Lake Atitlan is a lake formed by an eruption 84,000 years ago that spewed ash as far as Florida and Equador. The expulsion of ash, and the collapse of the crater, formed a basin that spans 81 square miles. Like the Zen monk’s empty begging bowl waiting to be filled, the basin received endless rains that created an endorheic lake, one that has no outflow. Its depth is still uncharted. Three volcanoes frame the lake today: San Pedro, Toliman and Atitlan. San Pedro is the oldest, it rose from the earth around 40,000 years ago. Atitlan is the youngest, about 10,000 years old and its last eruption was in 1853.

On the way to Guatemala, I imagined the volcanoes, but not the lake.  The Volcano Atitlan's reflection shimmers in the water in colors as vibrant as the Mayan weavings, or as subtle as a child's shy smile.  I went for a writing and yoga retreat at Villa Sumaya on the shores of Lake Atitlan (www.celiajeffries.com/retreat).  The memory that is etched in my mind is the way the light played with the volcanoes and the water.

In the morning during yoga, I meditated on a cloud that sat above the mountain as if tethered to its top, unmoving, floating in the calm blue sea of sky while the wind ravaged the lake below, driving it relentlessly towards the shore,  It was an endless, incessant wind -- breath personified.  I could see my breath exhaled across the lake, and then returned to me in the waves coming across the water.  The warm cup of team, the smooth wooden floor beneath my bare feet, the sound of a trickle of water in a stream outside the window, these memories are a tether that ties me back to Guatemala.  They say if you swim in the waters of the lake, you are sure to return.  I did.