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.

Amazon jungle, heat of the day

I have taken my second cup of Huachuma, along with just a few other seekers, and I am not *in* the world anymore, I am the world. I look at my hands and see illumination – a yellowish glow of omnipotent beauty. The mesa is my magnet. I feel compelled to loom above the offerings, and yet must resist the urge to drop to my knees in praise. The voice keeps telling me to take my seat at the center of the semi-circle, right in sight of the shaman’s skull. This doesn’t seem right to me. I am uncovering my massive role and power, and yet overwhelmed by humility. I have these magnificent spirits all around me, there but not there, welcoming and warm. With this I plant buried deep inside my cells, I can’t know anything but love. The little voice inside shifts into pure acceptance. I have nothing left to resist, least of which myself.

I meander back to the feminine energy side, finding a seat and pulling my feet up to cradle this outstanding space. I couldn’t be more at peace. I’m not sure yet what it all means, nor am I sure it matters. I am alive, again, forever, and the fear inside me is dissolving, making me feel effervescent and liberated.

Then Howard appears again. He is smiling and holding a staff.
The staff is wooden, carved with two beautiful human images. One male, one female, intertwined and unified. At the top of the staff is a small bowl, about the size of a shot glass. There are small lips on each side.

“One last gift, for those who want to go farther in.”

One of my favorites, D, steps up first. He is like me – new to Huachuma, wishing never to return. I am comfortable by his image, and proud of his bravery. He follows Howard’s instructions. I ache to do the same.

My turn. I have no hesitation. I step up to my rightful place, at the base of the mesa, next to my hero. He is beaming at me. His eyes are hooked in.

“Do you remember?”

I pause to dig deep, to connect with this memory.

“You keep coming back, my friend.”

“I’ve been here before.”

“They tried to kill you 2,000 years ago, but you keep coming back.”

I remember meeting Jesus days before. I remembered being by his side. I saw the spirit in Howard and knew we, too, had a vast and immeasurable history. He is a Brother. Giving me the gift of memory. These things felt so unreal and profound, and yet, I couldn’t argue. It just Was.

Howard pours a red liquid into the top of the staff and hands it t me. Take half in the left nostril, half in the right, and do so quickly, he instructs.
I take both shots into my cavities. In an instant, I am transported, like a thousand points of light converging into my third eye. I liquify, vaporize, and travel to the past. I see myself surrounded by the Mayans, staring at the Calendar, etched in stone and awash in a golden glow. I connect, instantly, to my heritage and benevolence. My eyes fly open and I see the mesa again, see my hands clutching the staff and swaying.
This is magic. This is me, as real as can be. I know I have traveled through lifetimes. I know, in this moment, that I am greatness. I have tapped into the core spiritual power every last one of us possess, but forget. We are here to remember, I think to myself. We are here to find this gentle surge, to fall in love with ourselves, and to elevate the masses.
I shuffle back to my chair and sink gratefully. The eternal conflict inside of me disappears, and I fee nothing but love. For myself, from myself, and for the whole cradle of creation.
There is no death or hatred or pain. These are just things we create so that we may be reminded of love. We can choose a different path, and that’s what the plants wish to grant us. They are simply our spiritual memories. I finally give in and drop to my knees in praise.

The rest of the night, I wander silently throughout the camp, projecting love out to everyone and everything. There is feeling love and there is being love. This is the only time I have known the latter. I just can’t forget. And this is why I’m going back to know more of Huachuma, the world, and myself.

Tomorrow, I will share the Aftermath — what I have come to realize about my Mayan connection, the impending 2012 realities, and the ascension of our planet and consciousness.

And maybe I’ll mention the Real Life. Once you step through this portal, the magic has no end.

Surrounded by mapacho smoke, at the first intention setting as we start to cook the Ayahuasca

I am alive and that’s the focus. I feel electrified and driven, but still walled up inside, guarded by demons in case the phone rings and death answers again. I haven’t yet let myself miss daddy, but I did get lost in the Hollywood Hills this morning and I found him there waiting. I found this hidden staircase, and 200 steps later I loomed on top of a mountain, gazing at the sun kissed mansions and run down apartments. Daddy met me at the top, smiling. He loved jogging and mornings and this seemed right. I waved and kept walking, and a few minutes later. . .I knew I was lost. But I didn’t care. An hour later, I found home. The kind with walls. Yes, there’s my theme.

I never did finish the Huachuma tale, and it leads into the pre-daddy-died moments, so let’s wrap up this Amazon trip. . .one month late, but I’ve had curve balls.

We had just finished with the Bridge of Eternity, and my beloved Huachuma had sucked me through the portal. As the sun set, so did my fears. I climbed back into the boat for the ride back to our retreat, and I talked with the earth. I apologized. I cried with her. I promised that I would be in service to her, from here on out, and not the other way. And I felt a blinding love and gratitude, internal and external and unified within. This was paradise.

Back at the lodge, the mesa awaited us. 20+ candles illuminated the three tables of offerings, but I was headed for my room. Everyone was. Drop off bags, re-group, take a few breaths. Yet as I traipsed past the central mesa, my bag dropped. My jaw followed. I felt magnetized, drawn like moth-flame, and I floated inside the maloka to be by her side. The candlelight added to the reverence. I could feel the harmonious yet conflicting energies, swirling from all sides and sucking in through my pores. I felt unworthy and yet royal. Voices – soft just-above-whispers – talked to me. They told me I was one of them. They told me I had lived many, many lives before. That I was a Mayan. That I connected with the calendar. That I was a Plaedian. That I knew all of the secrets, and could help others feel the same.

I sat down to absorb this. And Howard stepped up to the center once more.

“Those who wish to go a little deeper in, stay with me. Let’s travel.”

He had never offered this before, but a second cup was at my disposal. After two other hungry souls stepped up, I followed.

“I might have known you’d be back.”
He grinned and me and my eyes teared.

“Where else would I be, Howard?”

I took the cup and sucked down the sacred plant, wondering how far this would take me. Maybe I wouldn’t ever come back. That was the dream.

OK, there’s more, but this is a good place to pause. The final Huachuma stage will grace the next entry. For now, I must away.

Traveler Tim with a darling group of bubble-loving Bora kids

We had one more chance to dive deep and let Ayahuasca lead. One last dance with the Shaman. Many of the nineteen crew decided they had had enough, and I certainly understand this. Drinking that cup is an uncontrollable commitment. You don’t know what will materialize before you, or what will be waiting behind your eyelids. You give yourself to the spirit world. It’s so bloody hard to silence your ego.

Seven of us chose not to drink. I was not among them. A couple of those folks, however, still sat in the circle with us, participating in every aspect except consumption. One of the non-drinkers said she even felt the urge to purge. If you’ve been there, well, it’s easy to return, with or without the medicine. I consider this an immeasurable blessing.

The Shaman promised at the beginning of our journey that this one would be peaceful and joyous. He doesn’t always dictate how the nights will transpire, but generally, the last cup in a cycle is less intense and unpredictable than the others. I believed him. And that’s probably half the battle.

We locked in, the lights went out, and my visions electrified. I was transported to a place I had quite literally been before; the Mayan culture. It was as if I was placed on a moving parade float; I saw myself gliding before hundreds of smiling, dark-skinned faces. The children reach out to touch my hair. The women grinned and nodded. The men glowed and waived. One walked abruptly up to my side and placed his palm on my head. My chakra exploded. I felt all this healing love exploding inside of me. Then they showed me my hands again, bursting with stars and rays of light. I felt like one of them. Powerful and benevolent. Such an old, old soul — with newfound innocence and energy. I didn’t ever want to leave them.

Then I was taken to a beach – not an island, but tropical all the same. I have always hated beaches because they represent bathing suits and showing skin. Remember the body battles? Well, I didn’t. Not in those moments. I stripped down to a bikini and ran for the waves. I saw Jesus again, way off in the distance, floating above the waters. He waved at me. I pranced for him in my suit, giggling at my childlike awe. He was proud of me. I was proud of me. There was no fight in me anymore – not for myself. I was finally free.

The night swirled around me like silken threads, brushing my skin and making me smile. Untouchable and sacred, part of the beautiful unity – that’s how I was feeling. I took in the energies of everyone in the room, and I just couldn’t believe how much I loved these people. Unconditionally. And then I felt that love extend outward – to my dearest friends. To the mass of acquaintances. To my family. To everyone at war, everyone suffering, everyone dancing, everyone breathing. I knew then this could be limitless. Nights like the previous one, they always have endings. I could have this kind of glow for eternity. I could hold onto my bliss for the rest of my lifetimes.

Thousands of visual glimpses were granted to me that night – most of which I didn’t understand. I will make sense of them in the next posting – see, while this was my last romp with Ayahuasca, Huachuma was still waiting. The wise grandfather spirit. My first trip with him. And he filled in the life.

That’s next. For now, I am just in love.