I have spent the past two-years learning to impersonally unbound the knotted threads of my attachments, by recapitulating memories of choices made in past lives and this one, to “see” the essential structures of my soul and how it connects to the matrix of life. Through this process I have consciously worked to refine affinities that hold me back from experiencing my essential nature — my divinity — and keep me from living life fully. Do I have the courage to be a luminous warrior? I don’t honestly know. But, in my uncertainty I know that that is the only question of any real meaning to me anymore. I am so appreciative and grateful for all my life experiences that have brought me to this point.
Running late, I wash and dress in record time. Just as I finish repacking my daypack for today’s adventure, Jerry knocks on my inside window and asks if I’m ready to go down to breakfast. For once, I am ready — and anxious to share my insights! This morning we are the only ones at breakfast. Fresh pineapple juice, a roll, two poached eggs, and sausage links. Soon others arrive. Alberto Villoldo, our mentor and expedition leader, joins us for a few minutes. Most of the people from the Amazon trip are flying home this morning. However, several, including my friend Suzi, are staying on and joining our expedition to Ausangate or heading to Lake Titicaca. Suzi will be my roommate for the remainder of this adventure.
After breakfast I check out of my room and arrange for my luggage to be temporary stored until our group leaves in a few hours for Pisa’q. Jerry, Suzi (who arrived last evening) and I make plans to leave immediately for the Santa Clara Market, and soon others express interest in joining our excursion.
Santa Clara Market
It is still early when we arrive. The durable goods vendors have not yet set up their stalls. To bide our time we wander inside and head for a stall selling ingredients used by Andean shaman — condor skeletons, feathers of all kinds, Aqua de Florida, incense, despacho kits, coca leaves, and much more. While several people begin negotiating prices for feathers, a man walks up to Jerry and shakes his hand. At first Jerry does not recognize this man in street clothes, but seconds later he says, “Buenos dios, Francesco.” |
Shopping for ponchos and ceremonial cloths with five other people is bedlam. I am so grateful Jerry and I met Berta and made our purchases several days ago. Confusion. Noise. Chaos. Looking at each other, we smile knowing the quiet and smooth flowing energy we experienced for the past few days has shifted. Rather than hanging around while the others shop, we opt to leave and head off to the Inca Museum. Enroute we stop to check email. A little worried because there is still no word from Rick, I call home. It is great to hear his voice, which is sleepy. He fills me in on how he and the “boys” are doing: Diavello Bello, our middle Boxer pup has had an abscess reoccur that required another surgery to drain fluid from the side of his head; Cody, our three-month old Boxer is in the throes of taping and training his newly cropped ears to stand upright; and, Magic, our “Ever-Ready” nine and a half year old is doing well despite being crippled from a brain aneurism for almost half his life. He continues to live up to his name and with the sweetest of dispositions. Rick’s health has been mostly OK, though he continues to experience energy surges that bring on a sense of dis-ease and anxiety. Generally, all are doing fine. When asked what he would like me to bring back, he reminds me of the sculpture reproductions from the Chenkay period we saw while staying at the Pueblo Inn in Aguas Calientes. I promise to do my best to find similar ones when I return to Cuzco in a few weeks.
Continuing on towards the museum, we shop along the Plaza de Armas for an extra pair of long-johns for the mountain expedition. During breakfast Alberto shared that the temperatures on the mountain can easily get down to 0 degrees Fahrenheit. Finally, all our last minute errands are done.
Inca Museum
Walking past the two women and a man, we enter the small office. No one is behind the desk. As we leave the office, Jerry asks the people sitting outside the doorway whether someone will be returning soon. Muttering under her breath, one of the woman gets up and motions us back inside whereupon she walks behind the desk and sells us two tickets. “The stupid gene!” we say together laughing.
Rather than go back upstairs, we opt to look at the textiles on display and those being woven by five small clusters of three people each. An American man comes over and explains that the weavers are part of a joint project, “The Center for Traditional Textiles of Cusco,” initiated by the Inca Museum and the University of Cuzco to “aid in the survival of Incan textile traditions and to provide support to weaving communities.” Apparently over time, many Andean communities “lost” their textile traditions including weaving and natural dying techniques, designs and the spinning of llama, alpaca and sheep wool. Working with the Center, Quechua-speaking men, women and their families are engaged in relearning their textile traditions while developing an economic livelihood for themselves and their communities based upon their authentic cultural heritage. Each week, three rotating members of the participating communities of Chinchero, Pitmarca, Chahuaytiri, Cccha Alta, Patabamba, and Mahuaypampa make the pilgrimage to Cuzco to spend five days weaving at the Museum. Their travel, room and board expenses are paid in part by the Center and the sponsoring community. A substantial portion of the sale of textiles at the Museum go to the respective community, while a small percentage is retained by the Center for its overhead expenses and continuing research to ensure that the 2,000 year old textile traditions, with its complex styles and techniques, are not lost for future generations.
The man we are speaking with is a Center volunteer. Shortly after adopting two Peruvian children four years ago, he and his wife moved to Cuzco so their children would grow up having a direct experience with their primary culture. Jerry and I spend more than an hour learning about the historical aspects of Andean weaving. Listening to the fascinating stories behind each of the textile traditions, I find myself scanning the displays and peering over the shoulders of the weavers as they work on back-strap and four-stake looms. The woven motifs represent the Quechua people’s connection to Pachamama, the sacred landscape of Mother Earth, and include depictions of her animal, plant, and human children as well, and the organizing beliefs that govern their way of life. Having started my own artistic career as a weaver, I am impressed by the high quality of weaving produced and sold through the Center’s project. Principally warp-faced, the visible designs are made by the warp threads that are strung on the loom, while the weft threads, which are woven into the warp, are completely covered. Another Andean technique employed is a double-faced weave that results when the same number of upper and lower warp threads are picked up to create the design. A third technique is ley pallay where only one color is dropped and picked up, resulting in a one-faced textile. The Center weavers use only hand-spun sheep, alpaca, and llama fibers, which are naturally dyed: an insect that lives in cactus, Cochineal, is used to make red, orange, and purple dyes; the indigo plant makes a beautiful blue; chillca leaves create green; and q’olle and kiko flowers are used to make yellow.
I am drawn back, repeatedly, to a 62 cm square textile in the Inkan Cross pattern that was created by Juliana Quispe Huallpa, who lives in the community of Pitumarca. I envision the cloth framed and hung in my own art and healing studio. Weavers such as Juliana, we are told, produce the finest textiles in this region using alpaca and sheep wool that is hand-spun. The Pitumarca weavers also use a technique known as ticlla, which dates back to the third century and was thought to be extinct. Two weavers were discovered who still practice this method, which employes two discontinuous warps that are linked in the middle.
As the hour is getting late, and we still need to eat lunch before meeting the rest of our group, I pay for my purchase and promise to come back when I return to Cuzco. On the way to lunch, I stop at an ATM to get more soles — each time I feel there is nothing more to buy, I find something irresistible like the weaving — so best be prepared! For lunch we decide upon Suisse Creperie, which we’ve past several times a day on San Juan de Dios. The walls of the restaurant are decorated with Swiss travel posters showing quaint Tyrollean villages, the Matterhorn, and other Heidi--esque images. Ordering food is always an interesting experience and this proves to be another one. The menu lists ham crepes, cheese crepes, mushroom crepes, etc. Having become a little wise to Cuzco restaurants, I ask if there is queso (cheese) in the ham crepe? “No,” I am told. I then ask if it is possible to have a ham crepe with cheese? “Si,” the young woman replies. Figuring that we have this “nailed” this, Jerry asks for a campaignon and queso crepe (mushroom and cheese). We both order agua sin gas. Finding a small vacant table, we put our intention to the waitress to bring some bread or rolls. We are disappointed. Fifteen minutes go by before the waitress reappears from behind a curtained area with our lunch. Each plate has a single crepe on it — no sauce delicately caresses its outer form, no garnish or vegetable side dish accompanies the lonely crepe. Just a single dry crepe. Laughing out loud, we both put our hands in prayer-position and looking upwards give thanks that we at least inquired about queso! Not much of a meal to linger over, we finish quickly, pay our bill, and head next door to the internet café.
Arriving back at the hotel the activity on the street is frenetic. Even more vendors line both directions along the street, and at least four-deep in front of the entry doors. We approach with a chorus of “No gracias” mingled with “Pardon.” Maneuvering our way in, it is exactly 1 p.m., and almost everyone who is supposed to be here, is. We wait another 30 minutes or more for the last stragglers who we fondly kid are on “shaman time.” The bus is packed with all of our bags, and soon the call is made, “All on the bus — pronto!”
After checking one last time to be sure that Jerry’s and my luggage were retrieved from temporary storage and packed on the bus, we thank the hotel staff and head out the front doors. Like the biblical parting of the sea, the vendors step back to let us pass — but not without pleas to buy postcards, water, textiles, jewelry, film, and cds. Jerry and I claim the second seat back on the right. Safe, we think, from the vendors. Not. They swarm after the stragglers of our group, encircling the bus. Over and over they call out pleading with us to buy their wares. Someone sitting behind us opens a window and starts negotiating for some jewelry. Damn! The fervor of the vendors intensifies. Someone else spots a poncho being sold on the street and makes a dash off the bus to try it on and negotiate a price. Turning to me, Jerry rhetorically asks, “Will we EVER get out of here?” Gone is the part of our trip when we made decisions without thought to anyone but us. “Relax. Close your eyes. We’ll be moving soon,” I say. Secretly I wonder how soon, soon will be.
On the Road to Pisa’q
In reality, both Jerry and I have been on this road before — on different trips with different people. We have both previously spent time in Pisa’q, along the Urubamba River, the Sacred Valley, and at Machu Picchu. But that was then, and this is NOW.
After an hour or so, the bus pulls over at a scenic overlook and we all pile out. The Urubamba River below makes a 90 degree turn, flowing towards Ollantaytambo and Machu Picchu, where it becomes part of the headwaters on the Amazon River. Descending into the Urubamba River Valley, Marco points out potatoes drying in the fields. Farmers dig up the potatoes, leaving them lying on the fields so the nighttime and early morning frosts begin dehydrating them. After several good frosts, the farmer’s family walk on the potatoes to break the skins and press out water so they further dehydrate. The potatoes are gathered up after a few more days of frost and stored in sacks for up to a year.
Other major crops in this area include barley, quinoa, and amaranth, which are cut by hand and laid out on the ground to dry in the sun. Next, the farmer leads his horse around and around on the cut crop to begin the process of separating the grain from the chaff. When the afternoon winds begin to blow, the farmer pitchforks the grain up into the air so the lighter chaff, too, blows away. The grain is then bagged and either stored or sold.
Around 3 p.m. we arrive at the Royal Inka III hotel, in Pisa’q. As we exit the bus it is announced there will be a group meeting in one hour, and a fire ceremony at 7 p.m. before to dinner. The way to the reservation area is through a large, cobbled courtyard, with a fountain at its center. Beyond is a lounge with a fireplace pool table, and grouping of club chairs and love seats. The bar and dining room are a few steps above. It is a very attractive hotel. To the right of the courtyard there is a chapel for meditation and prayer.
Suzi and I share a spacious room with a view of the mountains surrounding Pisa’q. Several llamas graze in the already harvested fields behind the hotel. A flip of a sole and Suzi claims the king-size bed. Mine is full-size and situated next to the window. A call goes out that our luggage is ready to be picked up. Not wanting to drag my two overstuffed duffles up three flights of stairs, I ask a porter for assistance. Effortlessly he hoists a bag onto each shoulder and double-strides up the stairs. After unpacking we heave Suzi’s tent, which is still moist from 10-days spent on the humid Amazon, over the rafters above her bed to dry. In a few days her two-person tent will our “home” on Ausangate. For now, the tent definitely makes an interior design statement! With only a few minutes left to freshen up we find ourselves hurrying down to the lounge for our first community (allyu) meeting.
With cups of matte de coca in hand, we drag seats over to a makeshift circle. Alberto begins by announcing that a rumored General Strike will indeed begin the day after tomorrow, and last two to three days. As a consequence our trip itinerary has been altered, though we will do all the things planned, just in a different sequence. What a perfect demonstration of a masintin or like-energy response to a “feminine” (unanticipated, spontaneous and chaotic) event. Instead of getting frustrated that the structure of external events are not unfolding as anticipated, flexibility is employed to rearrange our itinerary and renegotiate the requisite contracts and commitments, without fuss.
Alberto goes on to say that the president of Peru and its central government want to privatize the electrical, mining, and other utility functions. Apparently, this is a model the president is familiar with having come from the World Bank. Many Peruvians fear this will direct money into the pockets of a few causing even greater economic disparity. As a result, strong opposition is expected with wild demonstrations including rock throwing and road closures. All businesses will close in support of the strike including hotels, restaurants, airlines, trains, buses, taxis, schools, hospitals, and others. “Roads will most likely be closed,” Alberto tells us. “Therefore, it is impossible to go to Machu Picchu as scheduled.” He goes on to outline the revised itinerary:
Thursday — Moray — overnight camping at the Temple at Moray; feminine energy; place of the goddess; Pachamama. Friday — Leave Moray; visit salt mines and Ollantaytambo; lunch at Chino's home where the Four Winds Society is establishing a study center; oversight at the Royal Inka III hotel in Pisa'q. Saturday — Drive to the trailhead for our trek to Ausangate; lunch; hike to our first campsite to overnight at a hot springs around 12,000 feet elevation. |
Sunday — Horseback or hike to the Blue Lagoon at the belly of the mountain, just below snowlike; ceremony with Q'ero at the glacial male and female Jaguar lagoons; this will be our base camp. Monday — Horseback to the Rainbow Lagoon (17,500 feet); health permitting don Mariano, Keeper of the Rainbow Lagoon, will bless us; ride back to base camp. |
Tuesday — Return to Pisa'q; overnight at the Royal III hotel. Wednesday — Drive to Ollantaytambo; train to Aguas Clients; spend day at Machu Picchu; evening ceremony at ruins; overnight at the Machu Picchu Inn. Thursday — Train back to Ollantytambo; drive to Cuzco; overnight at the Royal Inka I hotel. Friday — Cuzco — free day. Saturday — Fly to Lima. Sunday — Fly home. |
Once our introductions are complete, the two guides — Marco and Karina — introduce themselves. Both are from this region of Peru and speak Quechua as well as Spanish and English. Along with logistical responsibilities, they will serve as interpreters for the medicine people traveling with us. Interestingly, Marco served as the Andean guide on the trip Rick and I took four years ago through the World Wildlife Fund. Though he did not remember me, he immediately felt the energetic connection that occurs when meeting someone again.
Inviting the Q’ero medicine people to join our circle, Alberto says, “We are the body of the Inka prophesy; the eagles of the North.” He explains that the focus of our journey is the body of knowledge that comes through the teachings of the Inka lineage. “This is why we’ve all been called here,” he continues. “The Q’ero are coming from the 15th century — the time before conquest — to the twenty-first century both physically and spiritually.” He invites and encourages us to make individual appointments to work with these medicine people. “The Q’ero work primarily in four areas — salud (health), ayni (balance), familia (family) and spiritu (spiritual evolution).” The cost for a one-hour session is 50 soles ($15 US) — amazing opportunities for next to nothing!
Then the moment arrives when the Q’ero who will be teaching and initiating us in ceremony take turns introducing themselves.
Francesco, whom we met earlier this morning at the Santa Clara Market, introduces himself next. He is a former leader of the Q’ero nation, a revolving position so that power and authority are never fixed. While we are on Mount Ausangate he will give us the Hatun Karpay, an energetic transmission of power — that will gift us seeds for greater conscious awareness. Alberto interjects that this karpay is presently the highest rite of passage that has been transmitted to the Q’ero. |
He also explains the prefix “don” is used as a courtesy when addressing elders in this culture, and because Francesco is a young shaman he is not yet addressed as such. Doña Berna, a renowned healer from the Valley of Cuzco tells us in her introduction to “come to the Mountain with great intent and love.” Her healing power is directed at the physical level. |
Last to be introduced is doña Bernadina, another Q’ero elder, and wife and partner of don Humberto. “Together,” she tells us, “we walk in power” as healers. Her specialty is soul retrieval, and we are assured she is a “fierce” tracker. This means that she is able to unrelentingly track energy to its source. Throughout the introductions I notice she is chewing coca leaves. |
Wearing long underwear, a turtleneck shirt, sweater, down vest, wool hat and gloves, and new poncho, I am ready for tonight’s fire ceremony. The fire pit is across the street from the hotel requiring us to walk past the vendors who line the roadway on either side of the entrance gate. “Buenos noches, senorita, my name is Mercedes Benz,” a woman calls out to me. Suzi groans. “Buy from me, lady!” she persists. “No gracias,” I say. “Perhaps later,” she replies. It is remarkable how different and chaotic the energy field is outside the hotel grounds. The excitement and peace I felt only moments ago becomes totally disrupted. Now, I feel only pissed off. Don’t these people know that now is not the time? The answer is no. It doesn’t matter to them. In my heart I know there is no difference between “these” people and me. They are trying to earn a living — that basic and primal need is all consuming. We are the means to their end. And, their ancestral culture, an animistic cosmology, is the means to my end. Nothing more. Nothing less. All is one. Calm begins to return as I walk along the non-illuminated path. Suzi leads me on a detour to see a caged condor. In the darkness it is difficult to see the bird. The moon has yet to rise, but its breath and strong wing movements are audible and unmistakeable.
The fire pit is situated in an open field. Across from where I stand are the Q’ero medicine men and women. They sit quietly in stillness, their energy contained. Steadily, as others drift in, our circle fills out. Alberto begins the ceremony by calling in the directions. The smell of Agua de Florida begins to transport me to an altered state. The fire is lit. I go deeper with the start of drumming, rattling and singing. Barefoot, doña Berna begins to rhythmically dance around the fire using slow, sideways steps. I blow a prayer for this trip into the Pachamama stick that is passing around. Later, after it has been imprinted with all our prayers, it will be offered to the fire so our prayers may be transformed. Alberto makes an offering of scented oil to Pachamama, then pours a little on the flames, which rise up to accept the gift. More singing, rattling and drumming. Another offering is given to the fire in honor of Wiracocha. It is a hot fire. Flames lick up to the sky. The singing, rattling and drumming continue. Some people are swaying — eyes closed. Doña Berna continues to move around the fire. A third offering is made, this time acknowledging each of us for “showing up.” The fire again reaches up to lick the oil being offered. More time passes. When the fire becomes “friendly” Alberto approaches. Suzi shields him with energetic protection from behind as he offers a Spirit Arrow, which has been imprinted with prayers, to the fire so it can be released. Next, he calls the essence of his prayers back into his llankay (belly), munay (heart center) and yachay (third eye) energy centers, and cleanses his mesa in the fire. This cleansing process, using water or fire, is known as chuyaska, and can transform limiting beliefs, emotions or actions into one’s source of power — conscious awareness through the direct experience of a healed state of being.
We, in turn, repeat this ritual approaching the fire from the four cardinal directions. Suzi motions for me to provide protection as she approaches the fire. Arms outstretched, it is my responsibility to ensure that no unwelcome energetic force harms her. When she is done, we switch places. Holding a Spirit Arrow to my third eye, I craft my prayer: “Pachamama, Wiracocha, yapa apu-kuna, please help me release everything that keeps me from being fully present and available to the teachings this journey offers — most especially the judgements and doubts I hold.” Then, placing the Spirit Arrow to my lips I imprint prayer onto it with my breath. After placing the Spirit Arrow on the fire, I call back the essence of what has been released — my unconditionality — into each of my three energy centers. Before leaving the fire, I breathe two more prayers into other Spirit Arrows, one on behalf of a client and the other for Rick, and place these in the fire. My prayer for both is that all obstacles in their paths of healing be gently removed.
The ceremony continues. After the last person has made her offering, Alberto closes the directions. Several people stay to tend the fire until it is fully burned out. Suzi, Jerry and I head back to the hotel, in silence, for dinner. It was a beautiful fire ceremony. The moon, now risen, illuminates the path back to the road. The Southern Cross stands out against the black night sky. All is perfect.
The soft, peaceful energy of the fire ceremony is challenged by the chaotic energy and noise of the street vendors as we near the roadway. “No gracias,” we quietly say trying to hold on to the serene state of well-being that envelopes us. Without insistence they let us pass. Silently, I express my gratitude for their thoughtfulness. The lights within the hotel are almost too bright until my eyes readjust. Suddenly I realize how hungry I am. A table in the dining room is selected, and matte de coca and agua sin gas are brought to our table. The menu is the same as the Inka I and Inka II hotels, so ordering is easy. I order garlic chicken with steamed vegetables. Warm rolls are brought to the table. Still floating in the energy bubble of the fire ceremony, we talk little and grin a lot! Dinner is a balance of protein and carbohydrates.
Satiated, Suzi and I head back to our room. Wired with anticipation of tomorrow’s hike up to the Temple of the Falcon, Suzi and I chat away as we pull out clothes for tomorrow. My alarm clock is set for 6:30 a.m. After getting ready for bed, we each read a few chapters of our books. Mine, it turns out, is an ideal metaphor for this trip. Its story has to do with chess, and as I learn, chess itself is a metaphor for life and the quest for ayni. To create balance (ayni), both require a macro view and long-range strategy (Upper World) as well as flexibility and fluidity in adjusting to moment-to-moment challenges (Lower World). Success requires skillful mastery in holding intention while maintaining presence so one can navigate through ever shifting sands. In learning to live life in this way, I am discovering it takes much less effort (energy) to shift momentum, and the most unlikely possibilities become probable. | Chess is a metaphor for life and the quest of ayni — or right-relationship. Both require skill in negotiating the Upper and Lower Worlds. |