Under the calm surface of deep forested green that climbs the slopes of the volcano, made darker by the blackness of night in rural Central Java, a gentle rustling amongst the foliage punctuated by the crunching of breaking branches and desiccated leaves can be heard by the a community of indigenous wildlife that are by nature made wakeful by shimmering moonlight. Penetrating the lustre of once undisturbed nature are hikers who have forgone the option to spend the night in tents after hiking through the preceding day, courageously adventuring through the wilderness nurtured by a volcano, stirring within the darkness born from the sun’s absence. The climb is surely arduous yet they proceed with an unwavering determination with assured traction against a combined path of compacted earth and concrete, one step at a time, bolstered by the mollifying tranquility found in the slumbering life amidst the foliage, the refreshing touch of night’s air chill carried by a light breeze, and the hushed silent cheering between the hikers. In the gradually darkening moonlight, the hikers see small campsites made visible into coloured silhouettes illuminated by the dull brightness emitted from what are likely the gas lanterns kept inside the tents formed by persons in possession of similar ambitions. Quite naturally, the hikers stopped moving, as if caught in Medusa’s petrifying gaze, completely devoted to experiencing, literally, the start of a new day that is represented eloquently, without words, by the sun stretching its rays in rising wakefulness. What they felt is that of the sprinter’s immediate invigoration felt at the sound of the starter pistol fire to launch with every effort into a future ripe for the plunder.