WORDS BY TAMSIN CUNNINGHAM

PHOTOS BY EOIN CAREY, JOHNNY ST OURS AND FRANCISCO HEREDIA

The entrance to Cueva de Los Tayos is a 65m deep chasm formed by the constant flow of water from the forest above, boring down into the limestone of which the cave is formed. The sheer sides of this shaft are always wet; the striations in the slippery rock gleaming in the light for as long as it reaches into the void. But the downwards reach of illumination does not stretch to the bottom of the chasm and so, when beginning the descent into the cave only a pitch blackness awaits.

Traditionally the Shuar used vine ladders to descend into the cave to collect the fledgling Tayos birds which give the cave its name. Now the journey is made with the help of rope and harness to lower oneself down into the centre of the void or abseil down the vertical walls of the entrance.

The threshold here is more than just physical. Even the Shuar, renowned for their fearlessness, use a traditional song when descending into the cave to evoke bravery. For anyone approaching the cave for the first time this is a threshold of fear, a threshold into the unknown, a threshold into liminal space a world governed by a different set of rules than the world above.

What are the thresholds you have been drawn to explore yet fear to cross?

How can you study that fear and learn to cross the threshold not led by it but with it by your side?