the most accurate. Accessing it would usually demand expertise
and equipment; the first we did not have when I convinced an
old group of companions to form an expedition.
Our party consisted of six men, including myself, which I
consider a fair number for the execution of such a task. Despite
being, as mentioned early, equipped with proper clothes and
tools, we were not mentally nor physically prepared for a trip so
harsh and so seemingly endless. Our souls had slowly escaped
from our bodies as we walked—or even climbed—steep trails
hidden by thicket, where we often slipped and tumbled. Our
skins were bathed in sweat, mud and even blood in the case of
those of us who got pricked by thorns. The environment
transitioned in a slow and painful way as we went far deeper into
the mountains, and we were each time surrounded by more and
more vegetation, wild creatures, and insects. The latter
represented the most of our calamity, as we were constantly

~1~
 Greenpath

tormented by bloodthirsty mosquitoes, some of them which

were of a size too terrifying for me to describe.
Despite the rainforest-hell we went through, my companions
and I had not for a minute doubted in desisting. Challenge had
always been for us a way to form an interesting bond, in which
we constantly encourage each other—parallel to a childish but
exciting and fierce competition between us—to go a step
further. I looked at my men’s faces; they wore no more affliction
than bewilderment, and I was able to distinguish in them a slight
spirit of challenge.
After such an exhausting day, we finally reached our first
camping spot. The trails became no longer steep, and the
mountain transformed into an enormous kind of plateau.
Darkness fell on us, and we barely had enough time to prepare
our tents, let alone to light a fire. Sleeping was not an easy task,
but, if not slept, I would at least say we were able take some of
the rest that we deserved.
No more than two hours after sunrise we broke camp and
resumed our journey. We walked for half the day until we finally
reached our destiny: an enormous cave entrance, dripping wet
and covered by hanging vines, which resembled the picture of
the entrance to The Green Path on our maps. From the outside,
we could see not much more than darkness, so we broke
through the vines to confirm that we were indeed in the right
place. We did not immediately confirm this assumption until,
after walking some meters through a narrow passageway—
narrow enough as to force us to walk on a single line—we finally
saw the light again, shining progressively brighter as the path
widened and slowly giving life to the colour green we were so
much expecting to see.
“Greenpath” laid before us: a long, semi-caved and overgrown
natural formation, enclosed on each side by limestone walls and
illuminated by various cavities on the cave ceiling. Even though
the pathways widened, narrowed, and changed direction

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 Greenpath

erratically, we interpreted the natural formation as a trail. On the

ground, muddy stones intertwined with unelevated vegetation,
moss, and fungi, and only three to five meters above us, hung
vines and stalactites. Looking at the scene, there was an
observable symmetry, a slight feeling that there might had been
some intention in the arrangement of every single element, but
only when understood as a whole. It was a magnificent view. We
ventured in excitement, but still, proceeded cautiously; none of
us risked clumsily falling by rashly stepping on a wet and mossy
stone. The air felt twice as damp, and breathing was not easy. As
we advanced, hours passed by, but we were merely aware of it;
we were mesmerized by mother’s nature work. The trail got each
time darker and darker, until we finally got to what seemed to be
the end of it, as our pass was interrupted by a stone wall. We
had set camp outside the cave, so we returned, fearing nightfall,
to the entrance.
We had gotten used to share silence and we had been silent
for most of the trip. However, having dinner under the starred
sky and drinking booze in front of the campfire we were proudly
able to set despite humidity, things were different. It was not
even near midnight that we started revisiting past moments, and
suddenly, every one of us had a story to tell. The first story was
that of a boyhood love that never happened, of an eternal
daydreaming that never evolved past a dream, of words
unuttered and poems unread. The next story was that of a
broken friendship, of a friendship which had not crashed down,
but deteriorated gradually over the years, and of an unwritten
contract which had expired. The third, was that of the dark
legacy of a father unknown to its children, of the deepest of
absences and of the humorous culture revolving it. The fourth,
was a mutual confession of childhood hatred and despise
between two of the men which have curiously sat next to each
other on the same log surrounding the bonfire.
When it was my turn, I hesitated to even open my mouth.
When I took enough courage to do so, I decided I would not. The
~3~
 Greenpath

reason? An unexpected event which captured all of our

attention: Innumerable fireflies buzzed around us, having
appeared unnoticed, as all our eyes had been fixed on the fire,
and our ears on the amusing anecdotes. Flashing their lights, as if
they were flashing them at us, the swarm gently headed towards
the entrance of Greenpath. We followed them, driven by the
force of curiosity that drives every child to discover everything
that is new for them, but also by the feeling that mother nature
had laid for us a revelation. As it had been before, the dark
pathways became each time brighter the deeper we ventured,
but this time it was not sunlight, but moonlight which quietly
poured through the cracks.
I was already aware that synchronization of flash patterns
occurred in several species of tropical fireflies, but the rest of the
crew, being not, were profoundly astounded by their behaviour.
My attention was drawn to one particular bug: Its light flashed in
a different pattern, almost opposite of every other. I kept my
eyes on the insect’s course as it flew and approached it as it
reposed on a large stone on the right side of the trail. It was
then, after discovering an unseen narrow passage, that I
uncovered the mystery. I gave a loud shriek in excitement and
called out my companions, who doubtfully came after me,
crouching through the strait opening unto a large and enclosed
cave, illuminated only by another group of countless fireflies,
flashing their lights at the same rate as the mysterious bug which
had earlier caught my attention.
I must admit, the reaction my friends had to the discovery
surprised me. For a moment I thought they had all gone mad;
they seemed lost or even hypnotized and walked slowly and
clumsily. Each of them went silently on their own way, and I took
no consideration in following them. Instead, I laid on my back, on
top of a large rock, and rested while I looked upwards, admiring
nature’s dance.
Hardly had I managed to regain my breath than my respite was
interrupted by loud and incoherent voices. Fear grew within me
~4~
 Greenpath

as I approached what seemed to be the greatest example of

lunacy I had seen in my entire life: Each of the men, who had
accompanied me for the last four days and were, to me,
obviously sane and not as drunk to have lost their senses, were
speaking out loud to entities non-existent. The scene had
inexplicably become unsettling, as the fireflies came to form
different distinguished groups, and flashed their lights as in a
chain reaction, right in front of the bewitched men’s eyes. I
cannot explain how terrified I was when, as if stricken by a
sudden lethargy, I faltered, unable to stand on my two feet, and
sunk deeply into sleep.
I was awoken in heavy confusion some hours later by my
companions. They all seemed to bear a truth of which I was not
aware of, and I immediately demanded for an explanation, which
was given to me while we made our way back through that
mystic mountain, covered in orange by the sunrise. However, it
was hard for a man of such skepticism as I am to believe such
stories as the ones told by these men as we went again through
the rainforest-hell. It was hard for me to believe that, on that
night of mystic dreams, someone had actually seen and spoken
to his missing father, or that someone was actually able to give a
kiss to the girl of his dreams. It was hard for me to believe that
someone had clarified to his dead friend the actual reason why
their friendship came to an end, or that someone was able to
look, from an outside perspective, at the meaningless childhood
brawls he had with his friend and share with him the most
honest and cheerful laughter. It was hard for me to believe that
the mountains were alive and had heard all of the intimate
stories spoken out loud around that campfire, that night, on the
marvellous trails of Greenpath.

~5~