Today we climbed into the van and headed off to la Grotte de Labeil, a cave of multiple personalities, set in a rocky landscape. Near the entrance was a crematorium of pre-historic and Roman times. Beyond the site of the funerary fire sat a field of cremation urns from the pre-historic, iron, and Roman ages. A few steps further beyond, wheels of cheese ripened on racks. And a few steps more, bottles of red wine from five years ago aged in the cool. Such a mixture of opposites, things of death and of life.
We traveled deeper where bizarre stalactites (from above—remember, they have to hold on tight) and stalagmites are formed, their colors from minerals carried by the water’s drops. Such odd shapes! You would think that we’d
stumbled into someone’s nightmare.
And now, I have to confess. The tour was in French, so the information above may not be quite right. And I fear that I missed many subtleties mentioned by the guide. I felt much like the five year old boy in our group must have felt—understanding some things but not
all. This beginner’s mind, a Buddhist concept, is tough. To let go and realize that one is missing good stuff by stepping out of the known into unfamiliar terrain. Like those explorers who first pushed past the urns, cheese, and wine to find shapes and colors of rock not found above ground.
