Bliss. Just. . .Bliss.

The Huachuma had sucked us all into the deepest recesses of our hearts, and we started our hike. I had no idea how long it would be, where we were headed, or how difficult the hike might appear, but I didn’t care. I had climbed Fire Mountain, I had taken on the energies of El Brujo, and I had looked into the eyes of God at Chavin. There was nothing unreachable, nothing I couldn’t achieve.

- Enlightenment.

The word rattled in my head as my feet fell, one before the other, in a steady stream behind my friends.

My boyfriend has experienced the true essence of enlightenment. The real deal. For over a week, he knew what is was like to be without resistance; to experience complete love, and nothing but. I heard his story initially and just fell awestruck; I hadn’t even known the meaning of the word before. I always imagined it was a Zen state of meditation; I really didn’t even know we could stay there, forever, if that was our dharma and desire.
Z is the one on the path of enlightenment. Why was this word echoing in my ears?

It wasn’t the first time, though — sitting on top of the life-giving huaca back at El Brujo, I was shown many visions. Z stood next to his former Guru, once again enlightened, and forever so this time. That made sense.
But the spirit whispered my potential too. She asked me to be open to my own greatness. I didn’t have to look up- I could just stand tall and know my heart too.

This time, as we walked, my hands trembled fearfully. This was a block even Huachuma couldn’t power through yet; I still couldn’t fathom it. I have issues with the word God, and all he represents, thanks to a difficult Catholic recovery. A familiar story. But that’s what I was asked to do, as I took in the majestic beauty of the most amazing place I’d ever seen – I was being asked to admit that I, and everyone else was God. That’s all we’re supposed to realize; there is absolutely no separation.
And if that was true…which I could agree too in spirit…
I was on the path to enlightenment. Me. The girl who once wore nothing but black and hissed at people who stared too hard. The girl so angry she could break walls and fists at times, and certainly no shortages of hearts.

We reached a space about 15 minutes up the mountain that felt like enlightenment should; bursting with love and lacking any fear or resistance. These amazing trees enveloped us, sporting several bright orange layers of bark, and a protective, energetic covering. We planted ourselves and found the deepest meditative state, collectively. We were helping each other ascend, and fall deeper into our hearts.
I couldn’t believe how easy it was….or how beautiful.

Suddenly, I started seeing myself back in that Peruvian hut; a lifetime ago, watching the world cave in. Watching myself be drowned in dirt as the earthquake that formed Heaven’s Gate killed 70,000 innocents. Jesus, why did this keep haunting me?

- Because you don’t believe.

I didn’t. I believed in past lives, almost completely, but this just seemed a tad too…convenient. How can it…?
There I go again, questioning divinity. It’s a bad habit.

We rose to keep walking once more, and about 5 minutes in, we all stopped to take in the view once again. It’s something we couldn’t seem to stop doing.

I plopped back-down on a nearby rock with V and we described the faces we were seeing in the rocks and clouds. Jaguars. Smiling clowns. Owls.
The usual.

Then I heard Howard say something. My hearing sucks, so I had no idea what the words were…I only knew I had to hear them.
I had an inkling, a little psychic thought — he was answering B’s question. He was telling us the date this Gate was formed. The day the killed 70,000 people and made Heaven on earth.
And I bet, I just bet…it’s on my birthday.

How did I freaking know this? What was making me think such things?

I sat up and raced over to Howard.

- Scuze me, what was that you were saying?

- Oh, well, B was asking when this whole thing happened.

- What date did you say?

- May 31st. May 31st, 1970.

My birthday is May 31st, 1975.
I lowered myself to the ground and placed my palms on her comforting firmness.
Oh. My. God.

I looked up at my Teacher with tear-streaks.

- Howard, that’s my birthday.

He grinned that trademark Chavin smile.

- Well then, two very important things happened on May 31st. Kitty was born, and Heaven was formed.

That was all I need to know – I, too, could be enlightened. And I died on this mountain once, just as I was finding Real Life again.

Me and Z, taking in the magnificent view.

We reached the top of the mountain after a long, treacherous climb. Flashes of the real world, and all it’s fear-filled consciousness, keep sneaking back into our sacred experience. Some of us were fretful about the condition of the bus. Some of us were feeling edgy, restless, and maybe a tad overwhelmed with the strength of it all, not to mention the finality. Our last dose together. Our last chance to let go and be real. To know our hearts just that much more.

At the top, a smattering of small buildings awaited, along with a beloved bathroom. We all bolted to our respective rooms, and I still held tight to my precious rock. I kept thinking about my best friends and tearing up. Jud and Aug and Nando and Gina and the Sacreds; people I would give my life for. I was infusing all these energies into the rock and clutched, hoping to grant them just a taste of what I had been blessed with. I was damn determined. I placed it all in the rock.

The bathroom was a mess. It was almost pitch dark, and in typical Peruvian fashion, didn’t have a toilet seat or a spec of paper. By now, we had remembered to plan ahead, but I stood in the stall staring into the black darkness, trying to remember how to unbutton my pants.
I think the whole process took about 15 minutes, but no one seemed to mind.

On my way out, I stopped at the ledge to look back down the mountain and take in the absolutely stunning view. P, an angelic female member of our posse–one that I hadn’t yet really connected to–stepped up beside me. I felt a jolt of familiarity rip through me, and I swung around to take her in.

- Oh my GOD.
She said, locking my gaze.

- The same? I mean, before?
I wasn’t making sense. But she understood.

- We’ve been here before.
She turned and grabbed my hands.
- We have, haven’t we? Right here. Taking in this view. We have!

I nodded in agreement; I was feeling the same trippy deja vu.
We clasped each other in a weighted, glorious silence and grinned stupidly.

- It doesn’t make sense, but there’s just no…

- Arguing it.

- Yes. Exactly.

It was such an absolute. Past lives were illuminated, and we felt infinitely bonded.
Just
Like
That.
Separation was no more.

We held hands and raced up the stone stairs, eager to rejoin our crew. But so freaking happy.

The entrance to Heaven’s Gate was just a short walk away. As we rounded the corner away from the buildings, everything came into view …
And by everything, I do mean *everything*.

It was mid-day, both cozy warm and crispy cold. Before us, the split mountain top stood, a giant chasm carved in the center. The 9.0 earthquake 37 years prior had split this majestic peak into 2, creating a mile-long crevasse where a gorgeous, deep green lagoon now stood. A few locals were riding a boat out into the center of it, and it appeared that they would disappear off the edge of the horizon. The water joined the two mountain peaks, creating on optical illusion; it really did look like we could walk off the planet and into heaven. The clouds touched down below the peaks, just out of reach, offering a ride to the top of the sky. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my whole life.

In the center of the lagoon, a concrete arrow was poured, connected to the shore. The arrow pointed toward heaven, and naturally, many of us wanted to be right there. Z and I bolted for the center of the object, and plopped down on our backs. I left my body and went hopping around the mountain tops and clouds, feeling protected and enlightened and so amazingly connected. I kept clutching my little rose quartz rock, talking to my best friends…telling them how beautiful life could be.
We make everything so difficult, I told the rock. All we have to do is let go and be love.

Z and I made eye contact, and I beamed my affections to him. He had been deeply reflective, and I knew what his next move would be. His large pyrite rock lay precariously in his hands; symbolic of his own power, and his resistance to his greatness. To prove he no longer wished to resist, he abruptly tossed the rock into the lagoon.

- I was waiting for you to do that.
I told him.
We shared a million words in one glance. It was magic.

I suddenly became keenly aware of my own rock, which had sat next to me on the concrete floor. I snatched it up and put it in a zippered pocket, as if to protect it from a certain dunking.

- Oh no you don’t. That’s for Judy. I can’t give it up.

Z gave me a knowing glance, and I fell back to my conversation with the water.

I lay on my belly and dangled my hands in the sea green liquids, asking for guidance. I was feeling a lot of conflict all of sudden; the Huachuma had gone full tilt. My eyesight seemed wacky, and I started to understand that I was diving farther in. My heart had released another layer.

I saw her – my best friend. I almost choked on the tears. I wanted her to have the same experience; to transcend along with me. I wanted it so bad I thought I would throw up. I was far too attached–I knew this. I knew that I had to let go. She had her own path to follow, and I had to respect the divinity, with or without a shared Journey.
Beyond that, I was told…well, there’s no need for symbolic gifts. I was asked to be the example of love I wanted for all of my friends, and none of that had to do with a rock.

I sat up quickly, grabbed my sacred stone, and tossed it with a dramatic plop.
Z nodded his approval.

- Judy doesn’t need a rock. She just needs you.

I squeezed his hand and agreed.

- Well, the mountain awaits.

We stood up a few moments later and joined the group. It was time to go on a hike, to tap into our creative cores and give one last shot at releasing all judgments, and merging with our divinities.

Some of the crystals for sale at the town near the base of Heaven’s Gate. I bought one of the sparkly pink ones for Best Friend Judy.

We stopped for a brief time at a little town nestled in a valley, right near the town’s square. We were all silly by then, looped up, vibrating, and wall-less. The bus halted outside an ice cream shop and we all sat, frozen and confused. Should we move? Talk? Get out? Stay forever?
Yes and yes.

Howard’s rallying cry lifted us into action.

We had 20 minutes. To shop, to buy water and chocolate, to ask the flowers the secret to their vibrant shades; whatever we needed. 20 minutes to lift off.

Z couldn’t move or function, so I had to give him my strength. He took it in spades, and we finally exited the bus. We headed for the street merchants; a whole scattering a lovely Peruvians, selling their various wares.

We saw some familiar bottles; these magnificent artistic carvings with gnomes and fantasy creatures emerging from the sides of the otherwise ordinary bottles. They spoke to us, but silently, and not strong enough to claim one as our own. We wandered the jewelry set-ups and clothing, bypassing a closer look.

Then we found the moving stones.

A kind woman at the end of the line had a line-up of rocks; and each one looked completely alive. I chose a rose quartz, Z picked a huge sparkling piece of gold fleck stone–we clutched them and sucked up the energies. I paid the modest fee and we triumphantly returned to the bus, rocks in tow.

- We’re going to the top of a mountain. There are hundreds of rocks up there.

Like it mattered. These were goddamn special.

Everyone slowly reassembled, and our chariot roared to life. Z and I both fell back into our headphones, and I consciously channeled my energies. I put every last powerful cell into my fingertips, merging with the divinities of my precious rock. I clutched the quarts so hard, specs pierced my flesh with tiny dotted markings. I loved her, my shiny rose memento. I loved her enough to give her away. I knew she’d be for J-Pie, my best best best best friend back in LaLa. My beacon of light. She deserved this.

The Sigur Ros tunes gave me a sense of infinite power, benevolent and holy. I swayed to the melodies, but over and over, I kept seeing the same image — I was standing in a tiny house, my eyes peering south through a miniscule square window. I was in a kitchen, cleaning dishes, absorbing the majestic blue beyond. Suddenly, I would hear a rumbling, and just as I turned to look, I was immediately buried in a wall of soil – and poof, I was gone.
Again and again, the skies rained the earth. Again and again, I perished, and rose again.

I understood the metaphor; we were about to pass over a burial ground; one formed 37 years prior by a 9.0 earthquake. The bodies of 70,000 innocents shivered beneath the tires. Their screams still muffled, their arms still outstretched.

Could I be one of them?

My mind still had a tiny echo inside; the remnants of my ego. She told me not to believe in past lives and such nonsense. She was trying to keep a grip.

But that didn’t last long. Before I knew it, Huachuma granted me another vision.

I saw Daniel Pearl. Daniel is the journalist who in 2000 was murdered by Pakistani militants. He was beheaded on video tape; a film that passed through millions of inboxes. Not mine, no; I couldn’t bare it, though my then-husband took the bait. Regretfully. Daniel, he always stayed close to me. I felt him the moment he was kidnapped, and I always maintained a connection.
And here he was once again, smiling before me. Why now? Why me?

That smile – it was so bloody familiar. I remembered quickly just how I knew it so well. There were photos that were shown during his kidnapped days, prior to his death; he had his hands shackled, his eyes blindfolded, and yet, he had a smile. This electric, divine, absolutely luminous smile. I knew I’d never forget it.
That was the first time I ever understood what it was to surrender to the Universe. The very first time. He was living the ultimate nightmare, and yet, he trusted. Even if he would lose his head, he trusted it would be beautiful.

I curled up on his smile and fell into the scenery. What did I have to surrender to?

- Everything, he told me.
- Everything, and nothing.

We reached our final pit stop just as he waved and disappeared.

A scene at Heaven’s Gate - those beautiful sky-kissing snow-capped mountains.

The next day, we loaded up our belongings and climbed the bus to Heaven.

We returned to a city we had passed through a few days before; a glorious place called Huaraz. This would be our home for the next 2 nights; the last stop on this cosmic journey. The next morning, we rose early, had the lightest of breakfasts, and started reveling in the bittersweetness of our last Mesa together. Once again, we had to assemble in Howard’s room to take our medicine, and there was such an incredible elation shared amongst us. Fearless and anxious, joyous and bonded, we buzzed and bounced as we waited our turn.

When Howard met my eyes, I exploded in light.

“Kitty,” he said simply. “Well, just look at you. Me-WOW.”

I giggled and MeWowed right back, then I dramatically slinked up to the Mesa and bowed on my knees. I didn’t even taste the foul elixir this time; I welcomed every last drop. Savored every element. This may be my last trip, so I needed to remember every piece.

God, we were so happy. As usual, we had little to no expectations, but all kinds of excitement. Heaven’s Gate was the destination…all we knew, historically, is that in 1970, a 9.0 earthquake ripped through this glorious section of the Andes, severing the mountain range in half. A lagoon sprung up in the center, and the most beautiful place on the planet was given life. The most beautiful. This, I promise.
But as this Mecca pushed through like a lifespring, 70,000 people perished below. A landslide wiped out 2 villages, and all that remains are the church steeples, poking through the soil. We were entering a burial ground. We were visiting Heaven on Earth.

The bus came around to gather us, and already…already I fell into the zone. There weren’t as many barriers the Huachuma had to push through these days; my heart was so hungry for more knowledge, for more life and love, that just the thought of our ceremony sent me into a sacred space. This was what I had to bring home with me; the ability to find such divinity, without the aid of the medicine. I grabbed a hold of the power and made friends.

Z and I sat in silence as the bus started climbing. We had 2 hours of treacherous, dirt road to embrace, along with a 5,000 foot climb – all the way up to 14,000 feet. Most of us brought along our MP3 players; the right music helps you transcend even higher.

I looked over at Z and saw the most intense, light-pouring expression. I tapped him on the shoulder to learn more.

“Whatcha listening to, baby?”

“My enlightenment experience.”

“Oh, heh, that.”

And then I surveyed my scene; one of those snapshots that we take stock of at larger-than-life moments.

I was on a bus, headed to a mystical burial ground were yet another transformation awaited. Deep in the Peruvian Andes, having the journey I always dreamt of…next to the partner who would slay dragons for me. Someone who already knew what it meant to be enlightened. Someone I could rise to meet, on a pedestal higher than our minds can comprehend. I saw the fellow travelers; everyone’s head chakras were bursting with light. I waved to Howard and smiled, bouncing along as the bus hit potholes and rocks. I would never know this moment again.

“Howard, the road to heaven is goddamn bumpy.”

He laughed and gave me a thumbs up.

“We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

I fell back into my chair, put on a little Sigur Ros, and awaited my unfolding mystery.

The only remaining head at the Temple of the Jaguar that is still intact - he’s The Greeter, so it’s rather fitting.

I walked with V, and rested my head on hers.

- Is it over yet? she asked.

I laughed and shrugged.

- You know what I’m going to say, I replied.

- Yes, I suppose. It’s just beginning.

The street we waltzed down was littered with little shop lights. Paved and peaceful, car-less and perfect. Peruvians swept sidewalks and scampered home for dinner. Children chased tires and watched us with curiosity as we all meandered past.

The little Chavin street felt like a stairway of judgment. Not in a negative sense; but oh so symbolic. Every step felt heavy and purposeful; I started feeling the weight return to my body. No longer able to fly, I was attaching to my awesome responsibility. Jesus, I have so much world to change. At least I knew I was capable.

We walked the hotel stairs in silence, all of us wondering what could possibly be next. Of all my previous Huachuma doses, this was by far the most potent. I couldn’t complete a thought, nor a sentence. I couldn’t remember my demons, my faults – nothing tangible sprang to mind. Just the need to hug Z, feel the earth, and get back to that beautiful mesa.

We deposited our packs in our rooms, then drew, one by one, back into Howard’s room. The mesa – our portal of sacred objects – awaited us, just as we had left it, some six hours prior. Candles lit the tiny space, and we hovered around the energies. The mesa covered one twin bed in the center; two more empty beds sat to the sides. I plopped down on the female life-giving side, staking my claim. I couldn’t stop staring at the jaguar skull – he kept turning to stare at me too.

Someone asked me to move the candle. I heard, but couldn’t bring myself to respond. I ducked shyly, trying to avoid any contact, any conversation, as I felt completely and utterly useless. Move a candle? How would I carry it? Where would I put it? No, it just wasn’t possible.

I shrugged, and everyone laughed.

The energy in the room was electric. We were coming down, yes, but there were hours more to go. People started scrambling onto the beds, falling into piles of entwined bodies. We were fully clothed, mind you – nothing you couldn’t tell mom. Except the fact that none of us could remember what “Sober” was like; and frankly, we never would again.

I finally found the strength to move three feet back, and fell onto the welcoming bed. D was there, my spirit-brother — he’s the one responsible for the beautiful pictures attached to each posting here. N was there too; the most fiery, gorgeous girl in our crew; she’s Bulgarian, and every time she said “Baby” in that thick, eastern european accent, I wanted to purr right back. This night, I actually did.

N and I floated our hands above our eyes, intertwining each in various poses, and laughing at our amazing creations. Movement was mesmerizing; you could see how just one flick of your hand mixes up the energies in the air. You can see how beautiful your body is. Everything just looked…like god.

I have no idea how long I lay there. Z joined us eventually, first standing beside the alter, than crashing into our welcoming pile. C came around as well; nervous as he was to be in his heart, to just release. N pulled him in with a big hug, and he collapsed in gratefulness. This, too, was so beautiful to see.

On the other side of the room, bizarre, nonsensical sentences would flash out of nowhere, and people would laugh.

- Worth the price of admission!

- Holy crap, holy grail!

- Now that’s what I call a rock!

- Are ya feelin’ it!

We had no words to describe our bliss, our mind-numbing one-ness, but we kept trying.

My body, she definitely put up a fight. I felt the insanely strong medicine seething through every pore, swishing around in my blood cells and making me feel hot/cold/hot/cold shivvery. My hands appeared purplish and pale in the moonlight, but thankfully, my heart thumped along at a perfectly normal rate. I knew I was OK. I just felt so much *change* inside. Love will do that to you.

Eventually, NZ threw on some of his trademark, bizarre-sounding electronic tracks. I thought they sounded demonic, just like at Fire Mountain, but I still grinned on through. There was no such thing as fear. Even if the devil himself (non-existent though he is) appeared before me, all I would have for him was a hug.

I could tell Z was not digging on the music, and within 15 minutes or so, I finally found my voice.

- Do you want to leave, baby?

- Yesterday.

I took that as a yes.

We found our feet, stumbled past our unresponsive friends, and made our way to our private room. We were up for hours more, pouring through the day’s pictures, telling magic tales, exploring our brand new bodies, and finding how deep our hearts could be.

To say it was magical – well, I can’t say that, because it was way beyond a bag of tricks. This was THE universal secret. The holy grail was inside us all along.

Even still, there was another ceremony to look forward to … Heaven’s Gate was calling.

Dan, myself and David - overwhelmed after seeing the Lanzon. Yeah, it’s that amazing.

I felt anticipatory, shivery excitement as he led us to the top; an open door into the Lanzon labrynth welcomed us.

I had no idea what was waiting for me. I didn’t know what a Lanzon was, why it was, where we were headed; everything was a brilliant mystery.
All I knew:
These underground mazes were built 3,000 years ago to lead the Huachuma takers back to the beginning. They were dark, sealed up, with natural air tunnels and a complete lack of any sensories. Lights were minimal, if not completely non-existent. Smells were nothing but the fresh aura of life itself. It would be delightfully silent, and full of profound wisdom.

I paused at the tiny opening, startled at the narrow staircase and the darkness below. I thanked Mother Ayahuasca for killing me in her death vision; had I not already died by that sacred burial, I wouldn’t be able to face what was once my biggest fear. I sourced an ear to ear grin and scampered down the stairs.

Immediately, I saw the maze. The lights were on, so I could clearly see the available paths. I paused for the others, fearing a complete disappearance in these mysterious caverns. I felt drawn to right side path, feeling this whisper-calling – I had layers of chills. I felt like kid in line for a roller coaster. I wanted my epiphany.

Howard descended, and asked for three volunteers – the chosen path was narrow, and only a few could proceed at a time. As with every adventure on this trip, I chirped up first. Ever the gleeful guinea pig.

I walked briskly to the end of the tunnel, mesmerized by the light ahead. I reached a gate with square metal barriers, where I started to take in the image that faced me. Before it even came into view, I fell to my knees and clutched the iron handles.

“God?”

I said the word outloud unconsciously, gasping in my revelations. I felt such an enormous rush of mindless emotions, I could no longer connect to my ego or the voices in my head. Instead, I felt an explosion in my heart; I was decapitated, bursting, reverent and exuberant.

What I saw was a rock. Seemingly so. The Lanzon is a beautiful carved creation, and in the center is a smiling face. It’s God’s face. And it’s mine too. What I felt unequivocally was a reflection; in this rock, the energies of *utlimate* spiritual entities were encased. Just as the Chavin intended.
This was *it* — the holy grail.
I clutched my heart and tried to breathe.

I wanted to stare at the truth-filled reflection forever. I saw a million years or more of lifetimes flash before me; all saying the same thing: just love. Don’t just live in your heart, be your heart.
I knew the rock was god and I was god and my travelers were god and – the whole wide world. Everything so incredibly divine.

The Lanzon was used by the Chavin as the ultimate meditative, reflective creation. Somehow, through their shamanic magic, they infused the reflection of god, and sent it back into our visions, merging this image with our own. I have no other way to explain it; there’s nothing else on earth that can compare.

I relished my handful of seconds, reached out in a symbolic, farewell gesture, and stumbled back to the tunnel’s opening.
On the way, I left my body.
When I reached the end, I stood up a tad taller (narrowly avoiding a head-mash on the low hanging rock ceiling), and then collapsed onto a nearby wall.
I had seriously, totally, and completely lost control.
I cried hysterically. I feared I might stop breathing all together. I buried my face in the rock, and lost my conscious self; instead, I merged with my new revelations; wordless, but full of benevolent, powerful energies.

D, one of the wise and experienced among us, placed his hand on my back, keeping me grounded. He blew mapacho – the sacred tobacco smoke – all around me, protecting my vulnerabilities and helping me Return. I felt comforted that I didn’t ever need to explain myself; and humbled as I saw the others returning, equally awestruck.

Hard to believe; of course. It’s worth a trip to Chavin to see for yourself. I am forever changed, and I’ll never let go of that image. It’s proof of our power. Proof of our divinity. Proof that somehow, someway, things are going to get better. More than we could ever dream.

Serpent heads carved at Chavin’s Temple of the Jaguar - representative of the underworld, the Amazon, and Ayahuasca

We walked up towards the temple, just a few minutes away. As it came into view, I had to look away. Too much to take in. Beauty, energy, history – so goddamn profound.

How is it that I was selected to come here? How did I become so incredibly blessed?

She echoed back an answer – because it’s home.

For all of us, I assure you – this is home.

Being there, it was a spiritual homecoming. Walking into the central area of the Temple, I connected with every being who had ever been there before – over 3,000 years worth of brethren. I was probably amongst the past visitors. It didn’t matter either way – I was here now. And here – was everything.

Howard meandered out into the center of the Temple’s square, puffing Mapacho smoke in each direction as an offering and announcement of our arrival. I saw him in his traditional clothing, and he wasn’t Howard anymore – he was an ancient, a Shaman; someone closer to God than I had ever known. I watched with a vibrant smile, giving thanks again. Perpetually.

Meanwhile, the beautiful surroundings began to dance for us. All the nooks/crannies/portals in the Temple started to beckon and seethe. As I scanned the horizon, I saw so much life. So many amazing, shining examples of why this world could be utopia. And is, if we just see it as such.

We walked up to a structure on the other side of the Temple; something Howard called The Cosmic Telephone. It’s a large rock, just slightly elevated off the ground, and inside the rock are 7 bowl shaped crevasses. In the Chavin days, they would fill these bowls with water, and they directly matched up with star patterns in the sky. It was a way to communicate with their spiritual ancestors, and with the Paladeas, and other far away life forms.
I wanted to dial my own past, knowing I wasn’t from here, that the first home was somewhere so far away … I teared up as I stared at the roof hanging over the sacred rock, preventing us from communicating.

And why, I wondered. Because we no longer believe. We don’t want to – it’s too profound and too vast and too tough to get our brains around.
Fuck our brains, I thought. They’re the reason we’re so isolated, begging for our separateness. Egos don’t love company. And because of this, we’ve lost our true connections. We’ve lost the bloody truth.

Then it occurred to me – of course, it wasn’t lost. We were finding these truths now. I was infused with my duty — something communicated countless times before — to tell this tale. To remind my people who we are, where we came from — and most importantly, what we’re capable of. It’s infinite. And it doesn’t have to involve wars and murder and darkness. We just keep choosing that path.

I sank into the grass and buried my face into the blades. The other travelers floated around the cosmic formation, talking in short staccatto bursts. We were trying so hard to understand. But when we stopped trying, all the answers came.

I sat up to glance upwards, to my sky-home, and saw the sun lingering just beyond the mountain tops. She was slipping away from us, and my heart surged at the thought of having the stars instead. Yes, I know she is a star, but she’s so freaking bright. I needed to be soothed. I craved the warmth a lack of light could bring.

Howard motioned for our ascension, and then I remembered — the labrynths were waiting. A maze of underground caverns, sealed up for maximum scensory deprivation, and built for one purpose: so that people could ascend. Back to where I longed to be. And no doubt beautifully dark.

I kissed the ground, blew a kiss to the sky, and rose to follow my destiny.

Some of the amazing, intricate rock etchings at The Temple of the Jaguar

The Temple is 3,000 years old, but the lines of time have only made her more beautiful. It’s a highly complex place, full of mysterious nooks and crannies that beckon to us with mystical allure. The base of the Temple is shaped like a square, with stairs on each side (about that offer a slightly elevated view. Stairs ascend beyond the central area, leading visitors into the labrythns. But we’ll get there.

The process back then – and now, ever so rarely – worked like this:
All interested parties assembled in this ceremonial Mecca and joined the attending Shaman for a spiritual journey. He administered the medicine to the assemblers, and began the incredible dive.
Participants were then led around to behold a large number of *stunningly* beautiful rock carvings. There are faces, morphed into various stages of ascension, and profoundly detailed animals; all depicting sacred and spiritual messages. These rocks — you guys, they’re *alive*, and they’re pulsing with the most beautiful energy you could ever dream of feeling. Jaguars, condors, serpents — they’re everywhere around the Temple, in the most unexpected places. It makes your heart zing to life every time you spy a work of art – these creations talk to your soul, not your head. It’s amazing to experience the difference.

We saw enough to know where we would be, and we asked our questions. We were ready. Most of us had no clue what to truly expect, but the grandeur and the welcoming embrace of the Temple made us fearless and reverent.

Because the Temple is a public place (tourists are welcome, though rare) we performed the opening ceremonies in Howard’s hotel room. Each of us accepted our blessed dose of medicine, and with shaking hands, I once again jumped through the portal. We then gathered our core goods and headed out for the walk to her gates.

By the time we arrived, the strength of the Huachuma started to draw me in again. I felt dream-like yet lucid, strong yet incredibly malleable. Our crew was led through the gates, and we walked to our first destination: a small makeshift museum, which featured many of the sacred carvings under the safety of covered area. We posed for pictures, took in the messages of the stones, and felt ourselves … changing.

It was hard to name the feeling. Familiar, she was, and romantically seductive, but without and edge. Without any fearful qualities. This place felt safe beyond words; a place to truly just … release.

I kept thinking about control, and how ridiculous it was – notion-wise. It doesn’t exist. And why would we want it to? Why would we, as flawed and curious humans, want to control our destinies, when we have no clue about our mysterious powers? I kept glancing around at the majestic mountains that embraced our view, and once again, I thanked them. They had the secrets.

But as I meanered up the path and followed the group further into the temple, I felt myself … slip. An odd little release; silent and poetic, real and imagined. The voice in my head felt muffled; she wanted to analyze this space. She wanted to explain these incredible shifts. But there were no words. I could only feel the warmth of the energies that surrounded me.

We walked to the headwaters of the Amazon – this unassuming, perfectly beautiful river that lie at the base of the temple. This was our resting spot – our chance to fall into this experience and really just – let go. No control. No expectations. A chance to completely surrender.

We spent many minutes in meditation, each of us finding our own private spot along the water’s edge. Maybe it was an hour, maybe it was just a few moments – I don’t really know.
I lost myself there, soaking in the majesty and sacredness. I watched the tiny river trickle down her path, imagining her strength as she grew into the mighty Amazon. I saw myself, thirty years past, a tiny though powerful being, following her own trail. I looked at my hands and recognized that child; and this, this was my turning point. This was my chance to really find myself.

I fell backwards and lie motionless in the soil, watching the world tick by through the tiny blades of grass the inhibited my view. The whole wide world, inside a tiny blad of grass. It’s all the same, I thought – everything is necessary. Everything is sacred.

As I connected to this divinity, opening my heart to any and all possibilities, I felt the most unbelievably warm and comforting energy flash across my back. I turned my head – a laborious process, as the medicine had me in a deep grip – and rejoiced to find the sun revealed, and shining like a goddess at the base of the mountain tops. She had been hiding all day, and suddenly, I was illuminated. I knew I could trust in the profound goodness of this moment. I knew I was unlocking my own divinity.

I knew the Temple was waiting. What I would find, I couldn’t begin to name … but I wanted to know every last Secret.

The beautifully cultivated Chavin mountainside

The answer lie at Chavin.

First, however, a bit of history:
Like the Mochica, the Chavin were an Andean civilation; in fact, they’re considered the first modern Andean community, and the cradle of Shamanism. The people and Shamans that would found Chavin first came from the Amazon – the womb of the world, and the earth-bound representation of the underword. The Chavin knew in order to ascend, they had to do so physically and spiritually. They had a calling, so they followed their voices. Hundreds of miles later, which they of course crossed on foot, and 10,000 feet above sea level, they found paradise.

The city of Chavin was founded in the most spectacular valley imaginable. When I say it’s the most enchanting place on earth, there isn’t an ounce of exaggeration. 10,000 feet up, with another several thousand feet of mountain on every side, Chavin is an absolute utopia. It experiences a rather tropical, mild climate, nestled at the site where the black and white ranges merge together – poetry in it’s own right, as it represents the merging of feminine and masculine energies. Just like El Brujo.

At the base of the city is a little river, which just happens to be the headwaters of the mighty Amazon. Everything about Chavin feels god-like. If I had to name a place that *feels* enlightened, it would only be Chavin.

Once the travelers found this location, they knew what had to come next; it was time to build a temple. They created The Temple of the Jaguar, an absolutely amazing, 3,000 year old mecca built for one purpose only: to spiritually ascend. The Chavin were equalists; anyone and everyone were welcome to join the journey. And just as they had endured unspeakable obstacles to find their way to paradise, so too did thousands of people travel from across the continent to partake in the sacred ceremonies. The appointed Shaman would administer the Huachuma medicine, and huge celebritions and reverent gatherings would take place. The temple still stands, and you can feel the heartbeats and radiance of everyone who has came before.

The Chavin had no need for weapons; they reigned in peace for a thousand years. Every ounce of their effort was put into helping all who came to them ascend, grow, break out the bounds of the tangible, and experience divine unity. And they did so with absolute genuis. Every last element of the Temple is pure perfection, built in an perfectly central location, equadistance from mountains and water, and centralized in an undeniable vortex of warm and enlightened energies.

This was utopia. There was no hierachy, no rulers or unnecessary structure. Technologically, they were rather like the Egyptians; so incredibly advanced, it defies logic. They formed the basis for all of us, to the extent that we clearly had nowhere to go but backwards.

As I have learned, if you want to get to the true powerful source of *any* movement or belief system, you have to go back to the beginning.

And so it was that we endured the 10 1/2 hour bus ride it took to reach Chavin. Seems a meager effort compared to those of our ancestors, who carried their lives on their backs for months until they found their hearts nestled in that valley. The bus ride, however, was perilous and long, sweeping through a tiny dirt road that criss-crossed up the Andes. I have never, ever seen such majesty; and I’m a Montana girl, and a bit of a mountain snob. But this place – it defies description. Chavin is an angelic dream.

The town stands today as if it’s been in a time warp; untouched by modern touches in every way. There are few cars, no billboards, no sign of anything else but a simply beautiful life. Stunning indigenous people in brightly colored skirts and sweaters meander through the streets, blasting smiling eyes at us, the obvious outcasts. The rare guests in their city. The roads aren’t paved, the buildings are charmingly old, and everything feels like it should. Quiet. Innocent. Alive.

We arrived to our modest hotel, and most of us slept like children. It felt so much like a homecoming; like God himself, or his gaggle of friends, were there waiting. We knew we were meant to be here, called to reach a higher state. All of us felt so lucky. So blessed.
So absolutely awestruck for the experience we were about to uncover.

The inside of El Brujo - this was the holding area for the prisoners. Look closely at their depictions against the wall.

The sun started to dip away from sight, still casting enough warmth and light to guide us to the final destination. The life-taking pyramid loomed like a devil in the near-distance, beckoning with a taunting sway. Daring us to peek (peak) inside.

I took the lead once again, desparate to know His strength and seduction. Howard had warned us that the travelers often did not make it inside this pyramid; it was an excavation site, after all, and therefore highly guarded. El Brujo’s been on the historical map these days, and in true fashion, man is digging through the dirt to find the answers. Well, we found them – no digging needed.

All I knew was – I wanted inside that damn pyramid.

I fell in step next to Howard and visualized our journey inside, creating an intention. Willing it to happen. The full moon stood pregnant in my view, standing guard; she made me feel infinitely more protected, and my bravado started to surface. Whatever kept me moving, receiving these messages and truths, was fine by me.

We approached to find several armed guards, making their way to greet us. I joined Howard, and he spoke quietly in Spanish. It was clear we were partaking in the mesa, absolutely consumed by Huachuma, and it was up to them to determine whether or not we could know what lie inside. They didn’t hesitate. We were welcomed.

I flew down the remainder of the path and entered a the bottom section of the pyramid. A large, cleared area in the shape of a square awaited, surrouned by three walls. The walls held thousands-year old paintings; dulled by time, but no less alive. Across the front wall, a procession of red tribal men appeared, fully naked, with huge, ominous erections. They were marching before my eyes, heading to a certain fate. This was where the Mochi would lead their prisons; those about to be sacrificed so the rest of the tribe could be saved from deadly El Nino. We could hear their muffled cries.

I fell to the ground in homage, closing my eyes to shut out the agony. It was deafeningly silent in there; something I hadn’t expected. After the thunderous roar of the life-giving huaca, I had expected a cacophony in the life-taking counterpart. He offered nothing but erie, seductive silence, and it chilled me. Made me quivver and heave.

After a spell, I gave up all my strength and just lay on the ground. I could still smell blood in the air; still hear the sound of endings. Feet shuffling, groans releasing, fear disappating. I knew the prisoners were also on Huachuma during their last hours, and I started to connect with the beauty – how would they know the difference between the waking world and death? I wasn’t sure what side I was on anymore. And that was fucking beautiful.

Howard summoned us to take a walk upward; we were allowed to trace the prisoner’s steps up a ramp, and forced to stop at a point where the excavating was blocked off. Oh my god, as we approached an upper wall, I really didn’t think I could make it. There was still no sound, but the dramatic force bouncing off that wall and into my frame felt like a bulldozer. I felt myself leave the pyramid, becoming one with prisoners everywhere. I felt the souls of everyone who had been sacrificed, throughout time. I felt them barreling down into my insides.

We stopped at the top, and soaked in the power. There was a choice to be made, and we were all connecting to it. The Shamans of the Mochi made a choice; they couldn’t stop once power started to seduce them. They allowed their intentions to become self-serving and evil. Would we do the same?

As a symbolic gesture, Howard had us all turn our backs on this atrocious reality. We turned 180 degrees and lingered, our frames sturdy and strong. We would not be seduced. But we weren’t afraid to know it All.

Next, we were led by the guards into the heart of the pyramid; a pitch black, devastatingly erie section filled with paths that dropped off into a sea of darkness. It’s not certain what went down in these caves, but I do know one thing – there was nothing benevolent about the events. This was the temple of doom; the ultimate in ugly power. We know the Mochi became obsessed with black magic, using the prisoners as more than just sacrifices for the gods. We know this was the Mochi’s undoing. And we were learning how easy it was to fall into the lure.

I broke protocol and placed my hands on a nearby wall, needing to feel the energies even more. I panicked when I felt a flashlight fly my way, thinking I had done a horrible deed and angered a guard. Instead, he came to my side, pushing away a large gun that hung around his neck. I pulled my hands away quickly, but he shined a light on the wall I had chosen and pushed my hands back on the rocky structure, allowing me to know even more. I gasped and said thank you, closing my eyes to Receive.

We were then led outside, up a path to the top of the pyramid. Night had fallen now, and the full moon glowed orange and defiant. At the top, guard dogs ran to greet us, acting obedient and curious. As I meandered around, another guard motioned for me to follow him inside a small room to the side. I entered, and immediately felt slaughtered by an unspeakably dark energy. He shown his flashlight on the far away wall, and I saw the most ominous, evil figure I’ve ever seen — a monsterous tribal figure was painted there, his mouth gaping and angry. In one hand, he held a horrendous looking axe; in another, a man’s head.

I moved my hand across my throat and said:

- Here? Aqui? Este is donde … muerte?

The guard nodded. This was the site of the beheadings. The end of the line for the prisoners. Or the beginning, as I was starting to learn. I could feel them all lingering and staring, respectful of my own reverence. I just didn’t like all those eyes.

I lasted about 10 seconds more, than staggered out into the moonlight.

My head was swimming, my heart felt steady and strong. I knew this was the metaphor for humanity; resisting the seduction of separateness and power. Staying connected, living in the heart space — these are difficult tasts. Believing in one’s superiority, holding tight to control – these are much easier choices. For the Mochi, making the wrong decision meant they were all eradicated. And this wasn’t the first or last time.

Isn’t the same thing happening back home? Aren’t we succumbing to the allure of power and perceived independence/superiorities?
My hands shook at the thought of it – poetry, yes. Necessary, yes. But could I do anything to stop the downward spiral?

- Stay in your heart. At all costs. Stay there and others will too.

My voice echoed an answer.

- It’s your protection, and the key survival.

It’s also the way I can help others – our bloody heads are the ones who wage wars and invent words like “seperate” and “hate”. I was remembering. These were things I already knew – we all do – but years of programming had led me astray.

I fell to my knees yet again and embraced El Brujo. This was the most powerful lesson I had ever learned, and civilizations had to fall in order for me to Know. The moon kept shining in her greatness, affirming my realizations – I wasn’t in control. We never are/were. The more of us who realize the awesome power we have, the more we will give it back where it belongs – to the wind, to the Universe, to the benevolent forces that gave us life to begin with.

We walked down the path to our waiting van; all of us changed. All of us knowing we didnt want power, we wanted Empowerment. We finally knew the difference; all it took to show us was a visit to the dark side of heaven.