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The night before our hike, Roberto told us that we must not bring any negative energy with us into the jungle. We must have positive energy in order to attract the things we want to see, and to keep away what we do not. Roberto was the Indigenous Kichwa man who would be guiding myself and nine others on a hike to a waterfall in the remote Amazon region of Ecuador. He was born in the jungle, and grew up living and hunting on the land. I had known Roberto for only four days, but something about him made me feel like I would trust him with my life. We entered the jungle with an eager curiosity. The use of all four limbs proved necessary in maneuvering through the muddy terrain. Each step was carefully calculated. Every movement had purpose. Everywhere I looked I saw some plant or insect species I had never seen before, or even knew existed. Following Roberto along the vague path I felt like a child, learning the world for the first time. Wherever the vegetation was thick, Roberto used his beloved machete to slash his way through to the trail. It seemed the machete was special to Roberto, he carried it with pride. He even used it to cut open the body of a poisonous caterpillar that had stung him, in order to extract the medicine contained within. I couldn’t help but wonder about the knowledge Roberto had accumulated over his lifetime in the Amazon, and how his worldview has been informed by his deep relationship with the land. I also wondered what a changing climate will mean for the livelihood of Roberto’s Kichwa community. As we came to a pause on the trail, Roberto proposed that we close our eyes for two minutes of meditation. “Listen to the sounds of the jungle, and imagine that you are the only one here,” he said. These were the most transformative two minutes of my life. The jungle sang with life all around me – a myriad of unfamiliar birds and insects. I was certain I was dreaming. I thought about my life back home – friends, university, work – yet with every passing second I felt further away from that life. I began to feel like a stranger in my own body. I moved my arms to test it – to be sure I was still there in physical space. I opened my eyes. Standing there in the jungle, I became utterly aware of how small I was. It occurred to me how little I understood about the world, and how little space I occupy within it. It was a helpless feeling, yet it was also an awakening. I couldn’t understand why I felt the strongest urge to cry. When we finally emerged into an opening where we caught our first glimpse of the waterfall, a sense of relief fluttered through me. I couldn’t look away. It seemed that the towering rocks enclosing the pool of fallen water had spent the last ten thousand years coming together to arrange themselves into their present form: a perfect cradle for this little piece of paradise. Slipping out of our muddy clothes and into the cool water, we washed the intense heat from our skin. I gazed up at the water falling from above and considered how I ever got so lucky to end up in this hidden corner of the world. Sitting on an elevated rock, elbows resting on his knees and observing the waterfall, was Roberto. I wondered how many gallons of water his eyes have witnessed succumb to gravity. What did it mean to him, to be sharing with us this land that could not be separated from his very identity? Just as I had felt after our meditation, I felt another kind of internal shift, and a powerful urge to cry. Only this time I could recognize where it was coming from. It was gratitude. Gratitude for Roberto, who shared with us his knowledge and guidance. Gratitude for nature’s unparalleled beauty, and for those who fight tirelessly to preserve it in the face of an uncertain future. Gratitude for this planet, and for all there is left to discover.