Just when I get accustomed to the harmony and flow of life, a curve ball smashes a dent in my figurative skull.  Several.  Big ones.  Fast balls, see.

Last week, Orion, Hijo and I jetted off to LA for a mixed-bag adventure.  On the menu, in a primary sense, was a visit with Zen, Orion’s younger brother – the one written about lovingly here, in reference to his battle with lymphoma. We stayed at his cute 50′s style cabana in Reseda, and it was my first in-person meeting with Zen and his really lovely wife.  Out of the gate, I loved them both, energetically and in that what-a-cool-human sense.  But because Zen is deep in the thick of his battle with cancer, there is such complexity brewing – every word, every emotion feels loaded and fragile.  It was, admittedly, hard to talk to him.  My issue – I wanted so much to wave a magic wand and feel his soul melt into life and his being feel light and happy again, instead of toxic and doomed.  I had hoped to come in with some tools of assistance, but I felt an immediate barrier.  Even still, the first night went really well.  I gave Zen several gifts – one a juiced-up power object (tourmaline, the shaman’s stone) that has been sacred to me for some time now.  Our dialogue was open and deep, and I felt so honored to have this immediate connection.  But by the next morning, that dissipated.  The reasons, in a relative sense, were twofold – 1) Zen was feeling like poo that morning, and ended up back at the hospital for most of the following day, and 2), Orion woke up in a seriously foul mood, which I then in turn allowed to sink me into a tough space as well.  That would be the theme of the trip – Orion and I were nasty to each other at times, uncharacteristically so, and it kept throwing me for loop after loop after loop.  Tears were shed one morning in the yard as we dissected these blow ups.  I felt unheard, way too vulnerable, and fed up with the self-imposed lockdown on speaking my truth about our interactions.  All gifts, but shit if that wasn’t a powder keg of a scenario.  Looming around a beautiful soul who is facing his own mortality has a natural effect of asking me to do the same.  I reveled in the lack of separateness – because while the ego really wanted to look with sympathy on Zen for his really challenging predicament, the truth is his story is my story, and I could not diminish our shared experience.  I looked it him and felt what it was like to think you’re dying of cancer.  I looked at him and wanted so badly to help him change his story, in part because I felt it as my own.  But then the higher self would chime in, remind me of the perfection of his dance, how it is his path to awakening, if he chooses it, and the sympathy dissolved into the only thing that remained – unconditional love.

Even with this knowingness, I kept my distance from Zen the rest of the trip.  My head surmised that was his wish, but in the nothing outside of self exists realm that I abide by, it was clearly my own.  I’m still often not willing to call out the elephant in the room, and to really stare down the Very Big Topics.  But I trust that it just wasn’t my place to intervene at this time.  My desire to do so was simply egoic.  I looked in Zen’s eyes and felt the barrier.  A wall we both constructed.  And I knew it wasn’t appropriate to try and blaze on through.  So I watched from a distance, sometimes in tears, but always with my heart.

And in the meantime, during all this interplay, the snaps between Orion and myself were coming in spades.  My head spun from the frequency and depth, and I wound up unraveling.  Seemingly confused by the negative interchanges.  By our very keen inability to communicate clearly.  I tried to let it break my heart, but I kept getting self conscious about the surroundings – not my home, not my place to let it rip, in the presence of people facing huge life challenges.  Who am I to come unglued because of spats with my partner?

We made our way home, and while things were peaceful on the surface, I was seething inside.  Angry at myself for what was transpiring, and trying desperately not to project all this on Orion.  By the time we were back in Vegas, it would seem the worst was over.  But then a blowup came worse than all the rest of the week’s crisscrosses combined – mainly because I finally stepped up and spoke my peace, in a very non-peaceful way.  I saw the charge rise up again in Orion, and had reached my capacity to try and process without kicking and screaming.  I brought out the expletives and just unleashed.  Not surprisingly, he didn’t take my projections well – and basically sent me away.  Reached his capacity as well.  So I did something I’ve never done before in our relationship – I left home, and checked into a hotel.  I didn’t actually think I’d sleep there that evening, but the just in case thoughts prevailed, and all I really wanted was a safe haven to decompress inside.  I had previously made my way to my old home, which is now inhabited by a super amazing friend and her equally amazing husband.  I wasn’t sure if they had moved in yet, so I made my way to what I had hoped would be a private haven – then I saw their furnishings inside, and my heart just collapsed.  This was the house I had bought – my first home purchase – thinking maybe I’d live there forever.  Or at least a really long time.  Now it was almost in foreclosure, claimed again by someone new.  And this homeless girl allowed those emotions to just. . .rise to the surface.  So after a good hour spent meditating in a nearby park, I checked in to a local hotel and pondered what might be next.

Orion and I ended up reconciling via phone shortly thereafter, and I made my way back to the new home which didn’t yet feel like home.  As we discussed what had transpired, I suddenly heard myself speaking words I had silenced for sometime.  They centered around my communication challenges with him, felt primarily whenever I hit that fragile emotional place.  The truth is, the deeper I hurt, the more I feel rejected by the one I love (and, in turn, by my own self).  When I’m clear, I know that Orion’s intent in those times is to fight back against my ego, to not let her run the show, and to not become condescending to the part of me that wants to believe this world is real.  I get that he has the highest intentions.  But none of me feels loved during this part of our dance, and it just came to a head in this particular conversation.  I still don’t know what it all means.  I heard myself tell him how devastating it is to feel danger when all I crave is love and warmth.  At the same time, I’m grateful for the really harsh way he treats me in those moments, because it forces to get me clear on what’s really going on, and look inside for unconditional love, not out.  So I’m not sure which part of me is really asking for him to be gentle with me.  And I’m not sure it’s a sincere request.  All I knew in that moment was – I have to tell him.  I have to tell him how much it hurts me to see his anger, his robotic, cold cold reflection, when I’m in my deepest breakdowns.

Then came today’s Sangha – our weekly Sunday meetings with our Enlightened Master, Mac.  Conversations always swarm around the absolute – about the true nature of reality.  Today was a special day – sparsely populated, very direct, very focused.  Orion is off flying to Shanghai, so I was the sole host.  One participant, the Poet – named as such because *everything* he speaks is poetry – talked about the Buddhist notion of “entering the stream”.  This is an act done by the individual who is willing to let down self – to enter the stream and be in the flow of life, not a driver.  No identity at all.  It isn’t enlightenment per say, but it is a stripping down – a willingness to be without ego.  A proverbial gesture of nakedness and vulnerability.  I buzzed as he relayed the notion, and willingly reentered the stream.

This day was magical.  As the Sangha ticked on, all but three of us left.  Guru Mac, Fire-Friend, and myself.  Mac even gave me a foot rub today, as we went deep into the nature of emotions.  I can’t even process how honored I feel to have had this experience.  And through the interchange today. . .I am just now realizing. . .I got my answer.

Mac helped me categorize emotions in a sense – to understand that they spring forth from one of four scenarios.

1) Phobias – the stories our minds create around fears (example – I’m afraid of cockroaches and totally freak out when one is near)

2) Psychosis – illogical, emotional responses to things that don’t even exist (example – My life is a mess because my fear of cockroaches permeates my every day experience)

3) Neurosis – the externalization of illogical fears (exampled – I won’t go in that house because it might have a cockroach)

4) Real (in the relative sense) – emotions that spring up because of actual life events

The first three are tricks – tactics the mind employs to maintain control, and to keep a grip on the perceived sense of reality.  The last one is the only logical place to let emotions run free.  If your dad dies, let your heart break.  If life is throwing you curve balls, let your emotional self feel whatever he / she needs to feel.  But if your mind is creating emotions that do not reflect what you know to be true in your circumstances, do not be fooled.

So I bring this back to my week with Orion.  I think in part our conflicts came from our inability to talk about what was really bothering us.  We projected on each other, rather than talk about the heart of the matter.  And my conversation with him regarding my apparent “needs” shows me the places in which I am not “in the stream”.  I basically voiced to Orion that his way of being didn’t fit my script.  I still say there’s real validity in needing to be treated with kid’s gloves on occasion, but *only* when than emotional need arises from real circumstances, not those created by my mind.

To put this in tangible terms:

What feels right, in the highest sense, is to feel safe and loved and nurtured when the shit hits the fan.  If my brother is dying of lymphoma, if the whole fucking world is imploding, than yes, please, show me some mercy until the floods subside.  But if I’m acting out from any of those phobic/psychotic/neurotic spaces, do not play my game.

It seems futile to dissect the past and analyze when Orion showed me that harshness and when he didn’t – I’m simply grateful for the clarity of where I stand emotionally.  This is all centered in self-integrity.  If I keep that in check at all times, then some part of me will know when the mind is playing an emotional game.  In those moments, if Orion reacts with toxic glances and out-lashes, it shouldn’t matter – nothing is as it seems at those times, and it would just be the ego who wanted to be protected.  That’s the rub, of course, because when I fall into the illusion, I do so because of my ego.  She’s extraordinarily crafty, and she wants to be validated – and is bloody sick of my “you are not real” light of truth.  But I feel like this is another big light in the realm of self-discovery – to insist that I be aware of the source of emotions.  I trust that what transpires between my partner and I will follow suit, and will reflect back exactly what I need.

A big blog post for a very big week.  Facing mortality, blowups with loved ones, footrubs from a guru.  That this is my life makes me eternally grateful.

“Waiting on Sunday to drown. . .”

(Tori Amos)

As we noodle down the treacherous and oft overwhelming path ala enlightenment, many of us pound our heads against spiky walls out of sheer paradoxical frustration.  It seems every luminous enlightenment being speaks a different language.  Sometimes it feels like no one is really pointing at the same moon – that this is all a crazy game with no real ending.  That there is no such thing as realization at all.

And yet, when dropping the logical constructs of the mind, there is more than just a something there, drawing me into its womb-like clutches.  What is it, really?  I don’t know.  But I’m learning one alarmingly simple yet devastatingly challenging way to get there.  I have a lot of wise teachers feeding me equal doses and beauty and bullshit, and in their cryptically direct banter, I’ve found one radiant consistency.  Mac said it this weekend, and I’ve heard Pi and Pranananda say pretty much the same thing – whatever (or whomever) you choose to get you there, it doesn’t matter.  Just surrender.  Completely.

Just.  Surrender.  Hah.  Just like I (think) I know what enlightenment is not, I’ve uncovered a million ways / reasons / opportunities to *not* surrender.  I have never fully surrendered to a lover.  I never surrendered to authority of any kind – parental, priestly, etc.  Ayahuasca, though she’s given me no reason not to, has never felt me hand it *all* over to her.  There’s always a shred or more held back – just in case.  To keep the illusion of control.  To have a tether into this world, into my mind, in case this is all just a load of baloney and I give away everything – thoughts, heart, breath, life – for a naive, selfish notion that there’s something more.

But here’s the rub.  I have been granted a whole gaggle of spiritual experiences.  Ayahuasca has shown me the primal energies from which I came from – the golden threads that lead all the way back to the beautiful nothingness.  Huachuma showed me my true God reflection in the face of a sacred stone in Peru.  I have *almost* dropped the “i” now on several occasions, becoming the all – and feeling what it is to be the movie, the projector, the observers and the space in between all three.  And no matter how strong my ego becomes, no matter how much that uncertainty wants to scream out her cautions – I don’t believe them.  I don’t believe much of anything anymore.  But I do know there’s more beyond what “I” know.  

I can’t stop what’s coming.  It’s inconceivable to me to go back to the unconscious self.  I’m not really in the state of seeking, but I sense with an insatiable magnetism that there is more to know.  I travel deep into my heart space an unequivocally realize there’s nothing else for me but this.  Not awakening itself, necessarily. but the walk to greet her.  The willingness to own my divinity.

Mac told us last week to stop calling this enlightenment – to hold it as liberation instead.  This facilitated a great shift in me later that week – I came to know in every cell that absolutely nothing about me has to change in order to awaken.  Nothing.  I don’t have to be less egoic or more pious and meditate 20 hours a day or eat raw vegetables with unsoiled hands.  There is nothing I have to do or be, because nothing about me dictates this liberation.  It was a massive relief, a huge opening that allowed me to feel whole and complete.  I could have hugged myself.  Instead, I stared at my reflection in Orion’s beautiful eyes and felt the truth.  This is who we are.  And it’s in those eyes that I found a key.

This game is all about surrender.  And while I understand it doesn’t matter what you surrender to, as long as you do it completely, I realize my mind isn’t going to accept just any authoritative illusion.  I intend to work on surrendering to everything and everyone in every moment, but in order to amp up the game, I’ve chosen two very specific targets.

One is obvious – ayahuasca.  I’ve danced with her almost 2 dozen times now, and I know we have more time to know each other.  I can conceive of a complete willingness to surrender to her chaotic yet nurturing strength.  But those opportunities are scarce – a few times a year or so.  Still, I feel in my heart she can take me there.  I know that *anything* can, it’s just that I feel I can convince my mind to give me one minute of freedom – to hold her breath, and that of my body, and surrender to death by the vine, in order to let light in.  Yes, we can do that.

The other is, in many ways, far more terrifying.  I’m in tears just feeling the very real willingness, and the very real fear – the former from heart, the latter from mind.  I will surrender to Orion.  Not him as a human, per se – as an unreal ego – but as my connection to Shiva.  I can’t remember a single time in the last (almost) year that I’ve known him where I’ve been able to see anything but his greatness.  I have never known a more pure and unconditional love.  I trust his intention, I trust his own connection to divinity – and so, I can’t shy away.  We’ve started practicing tantra together – a very respected yogic path to enlightenment – and I feel as though. . .well, we’re on to something.  It’s both thrilling and horrific.  Whee.

Kat – the name I have for my little egoic self – is so fucking scared of this.  But in a moment of incredible clarity this weekend, I was able to pacify her long enough to open a huge portal for us.  I gave him complete freedom to be who he is.  I dropped the restrictions previously agreed upon in our bond, with respect to sexuality, and asked him to just be.  Integrity is still integral, but rules no longer apply.  And although I shake at times when I realize what this could mean, I also know that this is part of my divine surrender.  I trust the universe (me) to manifest the best possible outcome for us both.  But if I tell God I want it my way only, there’s nothing else He / She / We can do but give it to way I demand.  I’m past that now.  In this relationship, I will not be ruled by fear.

So there I’ve done it – dropped all sense of security and yet, at the same time, promised to throw my all into surrendering to this, my partner and love – the God that he is, and the God that I can allow him to show me.  Kat is so fearful she’s barely uttered a protest.  It’s paralyzing and beautiful.  There’s such a rightness to this act that I feel a glow inside, way deeper than any perceived tremble.  

I want and deserve my pot of gold, should the universe see fit.  And I’m showing Her I’m willing to drop *all* attachments to awaken.  I guess that’s why they call it liberation.  Just the act of doing so makes me feel so much closer.

Calling for my soul / At the / Corners of the world – (Tori Amos)

Enlightenment is a gas, really.  Line up 10 enlightened peeps, and they’ll give you 10 different explanations for what it is.  AND they’ll argue that some of their peers ARE and AREN’T enlightened, thereby flummoxing the surrounding seekers all the more. This is, of course, a gigantic favor.  Since I understand unequivocally now that my mind will never actually be enlightened, and that I’m in the process of accessing an entirely different part of myself, I realize this word game, the he-said-she-said, is completely meaningless.  As Orion discovered in the shower one day, any / all words = false.  Even those uttered by God.

I surround myself with enlightenment.  Men that claim it, others that claim to be close to it.  Books about it.  Audio broadcasts. In-person events / speakers / retreats.  And yet no one can tell me what IT is.  Which is marvelous, no?  That I would be chasing some mysterious illusion with such a passionate, reckless abandon?  

Marvelous, yes.  But not always to the smaller self.  Some moments I yearn for a tangible carrot, something I can see / taste / feel and know it’s worth this incessant yearning.

Yet when I ask myself, on the highest level, why I, the creator of my world, would manifest such mass confusion – I have an immediate answer.  Enlightenment can’t be defined because that which defines EVERYTHING (ie, our big hairy-scary brains) knows nothing of it.  Furthermore, by hitting my head against a mammoth brick wall whenever I approach this topic, it forces me to go deep and find what it means to me.

In other words, what is the big beautiful dream I’m chasing?  What exactly do I WANT?

Today, I’m feeling edgy and frayed, angered and annoyed at the slightest of infractions.  My life is massively unsettled.  I really don’t have a clue what’s happening on any level.  I can still access the Everything’s OK place with ease – the emotional upheaval isn’t the strongest force.  I’m watching my reactions from the observer mode, and she’s got a big toothy grin.  We’re having fun in this uncomfortable, uncertain, crazy little space – but it leads me to really define – what is enlightenment to me?  Am I trying to evolve myself out of these emotions all together?

I recently had the opportunity to attend a day-long enlightenment event with Timothy Freke, author of the brilliant Lucid Living, Jesus Mysterious, How Long Is Now?, and many more.  On my first date with the Seeker, he gifted me with Lucid Living, and it smacked me upside the head in the most magnificent way.  Tim’s take on this game is relatable – he advocates what he calls the “both / and” perspective (a term my huachumero shaman, Howard, uses as well.)  Tim states that he LOVES his human side too much to transcend it all together.  He acknowledges attachments to people like his children and wife, and absolutely wants those to stay intact.  In other words, if he got the call that his son had died, he’d still want to own that devastation and pain.  I suspect he would say this is part of being human.  Part of our rite of passage.  The key here is to never get LOST in that pain, to never truly identify it as your core self.  But there are many on this path that still have a very real attachment to this idea of humanness.

Is that what I want?

There’s a very strong piece of me that feels the need to challenge this – that there is another way of being.  It’s just a matter of determining whether or not you want it.  Which is clearly the process I’m working through as I write this.

The other way is the Tao.  An all-embracing perspective that what is is perfect.  Even when your cat is sawed in two by pranksters on Halloween (an actual event that happened to a very enlightened friend of mine this year.)  Even when your father dies (back to my fated event with Daddy.)  There’s pure poetry in embracing whatever the universe brings with a smile.  A smile like that the one on Daniel Pearl’s face when he was hooded and held by knifepoint by his angry captors, about to be beheaded.  Who would dare smile at a moment like that?  The same person that would do so when they’re staring at their dead, mutilated pet.  Or their dying father.

And is that human?  Is that really a state to aspire to?

When I started this blog, I wanted desperately to cling to this humanness, as I have defined it here – that which helps us feel.  I suspect I will always, always have these emotions, although I do allow for that to transform as well.  I can acknowledge that the old identity was once obsessed with anything that made her feel, as so much time was spent in denial of that self.  I can also admit there’s more to feel within, and I am hardly done with playing that game.  But I can say now, something that’s starting to really solidify internally, that I do not need to be the cesspool of emotions forever.  That those days are dying too, in that slow-like-honey fashion.  

It’s easy to say – I’m willing to give up my pain.  Well, strike that, it hasn’t been THAT easy, as it’s been a huge part of my identity until recently, but I’m more than thrilled to drop that story.  The hardest part is giving up my bliss.  Exiting the world of duality and into the oneness requires this.  I can’t say “God, take my pain, but I want to keep my bliss AND become self-realized.”  The acknowledgement that pain and bliss are separate sends me right back into the dualistic, ego-driven realms.  I’ve got that world in my rearview, but my eyes are still so transfixed.  Time to revert the gaze and see the beautiful nothingness that lies before.

Of course, in my willingness to be the source and the emptiness from which it came, the willingness to take my happiest memories and my highest highs and drop them on the alter like pearls (as my beloved Mac always teaches us), will in turn allow me to experience all that and more, but in this new transcended perspective.  At least, that’s the assumption, but it can’t be relied upon, or I’m not really giving it all up.  That’s like sleeping with one eye open – there’s an attachment in there.  A lack of surrender.

I guess I know now – that which I am heading towards.  I am taking on the Tao perspective, as it resonates strongest.  I love this world, don’t get me wrong – it’s just that staying behind and holding on to even the smallest of threads won’t get me back home.  It will just keep me lost in this beautiful and maddening illusion.  I want what’s real.  So I will let it all go.

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.

El Brujo’s life-giving Huacha - the ravine that leads to the top of her

She’s deceptively small, this moundish creation, and straight down the middle is an old staircase of sorts, welcoming ascension. It’s no optical illusion: this pyramid looked like a vagina. There’s nothing crass in this observation, but the feminine power was absolutely undeniable.

We were nestled in deep into the Huachuma experience by now, and I felt fiery. I didn’t really want to experience the life-giving Huacha – I had my sights set on that life-taking, ominous pyramid across the way. All in due time. It seemed I wanted the dark side more than I cared to admit.

I blazed a trail, as usual, defiantly creating my own path. I noticed the whole crew had gone to the right, standing at the base of the “stairs”, feeling the awesome power. I couldn’t wait on such things – I had to get to the top.

I found a meager path to the left, and started climbing. At one point, I was near the top, but I had reached a chin-high ledge. I looked around for some sort of leverage, something to give me a boost, and found nothing. I simply couldn’t give up. I nudged up on the tops of my toes and gave a heave, knowing it would be in vain, but all kinds of hopeful. As I did, a wind gust swooshed up underneath my feet, and suddenly, I found myself delicately landing on my knees, right where I wanted to be.

I paused to consider this.

- Thank you for another miracle.

I was talking to the Universe. She blasted a whiff of magnificent wind into my face, and I felt her immense welcoming. Oh my god, I was starting to feel *good*.

I bolted up and ran to the edge of the pyramid, toward the impending life-taking structure that lay just across the horizon. I felt so fucking consumed by this temple, knowing the human sacrifices that took place there, thousands of years before. I couldn’t stop staring. The tears started flowing in droves now, and I plopped down for a little meditation. I thrust my face toward the force, chin sky-high, and resisted it’s seduction. I would never be a part of the darkness. But I had to know what was inside.

I sat with eyes closed, tearing up with every breath, for ten minutes or so; soaking up the contrast of life and death. The wind was just insane up there, but I didn’t mind her – she brought good tidings. She brought strength and love, incredible jolts of giddiness, and the most amazing, overall feeling of empowerment and joy – things I had never, ever known. I was told to turn my back on the life-taking pyramid and enjoy my stay. It may be the only one I would have in my life, and this place felt beyond Sacred.

I rose to join the other pilgrims; they all sat in an elated circle a stone’s throw away. The sun felt seething and vicious, but we didn’t care. The wind ripped with maddening thrusts, but we loved her back – just as fiercely. It was crystal clear to us why the pyramid was built here – it was a recharging station. A chance to fall in love with life again. A chance to know it was all OK.

Z and I looked out on the valley, and we watched the last 3000 years unfold. Like time-lapse photography, the ancient times appeared, and the landscape showed us her metamorphosis. Civilizations came and went in a heartbeat, buildings rose and fell, people lived and died – all with eyes open. All in the span of a minute. I knew we were time traveling. I knew this was real.

I lay on the ground again, collapsing into an arch in the dirt mound; one that matched the curve of my back. I giggled to myself and grinned up at the clouds. Every last one had the most magnificent, feminine curves.
I placed my hands across my own curvy belly and gave her love. My beautiful, round stomach; the part of me I have cursed so very many times. It was time to say thank you. She was healthy, moon-ish and perfect.

My womb began to speak to me – and I have to admit, I felt resistance. I was learning to be comfortable with my feminine energy; something I have fought most of my life. She asked me a question posed in a previous Ayahuasca ceremony -

- Why do you choose to never consider having kids?

- Because I don’t want them.

- That’s not a good enough answer. Be open. Be who you are, and nothing more.

I sat up to consider this, and felt blood surge again between my legs. Expected, and yet, so symbolic. ( I learned later that V, a woman 59 years old, bled for the first time in 9 years on the top of the Huacha -lest you doubt her power.) Part of me wanted to bleed on this temple; to leave a piece of myself behind, merged with her magnificent energies. I hadn’t forgotten the question, and promised only this -

- I will consider it; having kids. I promise you – I’m open.

I meant it, and as such, the dialogue ceased.
I lay back in the sand and let my mind drift away, merging with the energies around me.

After a while, Howard rallied us up. We grinned stupidly at each other for a spell, still awestruck by the feelings we were experiencing.

- Soak up as much of this as you can, everyone – you’re going to need it.

He gave us The Look, and we knew things were about to shift.

The life-taking Huacha awaited our arrival.