Over the course of the summer I decided to embark on a challenging path with the end goal of quitting smoking. I asked my ex-smoking friends on Facebook how they managed to quit nicotine for good and received a lot of standard solutions – may of which I have tried in the past. There was one suggestion that stood out – something I had not tried. One of my friends suggested Ayahuasca ceremonies and working with a shaman.
I have long known my smoking habit was more than a physical addiction. A previous Ayahuasca ceremony had taught me my smoking and the physical weight I had carried for eight years were unconscious shields I used to separate me from intimacy. I have been aware of my commitment phobic tendencies for a long time – but I had always blamed bad dating experiences or my own pickiness for that isolation. It hadn’t really occurred to me to look much further back.
I realized the only way to truly conquer that formidable obstacle was to dredge up all the subconscious emotional crap wrapped around smoking and finally lay those demons to rest.
At first the process seemed easy but then as time progressed I discovered there was more crap behind the crap. It was like peeling rotten layers off an onion and discovering more layers of rot behind it. Each emerging issue seemed to be connected to another issue behind it. I discovered so many of my adult issues started at the same root. That root was the moment in my life where I was placed in a foster home as a three year old.
I barely remember the foster home other than a twelve year old girl named Theresa who used to always hit me, a dog named Sadie whom I liked to feed, Sesame Street, and lots of reading and colouring. My little brother was there as well – but I oddly have few recollections of interacting with him during that time period. Although we lived in the same place it was like we lived in separate worlds. That separate world dynamic also continued to his eventual death.
When I look back on that period with adult eyes I can only imagine how terrified and confused three year old me felt in my first days in the home. At that age my mother would have been the center of my universe. My one true love. The source of my survival and soother of my insecurities. She was my everything and suddenly she was gone – and I didn’t understand why. I can only imagine how I must have cried for her return – completely unequipped for processing her disappearance.
Back in those days smoking was commonly done indoors with no concern about second hand smoke. The smell of smoke coming under my bedroom door may have been soothing – giving me the illusion that my mom may be near. To this day smoking still has a soothing aspect to it.
I was five years old when my mother regained custody of me. Mom said I was afraid and resistant when she came to pick me up. I cried and shied away from her. Our bond had been broken and I was distrustful of her. From that point on – until her death we had a complicated often estranged relationship.
My mom never told me the whole story about why I ended up in the foster home. The only thing she said was my fathers mother lied to the judge by saying my mom had a prescription drug problem. She made it sound like it was some great injustice that had no foundation – yet by my teens I was very aware that she had a problem with prescription drugs. She mixed them with alcohol and it frequently contributed to our stormy relationship.
So how on earth did our lives gain the attention of the courts to begin with? What triggered this intervention?
I was too young for true critical thinking at the time I asked Mom about the foster home so I took her explanation at face value, never pried for more details, and simply filed what little I knew as an inconsequential part of my life story. I had no idea how it was impacting me and setting a tone for my life. Now that all the characters of that story are dead I find myself as a middle aged woman questioning the story and trying to connect the dots between what I witnessed and the snipppets of stories I remember from my mother.
One day while working with an amazing shaman, Angela Prider, a story finally came together….
I remember one day as a small child visiting my mom in the hospital. I can still see in my minds eye the white leather shoes I wore. They had bells on them and I was fascinated by the way they jingled when I ran. My mother usually made me wear them as a means of keeping track of where I had disappeared to – as I guess I often did. Everything looked so large. The bed my mom was laying in loomed high over my head. When I was lifted up to see her I remember being confused about the bandages on her hand. Later in life she told me she had had surgery on her hand. For the rest of her life she was unable to bend one of her fingers. The tendon in it had been severed and beyond repair.
Here’s the story behind the surgery:
My father has talked her into doing LSD. At some point in her trip she looked at my little brother in his crib and hallucinated that his skin was gone. He was just veins, tendons, and muscles. This vision freaked her out so bad she clenched the glass in her hand to the point of breaking – thus slicing her hand in many places.
Obviously this event required a trip to the emergency unit at the hospital – and outsiders have to be called into the situation. One of two things must have happened. Either my grandmother was called to care for my brother and I while my parents went to ER to deal with my mothers severely cut hand or the two of us were packed up and brought to the hospital with them. I suspect the latter scenario happened. Regardless of which scenario happened my parents were ultimately exposed as people who did serious drugs in the presence of their children – therefore unfit. The hospital would have been morally and legally bound to alert the authorities.
This also where my mothers pharmaceutical addiction started. This is probably where she discovered pain killers as an escape from not only physical pain – but also the deep emotional pain that forever ran in the background of her consciousness.
Even when Mom physically returned to my life, her frequent escapes from her constant pain prevented her from providing the unwavering presence needed by the little humans she was raising.
Hurt people hurt other people.
I myself was filled with subconscious pain running in the background of my mind. Kind of like a computer virus running in the background of my cerebral CPU. On the surface I seemed normal – even somewhat successful in many areas of my life but underneath that surface was a subtle disconnect from others that prevented me from connecting deeply with others in the same way a normally functioning person might. Yes that disconnect has hurt people I love in the past.
I decided I didn’t want to be this way anymore. The most powerful transformations seem to happen when I travel with intention so I have decided to do another soul pilgrimage. My destination: The ancient Mayan city of Palenque in the state of Chiapis, Mexico. My plan was to find a shaman, do a peyote ceremony, and symbolically leave my pain in the jungle.
A guy in a hostel in Kauai once told me I have the dumbest travel luck of anybody he has ever met. Looking back on my life I realize there is a lot of truth to his words. I DO have incredible travel luck.
My first solo travel experience outside of Canada was a four day train ride from Seattle, Washington to Jackson, Mississippi in February of 1993. My two best friends, Marian and Kirsty were also planning to rendezvous down there. The plan was to stay with Marians mom in what later turned out to be a cockroach infested trailer in a white trash trailer park in Vicksburg, Mississippi. That is another story though. Something with the title, “Rednecks, Rifles, and Road kill”.
My friends went down via bus – but I found a stupidly cheap train ticket and decided a better bathroom would make the four day trip better. This was a sound decision. Kirsty stepped off her bus cranky, sleep deprived, and constipated. I bounced off the train with a fistful of peoples personal home addresses – as Facebook and identity theft hadn’t been invented yet.
At the time I was 21 and living in Tofino – a cosy village of 800 at the end of the TransCanada highway on the west coast of British Columbia. Because the population was small and close knit, many of us never bothered to lock our doors. People with negative energy rarely stayed in the town because nobody would hire them or give them any of the limited housing. In contrast to my peace love hippy world, the US was viewed as a dangerous place. Media broadcasts were becoming increasingly dominated by reports of gang wars and the widespread ownership of handguns. We are immune to such reports now – but in 1993 it was shocking news. A lot of people in my community perceived me as friendly and guileless – so I was bombarded with warnings about being careful – and perhaps not talking to ANYONE…
Out of peer induced paranoia, I decided to travel ridiculously light so I looked like a local simply crossing the street. It is still my policy to travel super light (carry-on only) but I think this first trip takes the prize for being the lightest a young naïve first world girl can travel. This is all I brought for a three week vacation:
On my back I wore, a long sleeved t-shirt, a pair of tights, a hippy skirt, and an army surplus army jacket. In my teeny cloth backpack I carried my sketchbook, diary, Walkman, two pairs of socks, a weeks worth of underwear, a pair of cut-off jean shorts, and a huge bag of Sun Chips to live off of for the next 4 days. I also brought a pillowcase to hold any clothes I bought while I was down there.
All well meaning warnings from my friends went unheeded straight out of the gate. By 10pm on the first night I had the whole dining car drunk and singing Don McLeans American Pie with me. By 3am the train conductor gave me his sleeping compartment – because we had talked through most of his shift and he wasn’t going to use it. The next morning, the guy who ran the first class dining car offered me use of the shower in one of the first class suites. Basically my solo journey was off to a fabulous start.
After spending two weeks as one of three hippie chicks (needing serious clothing advice) in the land of the heavily made up southern belle, it was time for me to hop the train home. This is where dumb travel luck kicked up a notch…
Due to the way my bank card was configured, I was not able to access the money in my bank account the whole time I was in the US. I did not have a credit card to fall back on either. Luckily I had a functional amount of money in travelers cheques so I was fine for the most part. I think I mostly blew my funds on alcohol, greasy buffets, and clothes if I remember correctly. When it was time to go home I boarded the train with $11 cash and a $50 travelers cheque for the ferry between Seattle and Victoria… No Sun Chips for sustenance this time. Clearly I wasn’t thinking a lot through at the time.
I call it travel karma – but the term dumb luck also applies just as well. Whatever it was – it protected me. I arrived in Seattle four days later fully fed with $41 and a new ring – but I am getting ahead of myself.
Here’s the how:
When I arrived in Chicago a fellow passenger whom I had told my story to gave me $30 before we parted company. I told him I couldn’t take his money but he told me he was home and could access more so it was a gift. So now I had $41. That $41 was still in my pocket when I arrived in Seattle three days later.
I had made a deal with the cook on the train from Seattle to Chicago that I would keep him company and do his dishes in exchange for free food – so the lack of money for food didn’t worry me. I was a dish washer back home so I knew what I what I was doing in the kitchen.
As it turned out, my cook friend was not working on my train back – but the universe was still determined to look after me. By chance something crucial in the kitchen car had broken and they were not able to provide food to the passengers from it. Amtrak had to assume everyone on the train would have bought meals – so they loaded up on boxed meals at various points along the way and fed the entire train for free.
So how did I get the ring? An older guy from Detroit took a shine to me. He shared his smokes and bought me drinks throughout the second day on the train. He eventually gave me a cheap silver ring he referred to as a Russian wedding ring. I guess he figured he owned me after all that because he got extremely angry when I refused to sit on his lap. The son he was traveling with was 4 years older than me – to give an idea of the impossible age gap.
Mr. Detroit had also given a second ring to another girl on the train hoping we would compete for his affection for the third ring he had on hand. His exact words were, “I will give the third ring t the girl who is the nicest to me”. Neither of us were materialistic or lacking self esteem so neither of us competed for it. Come mealtime that other girl and I were randomly seated together with a quiet guy who had kept to himself all trip. His name was Duncan.
While the three of us were casually talking about bread Mr. Detroit charged up to our table and in a jealous rage slammed a bowl of coleslaw into Duncans face saying, “You think you are so cool…”
Then pandemonium broke out on the train. Eva, the head of the dining was a classic big black woman with all the power, presence, and attitude that went with being a big black American woman. She charged into the situation like a powerhouse of “no fucking shit”. It didn’t take long for the train to stop to let the police on. Mr. Detroit was now on his way to jail somewhere in Middle America.
Mr. Detroit’s hot playa son tried to defend his dad by bribing Duncan with $20 in hopes Duncan would tell the police it was just a friendly food fight. Duncan rightly wasn’t going to play that game. Hot Playa Son relentlessly tried to assert his bullshit story to the police – but the police told him to shut up – unless he wanted to go to jail too. Hot Playa Son had just gotten out of jail for dealing LSD – so he promptly sat down and zipped his lips. Mr. Detroit was lead off in cuffs…
Other than the Mr Detroit incident the rest of the train ride was fun. I was still identifying with my artistic side so I passed time drawing portraits of the serving staff in the dining car. This ended up further feeding my travel karma because when the train arrived in Seattle it did not connect with the last ferry to Victoria. Luckily, one of the train waiters told me all the staff was staying at the Vance Hotel – so if I was stranded in Seattle I should connect with them there. I did end up staying with the crew at The Vance.
I didn’t travel solo abroad for another 13 years – but this first journey was clearly a sign that I was made for the adventure of travel.
In 2007 I was heartbroken and feeling betrayed in the wake of an emotionally intense – but mostly cyber relationship. Around the 4 or 5 month mark, I sensed that he was trolling the internet for someone new – but I ignored my intuition and took his words at face value. The relationship continued in denial for about a month. When I later found out there may have been some truth to my gut feelings I impulsively bought a last minute ticket to Scotland. The ticket was only $550 return -taxes in. I had never thought of going to Scotland but there was something wildly romantic about the notion of screaming my frustration out on the windswept moors on the other side of the planet. Well the screaming on the moors thing didn’t happen – but I did cry a lot.
I ended up in Oban as a result of a coin toss and decided to carry on to the Isle of Skye. Thanks to insanely cheap absynthe, my bad decision to drink whatever the drinking dice dictated, and an illegal Shakira move on the dance floor, I badly injured my knee on the first night. This left me stuck in Oban against any smidgen of a plan I may have had.
While stuck in Oban I discovered the island of Iona was a short journey away. I had studied the island briefly in high school western civilization course. It was culturally significant because that was where a group of Benedictine monks wrote the book of Kells – which essentially saved Christianity by the skin of it’s teeth.
I loved the feel of the little island. It was so tranquil and feminine. It was there that I got the wild idea that I was going to marry myself in the ruins of an 800 yr old nunnery…
At the time the marriage seemed strictly symbolic. It wasn’t until seven years had passed and the man returned to my life that I was prompted to look back to find out where we had gone wrong. It was then that I noticed in the seven years that had passed there was a connection between that fateful day, the ring that I still wore, and the realization that my heart had been closed for all that time (despite a 4.5 year attempt at a relationship with a childhood sweetheart.) I realized the ring had become like a talisman of heartache and emotional defense. .. A shield against vulnerability. It had to come off – but it wasn’t as simple as merely removing it and sticking it in the jewelry box. I decided it had to come off with the same intensity of emotion and ritual in which it was put on. I knew it was time to take it off as it seemed to be catching on everything – making it’s presence known on a regular basis…I felt like Gollum from The Hobbit. It was “my precioussss…”.
Shortly after I made the decision to remove the ring I stumbled across a incredibly cheap last minute ticket to Cancun, Mexico. Just like Scotland, I had never felt any real pull to Mexico. I saw it as one of those places everybody else went to – so I would visit it later in life when I had finished seeing the places that were more exotic and less overrun by tourism….However fate always deals me unexpected cards – and cheap flights – so I had to heed what must have been another prompt from destiny…
For the first week in Mexico I struggled to find the right place and the adequate privacy for the ritualistic casting of the ring. Nothing seemed right about the time or place – and the words I wanted to say eluded me.
As it did in Scotland, everything came together on the last day… I had returned to Isla Mujeres and on the recommendation of several people I rented a golf cart to drive around the tiny island. I remembered reading about a fairly unimpressive set of ruins on the south point of the island so thought I’d check them out – and hopefully it would be a good place to do my ritual. It was my last day so either way the ritual had to be done.
In the end it turned out that there couldn’t have been a better place – and looking back I found many parallels between Punta Sur on the tiny feminine island of Isla Mujeres (Island of Women) and the nunnery on the tiny feminine island of Iona in Scotland. Both spiritually significant places. Both dedicated to the feminine. Both on tiny Islands. Both connected to the Atlantic — though opposite sides. Scotland was where golf was invented. I got to Punt Sur riding a golf cart. LOL
As I neared the archeological site I noticed a rainbow in the sky. It seemed odd to see a rainbow in such a blue sky in the complete absence of rain. The significance will be explained later. Here is the picture though:
It was bright and sunny when I passed through the ticket booth to walk the short path to the ruins. Nobody was visible so I began to make up my ritual as I walked the path to the ruins…
The path to Punta Sur, Isla Mujeres
With every step I said an affirmation. Some of the things I said were:
I believe in true love.
I believe my soul mate is near.
My life alone is almost over
I release all old lovers.
I release all pain and fear.
As I neared the ruins seemed to suddenly clouds rise up to obscure the sun. Here is a pic of the sudden change of lighting. (This is more significant looking back than it was at the moment.)
I had to pause my ritual briefly when I reached the ruins to find a couple taking pics on the ruins. I spoke to them briefly and exchanged cameras to have our pictures taken on the ruins before they wandered off and away. I now had the ruins to myself.
The ruins were quite diminutive. All that remained was three crumbling walls belonging to a building hardly bigger than a shed – but its location on the most southern point of the island was breath taking. This place was the where the Atantic Ocean and Caribbean Sea met…The first part of Mexico to feel the morning sun. I later learned this site is dedicated to the Mayan moon goddess Ixchel- who is known as the lady of rainbows, the protector of female fertility, and the healer.
I had previously written my relationship fears on a piece of paper and decided to burn those fears in the shelter of the ruins walls. As they were burning the paper I kept saying over and over, “These fears are no longer true. These fears are no longer true.
When I was down to a small shard of paper I noticed a hole in the ground and decided to drop the last bit of paper into the hole rather than burning my fingers. As I attempted to do so a gust of wind blew up from the hole and almost blew the ashes into my eyes. I found it startling and eerie…
This is what was rising up in the sky as I was burning my fears:
After burning my fears I took some pictures of the spot then moved to the dramatic point of the island in front of the ruins and began my incantation for the most important part of my ritual..
Staring down at the boiling sea below me I said aloud:
“I am ready to open my heart…to give and receive love to it’s fullest. Sheilds and walls no longer serve me. (This is where I started uncontrollably sobbing and cast the ring into the water below) The man of my dreams is close. I believe in true love”
This is where I cast the ring:
Once my heart opening incantation was complete, I took a few pictures and walked away being careful not to look back. As I walked away I said more affirmations such as:
” I am walking towards my love. I am walking towards my new life. I believe in true love. My soul mate is looking for me – and we shall see each other soon…)
When I returned home and viewed the pictures I had taken after burning my fears I noticed the camera had picked up some strange phenomena that was not visible to my naked eye. I will post in order of how I took them.
In the first picture you can see two large red “smudges”..
In the second picture you can see the red smudges have moved a bit – but the strangest thing is the dark blue smudge and the small but bright blue cross in the bottom left… What is THAT?
Then it gets crazier. I moved away from the ruins and down a small embankment. You can see the blue smudge and the cross have risen into the sky half way up the right side:
I am not sure what happened there – but something has changed in me on a very deep level. In the first week and a half after this I lost 15lbs of stubborn weight. I realize I had began to battle weight after marrying myself in Scotland. Since that ritual in Mexico I have lost a total of 25lbs (two full dress sizes) in only two months – without trying. Perhaps the weight and the ring had been working together to shield me? I am now no longer invisible to men who pass on the street. My creativity is beginning to return – and I have lost my desire to over consume alcohol….
My trip to Mexico was dogged with delays and snafus. I nearly missed my boarding call, the plane had some minor technical issues, my gate spontaneously changed in Houston and that connector plane waited half an hour for a take-off lane assignment.
As I was almost out of the Cancun airport I was intercepted by Raphael the timeshare guy. Within minutes of the greeting he had expertly locked into my naivety and began enticing me with promises of a nice buffet and a cheap rental car. I hadn’t seen the Mexican traffic outside the airport yet – so reluctantly gave him the $50 deposit and agreed to meet him in two days on the Cancun side of the ferry. He tried to steer me towards a $17 shuttle to the Isla Mujeres ferry but I luckily had a little pre-smart in me to take a $10 ADO bus downtown and a $3 taxi ride to the ferry – for a grand savings of $4. (I have since learned how to better haggle with taxi drivers).
Isla Mujeres is a tiny island off of Cancun. It was dark when I arrived and I had some difficulty finding the hotel I had made reservations at. I asked people on the street for directions to the Xula-Ha and was told it was a white building with no sign – because it is undergoing renovations. After retracing my footsteps, I did find a white hotel that didn’t appear to have a sign so I knocked on the door of what seemed to be a darkened office.
Lucy didn’t speak English – and apparently didn’t know what confirmation email from Xula-Ha said as it was written in English. After some confused communication in our respective languages she handed me a key and towel. When I woke up this morning I discovered I was staying at the Carmelina – rather than the Xula-ha. Oh well. It was $10/night cheaper so I stayed – despite the teeny ant invasion.
Wrong hotel and ant invasion aside, I had a good first night on Isla Mujeres. As my dumb travel luck would have it, my quest for a drink actually lead me to one of the more popular bars among the locals. It was called Kokonuts and played great dance music with weird videos. After an hour of journaling I was joined by a friendly frequent visitor named Keith who described himself as a catering VP who constantly loses his phone, and grew up as the only gay white boy in a small native American town in Dakota. He was funny and fun so we chatted until the end of the night.
I also met a retired ex-Pat named George who was clearly a nightly visitor to the bar. He and Keith were fans of Rosario the middle-aged waitress who didn’t have much to say – but she did clap her hands and danced around a lot. Towards the end of the night I met a super drunk Columbian guy who had a golf cart – but couldn’t find a place to stay. He wanted to sleep on my floor but I told him that was not a good idea. Lucky Mexico is warm at night and the island is safe. Finally at about 4am my new friend Ben who played in a reggae band walked me to my hotel. He asked for a kiss outside the building and was surprised that I would say no. I have since learned in Mexican culture agreeing to an escort home is pretty much sexual consent. Who would have thunk?
Today was my first full day on the island and it was certainly interesting. The hospital caught fire this morning and it took about 20 minutes to get water to the blaze. I was about half-way through breakfast when I finally saw about 15 marines running past me with 3 shovels, 3 picks, 5 portable fire extinguishers, and a length of hose. The water tanker came from a different direction. I wonder why it took so long for the “fire crew” to arrive considering the island is only 650 meters wide and 7 km long. I guess they must have had to fill up the water tanker first. Note to self: Do not get hurt here.
North Beach was stunning. It was my first experience on sugar sand and turquoise waters.
Realizing my hair was a rats nest from wind and hard water with no pressure I went searching for a place to buy comb or brush since I thought I had left mine at home. This ended up turning into an epic quest – which left me wondering how these islanders cope with their hair when nobody knows where to buy a brush – not even the local hairdresser. I realize I really do need to get up to speed with my Spanish and improve my charade skills. There is probably a shit tonne of brushes being sold somewhere but nobody knows what I am asking for.
I finally found a small comb after wandering the streets for close to two hours and retired to my hotel room to attack my Medusa head. That’s where I finally found my comb – in my purse the whole time (forehead slap). After dealing with my hair I found myself feeling a bit heat exhausted so I laid down for a siesta. When I awoke all the nice sun was replaced by heavy rain, flooding, and strong tropical winds. I was stoked for the idea of a hurricane – but apparently that was normal wind and rain for there.
Once the rains abated I found myself heading back to Ave Miguel Hidalgo – the restaurant and gift shop strip. I have been connecting a few times a day with this lovely and incredibly handsome man named Julio who works in a jewelery store on the corner I pass all the time. For some reason I feel so comfortable that I told him about my mission to ceremoniously toss my ring into the ocean to open my heart to love at some point while in Mexico. He said he wanted to meet me for a drink after he got off work but in the end stood me up.
My first stop on the strip was a place called Q-Bar where I ended up connecting with Raul. He was such a nice guy and after he got off work we decided to go to the nightly party on the beach at the Poc’Na hostel. The party wasn’t happening because of the weather so we ended up having drinks at Kokonuts. He offered to walk me home – but since he had earlier explained what accepting the invitation means I decided to stay at Kokonuts for a bit longer to chat with ex-pat George and reggae band Ben. There were a few other folks and a bong involved leading to another 4am bedtime…
Nov 19 – The Time Share Adventure
Raphael met me at the ferry on the Cancun side as promised and set me up with a taxi that took me almost to the Grand Mayan private resort. It was about half way between Cancun and Playa Del Carmen. By now I am firmly against the notion that I can possibly pull off driving in Mexico without being a moving policia target – and am a little afraid of what everyone else is doing wrong that may get me smashed. I really didn’t have much motivation to sit through a high pressure timeshare thing – aside from wanting my $50 back. However it was raining so it wasn’t like I would do much anyways – other than figure out what town I wanted to sleep in. The agreed 90 minute presentation turned into a 3.5 hr grind where I repeatedly assured them they were wasting their time with me. I am a backpacker who doesn’t even own property back home. Why would I want to spend $68, 000 (if I had it) on a place I can only spend a week end.They argued that it would be good for 100 yrs and I could pass it on to my children. I assured them that at my age children weren’t happening. Eventually i had to get tough with the sales manager adn tell him he needed to let me go because it was going to be dark soon and I needed to work out where I was sleeping tonight. This somehow offended him and he left without returning. The first salesman went looking for him and cam back telling me the offer of driving me to “my hotel” had been downgraded to me walking to the highway and catching a collectivo – basically the little locals bus. Lucky for me there was one more salesman to work me and he didnt know I had pissed off the middle one. so the taxi thing was back on. Normally they drive people to Playa Del Carmen or Cancun but I made them drive me to Tulum. So basically it was SO LONG SUCKAS – and thanks for the free buffet and ride from Cancun to Tulum. I felt bad for the taxi driver for having to do the long drive and be late for dinner so i tipped him 200 pesos though ($16).
Le Jardins De Frida hostel and Cantina
This place is a wonderful gem of a place. The decor is eclectic and creative. The staff is incredibly sweet. The dorm room walls are painted like a jungle and the bathroom walls are covered in painted fish. The only other inhabitants of my dorm are two lovey women, Amy and Ellie. The atmosphere is so trusting that Ellies iPad is sitting on a night table unguarded. Eventually we all ended up in the cantina that is attached to the hostel.
The dorm:
The cantina:
Isreal mixing up the pulque
The cantinas bartenders Isreal and Joaquin were eager to share the unique tastes of Mexico with us. We discovered fried worms and crickets. I am not a fan of the worms – but the crickets are not so bad. They also introduced us to a traditional drink called pulque – which is a white fermented alcohol. They said it was the first distill. Isreal is a cocktail wizard. He had decanters of amazing infusion on the bar ranging from concoctions containing hibiscus, lemon grass, cinnamon, or chilies. All juices were pressed before our eyes. It would take him 10 minutes to make a drink – but it would taste so amazing it would be sucked back in less than 5 minutes…Another late night…
Nov 20 – The Grand Cenote
Amy and I went to the Grand Cenote for a swim today. It was small but pretty – and very relaxing. Amy heads back to New Zealand today – which is a little saddening as I would have liked to spend more time with her. Its interesting how quickly some travelers form connections deeper than they would at home.
There are a few new additions to the dorm tonight. An older gentleman named Tom. He doesn’t seem to want to interact and definitely didn’t like the initial discovery that he was the only man in the dorm. I don’t feel he is gay – but he doesn’t seem to like women too much. Eventually another guy showed up for the night and he seemed relaxed around him for a bit – but then he retired to bed and fell asleep early. Ellie says he told her he was just in a harrowing ship wreck – so that may explain his exhaustion and some of his introverted behavior. There was also three other girls that joined us in the dorm. I saw them check in wanting a private room – but the cost of a private room was beyond their budget. One was from Australia and the other two were from Vancouver. They also seemed to want to stay distant – even though one was well traveled and we shared some of the same previous experiences . I wasn’t totally surprised about the Vancouver native girls distance. Vancouver natives seem to be just as insular on the road as they are at home.
Ellie and I ended up in the cantina again with a guy named Jose who seemed to be local. Another fun time was had…more pulque, weird appetizers, great cocktail concoctions …and another late night..
The Idol:
In the early 90’s someone, whom I have forgotten gave me a small carved figurine. He said he got it from a guy somewhere in Mexico who said it was a burial idol. I never knew if it was authentic or a replica nor did I know if it was good luck or bad luck – but I have kept it all these years.
When I told a psychic friend I was going to Mexico she was concerned about me picking up negative energies so I decided to bring a piece of tourmaline with me to keep me grounded. While looking for the tourmaline I came across the idol and decided to take it with me. Perhaps it wanted to go home? I tried researching it online to see if it was Mayan – but came up short on information. Tonight I decided to pull the idol out and show it to a Mexican. Jovana was working the desk at my hostel. She wasn’t familiar with the style but as my dumb travel luck would have it her boyfriend just happened to be an archaeologist! It seems there is almost always an archaeologist or shaman in my mystical journeys. I am no longer surprised.
About 20 minutes after Jovana sent him a picture Dante the archaeologist was at the hostel with the carving in his hand. He said it had a patina that suggested it was old but without knowing where exactly it came from he was lost as to what it was. The only thing he knew for sure is that the stone it was carved with is only found in Honduras. We searched the internet for awhile to see if we could find a similar art but the closest we could find was a large Toltec statue. Dante said the existence of the Toltecs are an archaeological debate as to whether that race actually existed. He sent me an article about the use of jade in ancient mesoamerican culture and from what I gather from the article it was considered a very precious stone worn by aristocracy – and buried with aristocracy. The article concluded: “In part, the relation-ship of jade to the ancient past concerns the tough and durable nature of this stone, which allows objects to be used and reused for hundreds of years as heirlooms and material testimony to past events (Joyce 2000:13–15). However, jade also symbolized the immaterial breath essence of the soul, allowing for ritual contact with otherwise remote gods and ancestors. In Classic Maya thought, jade was a stone of beauty and ancient tradition, a living material that, through heirlooms and rituals of conjuring, linked the living to generations of the dead.”
It seems my little jade friend is still a mystery that may lead me to other countries..
Nov 21 – Coba w/ Cranky John
Today Cranky John and I kind of went to the Coba ruins together. I say kind of because we walked to the Ado (bus) together, walked past the gate together – then separated shortly after. Eventually I hired a trike bike driver to take me to the main temple and ran into him along the way. When we ran into each other at the observatory I taught him how to work his camera – which softened him up a bit, He even invited me to sit with him at a restaurant later. We talked about the ruins and I shared the information I had gleaned from eavesdropping and compared it to my knowledge of what I had learned about other ancient cultures in my travels. I think my intellect and depth was catching him off guard when compared to the apparent bimbo image my new and previously unworn dress was giving me. Even I was disturbed by the amount of cleavage that was being thrown out there due to bust line slidage..
About Coba Itself:
Visually, Coba was nothing compared to Machupichus setting and couldn’t hold a candle to Angkor Wats detailed and grandiose splendor. If anything the energy there made me nervous in a way I cant explain. I did climb the big pyramid to say I did though. The view was no different from the big tree I climbed in the Peruvian Amazon.
Everything is interesting but so far I don’t feel impressed with Mexico. Its friendly – but there is little culture shock and I have seen far more interesting on an archaeological level. Maybe I have actually seen too much of this planet already? Naw… LOL
Nov 22 – OK. I Have Changed My Mind About Mexico…
Last night was great fun! Allie and I found ourselves back in the cantina again. This time we were joined by our new German room mates, Fabian, Wolfgang, and Laura (who was staying elsewhere). Ado, who worked the front desk also joined us as did Jose (again) and two very fun Mexican guys from Playa Del Carmen – Gerardo and Daniel.
After some drinking and dancing; Allie, Evan, Daniel, Gerardo, and myself ended up at the beach with a big cooler of pulque. There was a big party going on at a restaurant on the beach so we had music to listen to from where we were down on the beach.
Instead of going into the party we decided to go swimming instead. Okay. Maybe I got a little over excited, took of my clothes and ran to the water – – and other people thought it would be a fun idea too. Alcohol does magical things to peoples logic. It was incredible swimming in the warm Caribbean water under a sky full of stars. I almost never see stars anymore living in the city with all the light pollution competing with it. Definitely a highlight of my trip!
I went to the Tulum ruins today. Their ocean side setting was breathtaking – but the energy was disturbing. My heart was racing towards the end of my exploration. I have wanted to see these ruins for almost 10 years but I simply couldn’t linger.
Ellie was waiting for me at the nearby public beach so I joined her after my tour.
After a significant search for shade that was free of charge we plopped ourselves down under a canopy belonging to a tour company. Luckily a couple from the states was just finishing their tour and we looked like we were with them when they asked to join us at the last two available seats at our table. They were a lovely couple who eventually drove us to the supermarket so we could catch a cheaper cab from there.
Gerardo and Daniel drove up from Playa Del Carmen (40 min drive) to pick Ellie and I up, bring us back to a party in Playa with the promise to bring us back the next day. Unfortunately they forgot to consult with us before making the trip as Ellie didn’t want to go. I would have liked to have spent more time with Gerardo but stuck with Ellie…So they made the trip for nothing. It was sweet they went through the effort of the drive though. I can’t say too many Canadian men would do that.
Our night ended up being mellow. It was just Ellie, the Germans, and myself hanging out with some beer we bought from the OXO – which is the Mexican equivalent to a 7-11.
Nov 23:
Ellie and I snorkeled Akumal today. It was nice but the water visibility was a bit poor. I have a feeling the cloudiness was because of all the people stirring up the water. I have t hand it to the Mexicans when it comes to their diligent protection of their ecosystem. All sensitive areas were roped off and it required a guide (babysitter) to go outside of the boundaries. Everyone has to wear biodegradable sunscreen in the water.
Gerardo and Daniel came back again tonight. Gerardo for me and Daniel for Ellie. There was a salsa party at one of the beach resorts but the highlight of my evening was making out with Gerardo on the beach. It was like being a teenager in high school again. I don’t think I have ever felt so beautiful in my life. It redefined my view of myself and for the first time I think I have added an actual feeling to add to my list of what I desires in my next relationship. I felt both exhilarated and a little sad at the thought that I may never feel like that again.
Nov 24:
Ellie went back to Colorado today. I went back to Isla Mujeres. My bus stopped in Playa Del Carmen on the way and I was very tempted to get off and find Gerardo. I resisted the temptation because I couldn’t write Spanish so there was no way to message him on Facebook to see if he was free. Instead I played, Almost Lover by Fine Frenzy a couple times an wallowed in the bittersweet feelings he had brought up in me. It was so odd that a man who couldn’t speak English could make me feel like he did…Maybe the language barrier was a part of the recipe for the magic. Maybe I was just starved for attention. Dating in Vancouver sucks. There’s no romance . Mexico seems to ooze romance – even when it is insincere it’s better than being treated like one of the boys.
My first night back on Isla Mujeres was not as expected. There was a lot of general male weirdness. Men who had been so “interested” in me barely wanted to talk to me – except for sweet Julio. I suspected it was because I still hadn’t fulfilled my promise to buy something from his store. He suggested meeting up with me after he finished work – but stood me up. He did however lead me to an expat bar called Nash’s that is owned by a guy from North Vancouver. The bartender was a guy from Colorado named Tim who I thought was a very “awake” soul.
Nov 25
Upon everyone’s suggestion I finally rented a golf cart and drove around the beautiful island of Isla Mujeres. It was a gorgeous ride…And I found the perfect spot to do my heart opening ritual and cast my ring into the Caribbean. That in itself is a long story that deserves it’s own entry.
Upon returning I visited Julio and bought a beautiful silver necklace with a large amethyst in it. It seemed right to buy something to replace the ring. Now I could wear a new talisman to carry the new energy in me. Julio said I looked different since the ritual…
In the evening I found myself back at Nash’s chatting with Tim the bartender. He was so great to talk to. He told me the ruins of Punt Sur were dedicated to the Mayan goddess Ixchel. Apparently the locals still go there to do rituals.
Julio actually showed up for a couple drinks tonight. He confessed the reason he had stood me up was because business had been slow and he didn’t have any commission money. He didn’t want to show up broke. It was so sweet. He looked like he had put in some effort to look and smell good for me. Our visit was on the brief side though as he had arrived late and had to work in the morning. Because the rain had flooded the streets we just stayed at Nash’s and did a walk to the store so I could get smokes. Then he walked me home and we hugged good-bye. I found it interesting that he didn’t attempt to kiss me. Any other Mexican would have – but I think his time living in the states made him a gentleman.
Nov 26
And so ends my stay in Mexico. I left today. Mexico was an incredibly strong power center. It’s energy both turbulent darkness and beautiful magical light. While one side of the country crowded by the thousands to burn effigies of their president in outrage over the murder of 46 students, I was on the other side blissfully bobbing under the stars with a man who made me feel more beautiful than I have felt in many years – if ever. If my travels were to be converted to my own personal Eat, Love, Pray – then Mexico would be the love portion. I fell in love with the people – and I opened my heart to believe in love again.
I had been struggling with this websites identity for some time. Is this a travel blog? Is this a spiritual blog? Is it a spiritual travel blog? Although I have had many spiritual experiences and many amazing adventurers over seas I am not doing these things daily. Yet I really should write daily…
Last night I may have found my answer in one of my meditations…
Since the new year came in I have noticed a marked increase in visions. My experiences seem to get stronger, stranger, and more vivid than ever. I won’t go into the lead up sensations and visions to last nights epiphany because I sometimes wonder if these visions are a bit crazy sounding at times. At the beginning of the vision I asked God to tell me what my purpose was. What will make me happy and contribute the most to society. Towards the end of the vision I was gifted a backpack. It made me think of a time in my early 20’s when I was very creative and though I didn’t have a passport I felt the gypsy in my soul. I always carried a back pack filled with music, journals, art supplies, and a harmonica. If the muse was going to hit me at any time I was ready for it. The tools were always with me. I think I need to trade the purse in for a backpack and carry creative tools again.
After I was shown the backpack I was shown a picture with several compact cameras on it with and a voice said, “Choose”.
The next message I heard was, “Write”.
“What shall I write?” I asked.
It doesn’t matter”, said the voice. “Just start”
The next thing I saw was a window. I looked through the window and saw the whole world at once. The voice then simpy said, “Follow your dream. It will all come together in time”
The flight aboard Air China from Vancouver to Taipei, Taiwan was the longest and most brutal flight of my life. It was thirteen hours. Thirteen hours of I cant drink water because it will make me pee and the bathroom smelled so badly of old bilge I nearly threw up when I tried to use it at the beginning of the flight. Thirteen hours of no sleep because the green screen of insanity – which they called a personal TV – was the same quality as many other things manufactured in China. I had no control over the defective TV. The screens turned off in the morning – so then the sun kept me awake for the rest of the journey.
Thirteen hours of I can’t straighten my right leg because I ended up with the weird gear box thing in front of my seat.
When I arrived in Taipei for my plan change I had an hour to find the bathroom of my dreams and get to the next plane. There was panicked running – and there was glorious relief. After the bathroom I feel I really could have dropped to my knees in this very politically correct location (below) to express gratitude to any of the gods that may be hanging here:
The flight from Taipei to Bangkok was like flying with a different airline. The plane was in much better repair and the food was ten times better than the prison food they served between Vancouver and Taipei. I am not sure what their explanation for the contrast would be.
Four years have passed since I dreamed of the Khmer temple somewhere in Indochina. I have googled the area many times looking for pictures of the place in my dream – but the closest I came to finding pics that kind of looked like the place I saw in my dream was Angkor Wat in Siem Reap, Cambodia.
So when that 83 year old lady rear-ended my car the very first words out of my mouth were, “I’m going to Cambodia with my settlement.”
As soon as the smoke had cleared on the accident, and the ink was still drying on the settlement cheque, I found a super cheap ticket to Bangkok with China Air. After taxes it was $1027 for a trip to the other side of the planet. I never thought of going to Thailand but figured it was close enough to Cambodia and Laos.
I had been googling the words, “Khmer temple Laos” off and on for years but all that came up was either Khmer temples in Thailand, Khmer temples in Cambodia, and pagoda style Buddhist temples in Laos. No Khmer temples in Laos. Within hours of buying the ticket to Bangkok I hit gold on my google search. I discovered there was a Khmer temple in Laos after all. It was called Wat Phu in Pakse, Laos.
So my plan is to land in Bangkok, Thailand; fly to a Thai border town called Ubon Ratchathani, bus into Pakse, Laos; check out this Watt Pu; fly into Siem Reap, Cambodia to see Angkor Watt; then head back to Bangkok.
So my Mom visited me last night. For most people that is not an unusual statement – but in my case it is odd. My mother died last October.
I have had spirit visitations before and have learned to identify them because they always start with the same conversation. I am surprised to see them because I thought they were dead. They assure me they aren’t dead – then they show or teach me something that I did not know before – which eventually turns out to be true.
The dream started with my mom laying in a bed. I assumed she was dead – until she sat up on the edge of the bed. I took her hand in mine and found it was brown and withered – but I understood it was a good sign. Her body was returning to the earth as it should.
Then we traveled around the world. I felt like I saw everything and nothing at the same time. At the end of the dream we rested at what seemed to be the top of the world – the North Pole. I knew it was getting time to wake up for work and told her I had to leave. I asked her to come with me but she said she was going to hang out with her friend. That is when I noticed a woman of about 20 who was dressed in 70’s clothing. It felt like a high school friend that died young. Now she was acting as my mothers guide. Come too think of it my mom suddenly seemed to appear very young as well. Maybe late 20’s early 30’s.
The next thing I knew I was flying through brilliant blue skies. Below me were several orange stone buildings with intricately carved towers. They were close together on a piece of property that was surrounded by a stone fence about chest high. There was also something that looked like a large rectangle altar or a small building pressed against the fence on one side. From my vantage point it was not clear. I knew it was a holy place of some sort.
I did not recognise the architecture and wondered where it was. MY thoughts were, “This place is beautiful! I must go there. Where am I?”
Then I heard a disembodied voice say, “Laos. L-a_o_s”
..and I woke up.
I had never thought of Laos before. I wasn’t sure where it was – nor did I even know how to pronounce it correctly until my boss corrected me later today.
I did a lot of googling to see if I can find the place in my dreams. Most temples that come up in Laos on the internet are pagoda like structures. With a change of keywords I was able to find a picture that looks remotely like what I saw. It is a book on Amazon: Guide To Khmer Temples in Thailand and Laos
It is the same type of architecture – but the colour is wrong. I think I may be onto something though. I do not know why I saw this place in my dream. It didn’t come with any sort of story like my Peruvian or Scottish past life visions provided.
All I know is my vision showed me something real that I have never been exposed to pictures of.
There wasnt a lot of research or planning for the Amazon part of my journey to Peru. I just had a gut feeling that since I was going to be in the area I should make my way down there. I asked the tour company that had handled my trip to Machupichu to handle that too. I had no preconceived notions and no idea what to expect.
When I got off the plane, I was lead to a wooden (yes – wooden) bus with with rolled up plastic sheeting that could be used as “windows” in case of sudden rain. My picture of the dashboard does not do justice for this epitome of dashboard decoration…
Nor was I prepared for the hour and a half boat ride with the korean whisky swilling boat driver.
The whiskey:
This is the Ecoamazonia Lodge. My bungalo was made of wood and set on stilts with a grass roof and netting for windows. I should have taken a picture so it could be shared. Oh well.
I also wish I recorded the din of the jungle that lulled me to sleep at night. Imagine the song of crickets -then amplify it in your mind to the power of 10.
The mosquitoes were fearless and big enough to violate chickens. Like LOOK at this beast below…just sitting there staring at my finger and planning it’s attack.
Once we settled into our bungalows, we were taken to Monkey Island to feed the monkeys…
This “wild” turkey has nothing to do with my story. But at least I wasn’t like the slickers from New York and LA who took 2 dozen pictures of each other drinking from a coconut.
The next morning, they dragged me out of bed at the ungodly hour of 5am to take us on a jungle tour/boat ride….
Apparently the fruit from this very fruitful tree is a powerful aphrodisiac:
Al the pretty things like parrots and butterflies flew to fast or high for me to capture with my crappy camera so here’s some the creepy crawly things…
Believe it or not – this is a spider:
..and this massive web system was done by ONE industrious spider:
This was a really cool tree. It was 500 years old:
Now to give you an idea of scale, here’s me at the base of this tree:
This is me trying to look cool while being attacked by bees:
Here is the view from the top of an even bigger tree. There was a rickety ladder that wound around it to a platform at the top. As you can see it makes the rest of the jungle look like a lawn:
Later that night we went for a sunset cruise on the Rio Madre. The driver nearly capsized the boat while we were in it. Perhaps he had a bigger flask of whiskey in him this time…
One last sunrise before leaving heading back to Lima:
San Pedro – also known as the Peruvian Torch cactus is used in Peruvian shamanic rituals. They call it a medicine because it’s purpose is to purge negativity from the user – whether that negativity is physical, emotional, or spiritual. I guess it would be akin to Peyote. Unlike the short intense Ayahuasca journey that makes you puke and crap – or “purge”, San Pedro is a longer but apparently gentler journey. Mike, the shamans apprentice, explained that it opens your seven senses. The seventh sense being your ability to see into other dimensions. (This guy also nonchalantly believes extraterrestrial human hybrids from Atlantis mixed with the Neanderthals to create todays South American.)
There were seven of us participating in the “opening” ceremony. We came from many parts of the world. I was the only one who didnt know Spanish so it had some rather confusing moments. Other than the odd translation or instruction from Mike I was in the dark as to what was supposed to be going on.
We were gathered somewhere in the Sassaywyman archaeological site. According to Mike, Master Jose Pineda Vargas’s is registered with their federal government and his ancestral shaman status entitles him to basically do whatever he pleases on any archaeological site in Peru. Despite that, a park warden tried to make us leave the archaeological site. There was an indignant uproar as Master Jose and his assistants waved their hands at him like they were shooing a fly and chastised him in Spanish. Mike called him crazy. This warden was obviously new and didn’t know who Master Jose Pineda Vargas was.
After some walki talki chatter, another warden appeared. Upon recognizing the Master, he told us to be careful a dragged the other warden away.
San Pedro is like something you cough up – not something you would ingest. It was a creepy gelatinous green goo – like a baseball sized booger in a coffee mug. It triggered every gag reflex in me as I struggled to choke it down. I haven’t done a heavy drug in a good decade and was extremely hesitant to do so. However, I had told myself I would do this if I had the chance. Well the chance had found me – and how can you top San Pedro in an ancient archaeological site with a genuine government certified ancestral shaman?
After we had all ingested the San Pedro, Master Jose made us sit with our eyes closed awhile he began to simultaneously chant in Quechua, whistle, and shake a rattle. After awhile, he made us “dance” in a circle. My body felt heavy as I lurched like a zombie around the fire.As if on cue storm began to brew. There was thunder and lightning but no rain. The wind whipped the stinky smoke of the Paulo San fire into my face making me nauseous every time I passed it’s plume but this feeling was eclipsed by a feeling of pure elation. I found myself clutching my staff of petrified wood and feeling the storm in me and around me. I had a strong feeling that I was going to be alone,and single for a very long time. I made peace with the idea and resolved I would travel all over the world and do ritual wherever I could.
Every now and then a young girl about 9 yrs old would pour a floral alcohol into our hands which we had to inhale seven times. Each time I did this it felt like I got a little higher and higher.
After what felt like an hour, we were lead through the ancient caves lit by candle light. It was now night. I felt like it easily could have been a thousand or more years ago. Once we were through the caves, we were told to dance around another fire for about another hour. I felt ill because I hadn’t done the recommended diet and cleanse before the ceremony. My body felt like lead. My mind was flying all over the place. I thought of my past. I imagined my future. I thought of my mother. I thought a lot of love. I re-experienced every heartache and slight I had ever had. Then a voice in my head started saying over and over. “That was not love. That was not love. Real love is better.”
Eventually he lead us all to separate places. I was lead to a large flat rock, given a sleeping bag for warmth, and told to keep my eyes closed. Closing the eyes was a good idea because all the rocks looked like creepy faces in the moonlight.
I have no idea how long I laid on that rock curled up in the fetal position under the pale moonlight of my rocky solitude. I understood the point of tripping out alone, but darn I don’t think freezing my ass off was the best way to “open” my seven senses. Quite frankly, I was afraid. Here I was in a foreign country with a bunch of people who communicated best in another language and I had just broken one of the two cardinal rules of travelling. Don’t do anything that will strip you of your control in a foreign country. Okay. Perhaps we can make an exception to the rule if its with a guy who displays 9 human skulls on his window sill altar? (That’s a rhetorical question)
Once my fear about my situation had passed, my brain began to filter through its regular crap. The thoughts were actually my normal regrets, worries, and insecurities – but suddenly I realized most of my daily thoughts are pure garbage. Useless chatter that paralyzes and distracts me from what is really important. The lower mind is really a stupid thing.
I thought again of love. Not just romantic love, but family love and even worldly love. This seemed to be the theme for my journey. My exposure to the expressions of love from other countries had me really thinking about what they call love in my world. I began to think of how society and economics separates children from parents in Canada…. I thought of how men treat women and how confusing the gender roles have become. How confused I have become. I feel that somewhere along the line I have lost touch with the woman in me. My womanhood has been exploited, but hasnt been honoured in so long that I feel I have started to become a man inside… Maybe that is part of the reason why I am single. I don’t feel like a woman anymore.
When women burned their bras, they wanted some choices and freedoms. They didn’t want to be men. But men have become so wrapped up in their careers, addictions, and sports, that they have forgotten how to honour a woman – and they wonder why they cant bring out the best in them. Its crazy. It wasnt so apparent until I came here and saw the way men from (some) other countries treat and honour me. Its not a smarmy thing either. Its hard to explain. I just feel really respected here. I havent at any point in time felt objectified – yet at home I feel it all the time.
I then thought of worldly love. My god there is so much touch deprivation in my world! I don’t mean romantic touching – but general touching. There was this sparsely toothed woman I bought some coffee from on my first morning in Agua Calientes. Our communication was very simple because of the difference in our languages, but everytime I ran into her after that she emanated pure love towards me. By the next day, we were on a hugging basis. For some reason, embracing this tiny strangers body felt really good. It was so pure and simple. She was a good person. I was a good person. We needed to express it.
People need to walk in other lands and ask questions instead of sitting at home passing judgement then picking up a gun and hopping a plane to kill a culture they don’t understand. One of the final three choices for the new Peruvian Persident is against tourism and wants to start a war with Chile to get back a couple cities that were formerly Peruvian territory. I think somebody needs a hug… War just seems so ludicrous – but I’m a hippy inside…
Anyways. Once I was back in my hostal, I did as I was told. I went to bed in the dark and closed my eyes. For the next six hours I hallucinated beautiful kaleidoscopic patterns and felt myself travelling on a patterned ribbon through time and space and around the world… Maybe that was the other dimension stuff Mike had mentioned. I really felt like I was flying all over the world on the DNA strands of the universe without moving a muscle.
I remembered a lot of things I had forgotten from my emotional history and somewhere in there all the dots in my life became connected. For a moment everything made sense. Now that I have recovered, I still have a broader understanding- but there is no solution. Master Jose told me I need to do four more opening ceremonies to really clear out the psychic gunk.
There were more funny (in retrospect)transportation and hostel snafus but I wont go into it. Let´s just say my tour into the jungle next week is going to be free. With that being said, I still believe that even when things are bad its still a wicked adventure. I am meeting so many people from all over the world and I freakin love it! If I was rich I could easily drift for a long time.
Anyways I am going to go do a shamanic ceremony now. I took a wrong turn on my first day here and found this shamans ” office”. The shaman wasn’t there but his apprentice, Mike, was watching things. Mike and I had a long and interesting conversation about ancient Peruvian spirituality and the origins of their kind. We discussed their indigenous ceremonies and he explained the difference between the effects of the ceremonial plant medicines Ayahuasca and San Pedro. I was curious but told him I would mull it over then call him from Machupiccu. I was still hedging on the idea of whether I was brave enough to do this, but when I ran into Mike today and he told me there was three other people doing the “opening” ceremony I decided to go for it.
So yeah..Now I am heading off to do a strange drug in a strange land administered by a man who has nine human skulls of his ancestors on an alter in his living room. I am sure this is somewhere in the handbook of what not to do while travelling solo in a foreign country – yet somehow this makes perfect sense to me. LOL
Vladamir was with me the first day. We didnt see much of Machupiccu because he insisted on the “short” hike to the Temple of the Moon – which is on the top of the Waynapicchu (The big mountain behind Macchupiccu) . He said his father was a leader of the Quechua people and we were going to do a ritual with the cocoa leaves there. By now I had figured out that all Vladamirs time estimations should be multiplied by 4 to create the actual duration of grueling “arriba”.
The climb to the temple was a similar to the climb to Waynawanna except it was steeper and there was ladders and steel rope in some spots.
A neat sentenial post along the way:
At one point Vladamir saw a wild jaguar run through the bush – but by the time we had finished fumbling through my translation guide so he could communicate what he saw the jaguar was long gone.
I think both Vladamir and I were both starting to get frustrated with the limitations in each others attempts at the opposite language. During our climb we were fortunate enough to meet a wonderful Austrian girl named Liz who knew both languages and to our relief ended up serving as a translator. Liz equalized things nicely.
When we got to the top of the mountain we then descended to The Temple of The Moon…
If I hadn’t had the clash of Spanglish that connected me with Vladamir I would never have climbed the mountain behind Machupiccu. I would have wandered around the ruins looking for the place I saw in my vision, found nothing, and gone home thinking my vision was a strange flight of fancy. Mike, the shamans aprentice said, “There are no accidents” and indeed this seems to be true in this case. The place I saw in my vision was the Temple of the Moon. Everything was as I saw in my vision – except a little more run down by time. The ledge was gone – but you could still see the layout of the earth was as I saw it.
The unique view of the other mountains were the exact vantage as my vision. The cave had the sloped ceiling. For some reason I couldn’t bring myself to photograph it. I video taped it but have to upgrade this account to upload the video.
I had to excuse myself and sit alone. Everything I had been taught to believe was only part of the puzzle of existence. My whole belief system had suddenly done a giant shift and I now found myself having to accept a concept that wasn’t native to my mind. Not only was reincarnation possibly real…I also had to come to terms with the idea that it was also also possible to access past life information. Yeah – I cried with emotion. For some reason I cry a lot here in Peru.
Once I was finished processing, Vladamir lead us in a Quechuan/Incan ritual for a safe journey using coca leaves. Cocoa leaves are quite sacred here. Im not entirely convinced there isnt a bit of an addiction involved, yet I would agree with the peruvians ans say it’s a medicine more than a drug. It sure helped with my adjustment to altitude. I think it’s only a drug when the Columbians add a wack of other toxic chemicals in a dirty jungle hut. For the curious here’s a link to the making of cocaine:
The next day I went to Machu Piccu by myself. It really is one of those places where you need to be alone to really feel the magesty. I hope all of you can experience this at some point in your life. Be alone there. Go early in the morning before the hoards of tourists arrive – and pray for the eerie mist I got on my second day. But if you can go, go soon. The weight of milions of tourists feet is causing a negative impact on the area. Some scientist predict it will start sliding in about 6 years. The government is steadily raising the prices of restricting access to decrease harmful traffic but I doubt it will stop people.
So last I wrote I was in Ollataytambo with plans of hitting the hay early to catch the sun rising over the ruins. Um no. That is not what happened…
As it turned out, there was a missing pane of glass in the bathroom window and it happens to be very cold at night in the Andes this time of year. My room did not have heat but luckily I bought a “genuine acrylic baby alpacha touque” in the market and there was an extra bed with a spare 5 lbs of damp smelling blankets. I felt a bit better once I had effectively sealed every possible air pocket around my body… but then the altitude sickness set in.
Thinking I was well acclimated by now, I had left my Diamox in Cusco. Besides I was finding cocoa tea was very effective with staving off altitude sickness. Luckily I bought a bag of cocoa leaves from one of the many lynch mobs when I stepped off the bus in Pisac so I at least had something to work with. However, finding hot water in Ollaytaytambo at any point past midnight is a challenge – so I munched on them straight. It was like eating dry bay leaves. It wasn’t as effective as ingesting in tea form, but I was able to get about 2 hrs sleep.
Then the¨”tourista” set in. It was not my finest moment. I will spare the gory details, but I have learned to be far more cautious with my culinary choices. Bringing Imodium and antibiotics was a very wise thing – as I have heard some horror stories about people getting sick for days on end in Peru.
The night before, my tour company had told me Machu Piccu was closed due to landslide. In reality, they closed a portion of the trail until they could figure out if a certain rock was going to fall. (Personally I thought dynamite would have created a very quick answer – but who am I to judge. It could have been a special rock. )
As I understood it, we were still going to do a portion of the Inca trail so the next day I caught the train and got off at KM104 – as per the original plan. I expected to see a guide with a sign bearing my name – however this is not how things went down. There wasn’t anybody waiting for me. That is when I realized my tour company and I had had a unfortunate clash of Spanglish.
So there I was in the middle of the Andes with no guide or pass to the Incan Trail – and my train to Auguas Calientes was gone. I explained my situation in my best Spanglish and Pictionary to the park warden to discovered my tour company hadnt been through that way at all. A nice family from Bogota had offered to let me accompany them and their guide – but the trail authorities wouldn’t let me onto the trail without my pass. My pass was with my tour company – wherever they were.
I didn’t have a clue what to do so I tried bargaining – I even tried tears. I could have one an Oscar for my performance as I was biting my lips and fanning my face with tears welling in my eyes.
Peruvians dont like to see people unhappy so the warden jumped out of the booth and accompanied me back to the train tracks to be sure there was nobody there. Then there was a flurry of walki talkie chatter. After about 10 minutes, he asked if my name was Theresa. I lit up. “Si!” I stood up to approach but he waved me away while more walki talki chatter continued. Finally, he said, “Vamos”,and motioned me to run with him along the trail. I wasn’t sure what was going on but wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth so I ran into the park with him. He connected me with the nice family from Bogota and their guide. The guide informed me that I had my own guide walking towards me from Aguas Calientes. He will meet me at the second set of ruins.
The timing was perfect. My guide hit the second set of ruins at the same time as I. His name was Vladamir. This is him with my bag of cocoa leaves. He taught me how to chew them properly with the catalyst – which is a mixture of ash and a couple other things to activate them. I was not convinced the catalyst wasn’t llama poo. My cheek went numb. Big deal. I was happy to give him the bag and he was happy to have it.
Vladamir knew slightly more English than I knew of Spanish, so somehow we were able to communicate. I actually got to relax and try my hand at conversational Spanish. In retrospect it was more like pointing at things and speaking spanish nouns. He also taught me a bit of Quechua – the ancient Incan language.
He told me were going to climb to see Wynawanna and dragged me up this crazy high mountain.
I busted my butt in the gym for several months before this trip – but there is no amount of gym or cardio training that could ever prepare you for the Andes. I believe Andes is the Spanish word for Stairmaster. That’s what these people and their ancestors do best. The climb stairs and move rocks.
Now let me explain the way Incans build trails. First they make a 20-50 foot rising at about a 45 degree angle. Then they suddenly switch directions and send another in the other direction. They repeat this until they reach the top. There are no nice long flat meanderings anywhere. If you find a flat stretch anywhere it is only about 5 feet long. Its called a direction change. The Incans were crazy people. They would cut massive stone bricks from one mountain then haul these things to a different mountain on these crazy trails to build a city. If only you could see the porters out here. They average man is about 5’4 looks like they weight about 100 lbs soaking wet – yet they RUN with loads twice their size up and down this mountain for about $2 a day. They are SO fit. Crazy stuff. I could barely carry myself much less some of those loads. Like check this out:
They haul these loads up mountains! There was one guy running with two full sized metal propane tanks on his back but the pic didn’t turn out as he was moving too fast.
Anyways back to my climb. Vladimir basically said (In Spanish) “Let’s go. Twenty more minutes.” to me for the next three hours until my soft gringa ass made it to the top of the mountain. This is me part way up:
I was clearly still optimistic about being almost there.
This is the Urabamba (Sacred River) as seen from where I started:
This is the Urabamba from where I ended up:
When I arrived at the top of the mountain saturated in a combination of sweat and persistent Andean rain, my reward awaited. The ruins of Wynawanna were completely devoid of human presence. It was beautiful and eerie. Magic. The only sound was the pouring rain and the song of exotic songbirds.
After spending some time wandering the ruins we climbed back down the mountain and walked to Auguas Calientes – which took about another three and a half hours.
It seems that each ruin I see becomes increasingly more impressive as a draw closer to Machu Piccu…
So hello everyone. Here´s what up with my adventures in Peru. First off. I have to say this place is magic and intense. I am living my own personal Celestine Prophecy. For those who know the mystical side of me – all I can say is the spiritual part of this journey is so incredible I cant hardly put it into words to myself. I could write a novel – if I can get it into words without sounding like a raving lunatic I might.
It is really hard to describe all the things I have seen and the people I have met. I am hoping to launch photos next week so you can understand a bit of what I am experiencing. This place moved me to tears so many times the first two days.
The cities are depressing. Lima is a crumbling dustbowl. Cusco is beautiful on the outskirts but the city beyond the beaten path is crumbling and dank. The poverty is heartbreaking at times. I have seen filthy elderly people who dont say anything. They just sit or stand against walls with their hands silently extended. Not like the junkies from home. These people are truly poor. I have seen small children working the streets selling postcards, puppets, songs, and dances, from morning until late at night. I wish I was rich so I could do something. I want to give this whole country a big hug.
On the other hand, the people who live there are so friendly. Everyone wants to talk. Even if they dont feel conversational, they will still often greet you with a buenos dias/tardes/noches. Everyone makes eye contact and smiles.
Of course I have had some strange food. I had the best fresh fruit salad today. Alpacha tastes like pork. Cuy (guinea pig) taste like…well…it is hard to say what cuy tastes like. It looked like a skinned rat and seemed to be mostly greasy skin. Peruvians seem to really like it – and there is a huge painting showing that Jesus ate cuy for his last supper. I have been a bit daring with what I have put in my mouth at times. Every night I go to bed thanking god that I still dont have to pull out the Imodium.
On another note. Cusco traffic is really something. Most streets are one lane wide, but often you will find cars going both directions. I haven’t seen too many intersections with lights on them. Actually, I saw one. More magic in play here. In some places the roads are about 12 ft wide and the sidewalks are about 1-2 ft wide.
Peruvians have a love affair with their car horns I have no idea why they are honking half the time. Perhaps it sends a vibration from the horn to their privates. Incidentally I havent seen a woman driving yet…
Peruvians also have a love affair with graffiti. Instead of election signs, they have graffiti all over the walls and fences. Its election time so the streets are filled with these mickey mouse parades.
I was having dinner with this guy from the UK as they were going around the Plaza de Armas. We couldn’t believe how in our respective countries, little more than half the country ever makes it to the polls – yet in Peru there is way more faith in the power of voting. This town will shut down on the 9th while 95% of Peru will turn out to vote from 100 presidential candidates … and chances of their lives changing are zero to nill. Go figure. With the millions of tourist dollars that float through this country, I would sure like to see where it goes. Definitely not into schools, roads or social programs. These folks have nothing.
Outside the cities, I have seen some of the most spectacular and awe inspiring scenery. Its reminiscent of the road to Tofino, but the different variations and shades of green are SO intense. Then toss in the oddity of cacti and plants that we would buy in a grocery store and cultivate in pots. Its very cool. Im looking forward to my trip into the jungle next week. Should be cool.
Some of the ruins are amazing. You have to do some grueling hikes (the thin air makes it even harder) to get to them, but once you are there its spectacular. Very few parts are cordoned off. If anything is restricted, its fountains and altars but I understand why. When one looks at these stones and sees where these stones came from it is absolutely incredible what ancient man pulled off without modern tools…
Well. It is almost 9pm right now but feels like 11pm. It gets dark around 6pm here. Its almost winter for them. Ive been waking up at 5-6 am in the morning since I arrived in the Andes.
Tomorrow I leave for my trek to Machu Piccu, but I want to catch the sunrise over Ollataytombo. I have a feeling it will lead to spectacular photos…
My friend Leonard is a shaman who does psychic readings, guided meditations, and past life regression. Though I believe in the afterlife and possibility of reincarnation, I have always been skeptical of peoples ability to actually see their past lives. Today I am confused because I tried a regression session that revealed an unexpected vision . The goal was to go back into my childhood – however once I was under hypnosis I had some visions which were too detailed for my imagination or knowledge base.
This is what I saw….
Vision One – The Incan Sacrifice:
The rains had recently stopped and beautiful rays of light were cutting through the dispersing clouds. I saw brilliant golden splashes of light all over the great rugged mountainsides that surrounded me. I could see myself dancing on the edge of a ledge at a place I determined was Machu Piccu. I was beautiful. My tiny body was clad in a filmy white robe and my amazingly long dark gold hair was adorned with flowers and feathers.
I must have been stoned to the hilt on some sort of powerful hallucinogen as I euphorically twirled in my own world. Four men stood watching me. Waiting for me to tire of dancing? Eventually I was lead to an altar inside a cave with a sloped ceiling. The cave was lit by fire as time had passed and it was now dusk.
They anointed me with a floral scented water. I couldn’t understand what they were chanting. It was a bit eerie, but I wasn’t afraid. I was more aroused than anything from all their stroking.
I became aware of who I was in this life. I belonged to a temple. When men came to me they were traumatized by their lives – be it war, a bad hunt, or the death of a loved one. I would perform rituals and do anything that needed to be done to get their negativity out of them, Sometimes they’d cry and scream. Sometimes they’d come. Sometimes they would pee. They came to me for understanding, love, and release.
Upon Leonard suggestion I called that part of my soul back into me. There was negative energy inside me. It was like thick black roots that started at my heart and worked their way down through my body to form a hook around my reproductive organs. It took awhile to break them down and pull them out of my body but Leonard pulled them out one by one and blew them away. I had to help a bit by bearing down on my stomach with my own hands. My hands felt heavy and didn’t feel like they were mine.
After the negative energy had been pulled out of me the shamans in my vision began to move around me in a circle chanting. Their caressing continued. I was beginning to feel aroused… Suddenly the last thing I expected happened: A knife painlessly entered my chest and I was suddenly happily out of my body and looking down on it. I wondered what was so beautiful about my body to begin with – then realized it was my soul that made it beautiful.
I have no idea why they killed me. I do not know anything about the Incans. I think they had to sacrifice something precious for some reason. Perhaps this death is the reason why I’m so obsessed with Machu Piccu? It could be a connection to this past life. Or this whole vision I had was just a wicked imagination that surprised me with an unexpected twist. I’ll know when I go there. If the scenery and especially the ledge match my vision I will know there is some truth in there somewhere.
Vision Two – The Witch
It was a grey day in what felt like somewhere in the UK. There was a heavy mist in the air – or perhaps it was a slight drizzle. I was laying on my back and was tightly bound by something like barbed wire. Every time I moved or drew a breath the barbed wire cut deeper into my flesh.
The villagers had gathered around me and were hatefully shouting obscenities, throwing animal dung, and spitting on me. The women were the worst. They really despised me – especially the one with the missing teeth and the matted hair. Her eyes were wild with unquenchable hatred. Oddly, she looked like my mother in this life.
The mob was attacking everything about my body that pertained to beauty or sexuality. They had shorn my hair. They were cutting my breasts and impaling my nipples with large needles. They repetitively thrust a hot fire poker in my vagina.
There was a man beside me. As I understood the situation, the man was my lover – but I think he was married or betrothed to someone else. We met when he was passing through my village during a May Day celebration. We saw each other from a distance and felt instant attraction. We both participated in the May Pole dance and thanks to a quick last minute maneuver ended up facing each other. I became pregnant with his child and our affair continued in secret. There was a cabin in the woods that we would meet at.
He lived in the christian world and had naively made a confession to someone who didn’t keep our union secret. I was a celt – another priestess or healer of some sort. They feared my religion and abhorred my cultures’ customs. They hunted me because they thought I was an evil witch/whore. He was guilty for consorting with me.
They were torturing him too. They cut off his penis and threw it at me. I don’t know what else they did to him because I was caught up in my own horror. In the real world, I cried and writhed in horror as my vision progressed to the point where the villagers were cutting my stomach open to pull out my insides. I was pregnant. I couldn’t feel the pain in my vision, but I could feel a sickening sensation that was long lines of intestines being pulled out of my body.
There was a large black bird – maybe a raven – perched in a tree above me. I don’t know why I was conscious of it but it scared me. I was afraid it was going to eat my eyeballs when the villagers left me alone to bleed to death.
Fleeting Visions and Passing Revelations:
After my brutal torture and death as a supposed witch, it seemed like it was a long time before my soul returned to earth. Christianity had killed the last remaining matriarical religion so my soul was at odds as to where to go next. It seems like my soul repetitively had a healing purpose but with the spread of Christianity, there were less places for me to go to fulfill my role. There weren’t any cultures left which could raise and train me properly for my purpose.
I get the feeling that there was a more recent life where I worked in a brothel in the late 1800s but it was a much cruder version of my souls previous function. All the sacredness and ritual was removed. I died of syphilus.
I later had a fleeting vision of being a first nations child in what felt like the west coast of Canada. It was a breif glimpse with no story around it.
Serendipity Wanders 