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Journey to Peru: Remembrance
by Gloria Davis
In May 2002, I pulled a Mayan Card which stated: "You are being helped in the
disintegration process that moves you from separation to ascension. You must give
up what you seem to be in order to become fully who you are. You have come to the
wall, the edge of what you know yourself to be. Purify yourself for the new energies,
step into the fires of the unknown and be forever changed"
And so it was that I went to Peru, totally unfamiliar with the works of Dr. Alberto
Villoldo or the study of Shamanism. Had I studied this body of work prior to that
adventure, I would have dismissed Shamanism as an archaic belief system. Being thick
of skull and slow to "convert," I would have fought against every "experience
of truth" as related by any other than myself.
And so with that I attended the graduate school of hard knocks with Professor Peru
as my teacher from June 4-28, 2002.
There are many stories that cannot be fully told, so many moments that cannot be
recaptured. Still, they have sunk into my psyche and have changed me forever. I offer
the following glimpses of that journey.
Temple of the Falcon
Sixteen months before this grueling adventure, I had been severely injured in a car
accident. I knew it would be an act of divine grace were I to accomplish the physical
goals set before me. With a tight grip on my hiking poles, I found myself faced immediately
with a 3000-foot hike to the Temple of the Falcon above our hotel in Pisac.
With my usual inimitable and indomitable spirit I eschewed the ease I could have
secured with my recent injuries. Instead I forced myself to keep up with the youngest
members of the group.
As the air became thinner, my muscles screamed in pain and my breathing came in gasps.
When I despaired of inhaling adequate oxygen, an Inca man appeared from nowhere and
stretched out his hands to offer me assistance. He crushed a plant between his palms
motioning for me to inhale the fragrance. As I did so, I felt my bronchioles dilate.
Soon I was walking with increased vigor, breathing normally.
As I reached the summit, I approached Wakeen, a handsome young man in his early 20s.
I showed Wekeen the plant and explained its usage. Wakeen's eyes widened as I spoke.
He explained his amazement with these words, "I was trying to be a hero and
climbed too quickly. At one point I fell exhausted, not certain if I could catch
my breath. I was panicking when I realized I had fallen on a plant and in crushing
it, had released an amazing odor. As I lie on the ground inhaling that fragrance,
I felt my lungs relax and air began to move in and out with ease. I see now that
I fell into the hands of Pachamama who gave to me exactly what I needed at that moment."
Pulling us up
Finally, in weariness my legs felt as if they could go on no further. Then it came,
carried on the thin mountain air...the sound of flutes. From several spots among
the mountains they played. As we approached the top of the mountain, one particular
song carried me forward. Finally, I saw him, one lone man, standing against a rock
wall playing simply for the joy of pulling us up the mountain.
It was a breakthrough moment for this 57-year-old woman when I arrived at the summit,
the eighth of 55 people who climbed the mountain that day. Physically and mentally,
I had broken through a wall. No longer would I be tempted to consider myself a middle-aged
woman resigned to be a couch potato with my clicker memorizing the best soaps.
What pulled me forward? It was not only the music of the flutes; it was also the
energy of others who walked with me. It was as if an elastic thread of energy connected
us. Had I climbed alone, I would not have experienced the power of the group as we
pulled and pushed each other up that mountain.
There at the Temple of the Falcon, I experienced my first Shamanic ceremony.
Worship of the shaman
Coca leaves play a predominant role in the worship of the Shaman. With three leaves
placed one on top of the other, we breathed into them our prayers and passed them
to another, who also breathed their prayers into the leaves.
As the leaves were passed from one to another, our prayers began to accumulate. The
Shamans lay those prayers on a cloth and surrounded them with flowers, seeds and
small objects representing every aspect of our lives. Tied in a bundle, they would
later be burned in a fire ceremony, where the smoke of those prayers would be carried
to heaven. I cannot express the beauty of that experience as I placed my prayers
on top of others...blessing each prayer with my intent.
Being raised in an extremely fundamentalist church by a hell, fire and brimstone
minister and having been married for 30 years to a theology professor/minister, I
found my paradigms being challenged at every turn.
I was learning a new language -- spirituality
expressed through metaphor. The language, difficult at first,
became easier as I integrated the meaning on a deep, experiential
level. Did not Christ teach in parables? How much different is
the work of the Shaman? He teaches that there is one Great Spirit,
which manifests itself through all things.
The world of the Shaman is seen through archetypes that represent the energy of those
things controlling our lives. The snake represents shedding of the past; it also
represents passion, immediacy and the kundalini energy.
The Jaguar Lagoon
The Jaguar lives with impeccability, integrity and invisibility. The jaguar is the
way of the luminous warrior. He asks us to step beyond fear, violence and death.
While on the second leg of our journey, we walked to the Jaguar Lagoon on Mt. Ausangate.
On our walk, we picked a stone, and into that stone we breathed all the fear, anger
and violence of our lives. Any density within us was breathed into that stone. Upon
gathering at the edge of the Lagoon, we passed our rocks to the Shamans who put them
into a cloth and threw the stones into the water. Laughing, they told us through
an interpreter that the collective density of our group had been so great that they
were almost thrown into the water with our rocks.
The Shaman believes that we must walk on the back of the Jaguar to the Rainbow Bridge,
where there is an opening between heaven and earth. This opening is maintained by
the "Keeper of the Rainbow."
We walked or rode horses to 18,000 feet where we would do ceremony with the Keeper
of the Rainbow. This elderly gentleman lives quite alone in a small sod home close
to the summit of Ausangate. His hut sits beside the Rainbow Lagoon, a beautiful body
of water nestled in a small valley hidden between several snow-capped mountain peaks.
We were graced by the presence of this 86-year-old gentleman who had been carried
from an infirmary back up the mountain so that he could meet with us and give each
of us a personal blessing
During the trip to Ausangate, we had received an infusion of energy from the elders.
This energy of the holy mountain had entered into my self as a powerful ache in my
heart chakra. We were told that the energy would always be in our energy field and,
because of that, all would change in our world. The reality of those words was brought
to life during our visit to Machu Picchu.
Machu Picchu
Surrounded by mountains, Machu Picchu is seen as layer upon layer of terraces. Standing
at the Temple of the Sun overlooking the lush courtyard below, I was exuberantly
happy...as if I had come home.
If I closed my eyes, I could see them scurrying along the terraces, marching in lines
to sacred ceremonies and tending their luxurious gardens. Water flowed freely down
the waterways, providing irrigation for their crops.
Surely the energy of this place spoke of ceremony, of sacred places and reverent
hearts. As we rested our bodies on a huge slab of rock situated before a temple,
we found ourselves experiencing some ancient initiation ritual, felt our DNA structures
being somehow changed and saw rays of light as they struck each initiate as he/she
surrendered to a higher purpose, a higher self.
We dubbed it the echo chamber at Machu Picchu. As we placed our heads in the indentations
within the rock walls, our voices became deeply resonant. On cue, our entire group
of 20 began the "ahOmmmmm...." Within moments, our world became a reverberating
atmosphere of creation sound that sank to our very marrow. Joy and wonder was expressed
on each face.
It was at the temple of the Condor that I first saw the visions clearly. Two huge
rocks easily represented the wings of a condor. On the ground between the rocks was
a large flat slab of rock, which resembled the head, neck and eye of the condor.
There I saw a vision of a woman in labor. The blood from her delivery ran into a
trough, which represented the ruff of the condor.
I heard the words; "This child represents a renewal of the tribe." I was
brought back to present time by the words of Marcos, our guide, "The temple
of the condor was known as a place of fertility. It was a temple of celebration for
new life." Weeks later, I would read that Alberto Villoldo saw that same vision
of blood and birth on his first visit to that temple. Months later, in speaking with
Karla, my Shamanic teacher, I learned that she too had received that same vision
upon her visit to the Temple of the Condor.
The death ritual
Alone for a few minutes, I found myself in a long passageway between stone buildings.
I was leaving the priestess quarters and walking past the priest's quarters. Suddenly,
I was not alone. I was again in a time warp walking beside the man who would be given
the title of the great high priest. Memories tugged at my senses and begged for an
audience. Almost overwhelmed, I looked down upon the open fields between the terraces
and wondered at the pain of separation when the Spanish drove the Incas from this
place. How could one leave such a paradise? What avarice drove the Spanish to take
the treasures from this holy place to build their own cathedrals?
Special admission was granted to our group to reenter the grounds after dark. With
flashlights in hand, we walked the narrow terraces and climbed the rock stairways
that had been used in ceremony to assist the dying in Spirit travel to the other
side.
Because I was the only one in the group not to have experienced the Death ritual
or the rite of Spirit Travel, I stood almost trembling at the thought of what was
to come.
God whispered to my heart, "Are you ready for this? You will never be the same
if you partake of this ritual."
I responded, "I have worked long and hard to arrive at this place; still I am
not ready. But, I am willing."
The group held sacred space with chanting while Alberto and his assistants sent us,
one by one, upon our journey. The ritual involved throwing one's spirit to the East
winds. At that moment, I felt Spirit rush from me, as in death. My body felt like
a hollow log. Putting my mind on hold, I tried not to anticipate or to make up a
story. Immediately I became aware of seeing the entire universe through closed eyes.
Then I heard my own voice cry out, "Abba, Abba, where are you?" I felt
my words were an echo of Christ's words on the cross when He asked why God had forsaken
him. The voice of the Father replied, "How can you help others die if you do
not know the absolute aloneness of the soul as it begins its journey to the other
side?" I knew I was not alone, for I had asked my guardian angel (Michael) and
my family from the other side to be with me. I knew that while I could not feel or
sense them, they would be there, assuring my safety.
Surrender
I was unaware of my body's struggle, but slowly I became cognizant that my back was
arched, my neck stiff. As I surrendered to that awful aloneness, I felt my body completely
relax. I simply floated in the sea of stars and galaxies. There was no fear. Then
it was that I saw my higher self. That image segued into a figure of golden light
emerging from a lotus flower. As I held that vision, I heard the rattles and felt
the rush of wind as my spirit was returned to me. I rose and fell into the arms of
Stevie, who was there to welcome each traveler back to their bodies. Without warning
I began to weep, clinging to her presence.
For five minutes, I wept with no recognizable emotion. When that passed, there was
only exhilaration. I wanted to talk, to share, but all about me people were lost
in a holy space. It was then I heard the wisdom of a dear friend, "Darling,
some spiritual experiences are too holy to be shared lightly. Keep a sacred silence."
I did so as a full moon rose between mountain peaks; a place on the Inca trail known
as the Sun Gate.
From death rock, we walked by flashlight along narrow ledges to the largest temple
at Machu Picchu. Our group sat in darkness and meditated. I found myself at an initiation.
I saw a long narrow passageway. On the sides were dozens of windows. Through each
window, heads peered in at me. Their faces were contorted with disgust, their voices
accusing me. I knew that to pass this initiation I must ignore the would-be saboteurs
and hold my head high. It was not long before I realized that there were no windows,
there were no voices. What I had heard was my own inner voice of accusation.
The initiation
For 50 years, I had lived in an environment that spoke to me of shame, guilt, my
lack of goodness and my faults. I had internalized those voices until they had become
my own. The face of the High Priestess appeared at the end of the corridor. I apologized
for my failure to pass the initiation test. She replied, "Oh you have not failed,
on the contrary, you have passed the test. You have learned a difficult lesson."
That night, in my sleep, all the hateful accusations that had been flung at me for
50 years came back to me in dream form. I awoke weeping at the scorn of those I had
most loved.
I shared this experience with my roommate who gave up her own sleep to assist me
in processing my dreams. Again I had to acknowledge that their voices were only echoing
the internal dialogue of my wounded psyche. I awoke in the morning with swollen eyes.
As I passed members of my group on the streets of the little town at the base of
Machu Picchu, they did not recognize me. When they did they gasped, "What happened
to you last night? You have changed...you are much younger." When I returned
home to Minnesota, the first friend to see me remarked, "What has happened?
You look like a young woman again."
We do not acknowledge the physical manifestations of our internal dialogue, nor do
we realize that each person who elicits a painful response in us has shown us another
part of ourselves that needs healing. I was to read months later that Dr. Alberto
Villaldo, on his first visit to Machu Picchu, experienced a night of similar dreams
and emotional upheaval as his psyche was cleansed of past afflictions.
We do not need to go to the past to heal...it is manifesting always in the actions
and words of others that elicit a painful response within us. As external voices
call to remembrance old pain, we are given the opportunity to heal. We do not need
to be pulled into their energy; we need only to release the energy we have invested
in that emotion.
Sickness and visions
We were in the jungle. Many of our group had availed themselves
of Ayahuasca, hoping for visions that would catapult them
into a new dimension of spirituality.
For three reasons, I did not partake.
• I knew nothing of Shamanism and so I was not prepared.
• I am terrified of drugs, having worked in anesthesia for more than two decades.
I had seen too many professionals destroyed by "just one little sample."
• In meditation, I often have visions. I don't need a physical experience to elicit
a spiritual manifestation.
It was told that those who did not take the drug but merely held sacred space found
themselves also nauseated and vomiting. Their sickness was followed by visions. I
had been nowhere near the groups that partook of the jungle plant and yet, the following
day, I dreamed that a snake was in my cup of tea. I knew that I must "drink
the cup" The following day began our ascent to the Holy Mountain where no one
had been allowed to climb unless they had been found worthy and received the rights
of passage -- the energy transmissions. The mountain had its way with those who walked
on his back unworthy.
For three days, I suffered severe
nausea, vomiting and diarrhea. We made base camp at almost 15,000 feet. Having watched
a fellow trekker in Nepal die of altitude sickness due to dehydration I was desperate
to improve my fluid balance, but I could not keep down a drop of water.
My stomach was cramping terribly and my body overwhelmed with rigors when I crawled
into my sleeping bag. I prayed that my children would forgive my sudden death. Word
spread quickly that I was terribly sick and might not live through the night. There
was no possible evacuation as we had climbed beyond the point of passage by vehicle.
Alberto came to my tent. I could feel healing energy as he embraced me and told me
they would be checking on me often.
Surrender to death
I prayed, "Father God, Pachamama, I surrender to death. Do with me as you will."
With those words I fell to sleep. Immediately I heard the voice of my friend Insiah
who had told me on the eve of my departure that I would see her in Peru. "Darling,
I am here. I am giving you a healing." Her voice was as clear as if she sat
beside me. The shaking stopped immediately.
"Insiah," I asked, "What do I do about the pain in my intestines?"
Her voice came back to me, "Darling, breathe into the pain."
As I followed her instructions the pain left my intestines and I fell into a deep
sleep. Soon I was awakened again by Insiah's voice.
"My love, you must drink now. If you are to live until morning you must take
some water."
I told her I was afraid that the cramping would return. Insiah assured me that when
the cramps came, I would need only to breathe into the pain and that it would go
away. I did as she suggested and found myself again without pain. Over the next two
hours, Insiah's voice awakened me several times, reminding me to drink. Each time
I would pull my water bottle from my sleeping bag where it had been stored to prevent
freezing. Each sip would result in severe cramping then immediately vanish with a
few deep breaths.
For three days I could not retain any fluid; for three days, I lay in my sleeping
bag asking to be taught from this experience. I do not believe in wasting pain.
Give up your story
On the third day of my illness, we were to hike to the male Jaguar Lagoon to release
our dense energies and then climb on up the mountain to the female Jaguar Lagoon
where we were to be cleansed. I knew that I must go, but my electrolytes were depleted;
my muscles flaccid. I could not lift an arm without it falling to the floor of the
tent. My tent mate, a beautiful blonde from Denmark, came to see me. She spoke, "You
are too weak to go to the Lagoons, but you must. Stand up. The angels will carry
you."
At the female lagoon, the path to receive the anointing of the water was steep...too
steep for my fragile condition. My roommate and another woman came forward to help
me to the water. As the four Shamans anointed me, I felt an immediacy of joy.
The walk back was filled with pain; awful cramping in my stomach. I asked Spirit
what lesson I was to learn from this bitter cup. Over and over the words came, "You
must give up your story. You are not your story."
I could not have imagined the difficulty of this command. I had lived a pain-filled
childhood. I had lived 30 years in a marriage filled with pain. I had forgiven and
found emotional release, and, I had become the heroine of my own drama. Now I was
being told that the drama was a story I had written. I had cast myself as the beautiful
heroine/victim who overcame all with love. The story was not to be. I was to burn
the pages and forever rid myself of that identity. Ego struggled for recognition,
the ultimate sign of separation. Finally I relinquished the story. Only later was
I to learn that the Work of the South is the work of the Serpent. It is the shedding
of the past.
I was at the door of my tent when the final release occurred and at that moment the
pain was gone. As I separated my self from my story my separation from God, my separation
from others, was erased
State of bliss
Don Manuel is 96 years old. Back in the '70s, he was featured in National Geographic
as the leader of the Q'ero nation. In amazement, I watched the humor and lightness
with which he worked. How he could connect with God in such a state of bliss! How
deep the roots of the somber Sunday Services! I had come praying that this trip would
create in me an environment for healing, an environment for love. Before my eyes,
Don Manuel WAS the environment. He did not need anguished prayers to an angry God.
Don Manuel exuded the essence of God presence...pure joy.
We sat in the food tents at the top of Pasha Tucson. It would be two hours before
dinner and our group was struggling to stay warm. My sleeping bag and heavy clothes
were soaked from a broken water bottle in my pack; brought along to assuage my fear
of dehydration and cold.
A group of us huddled in a pile like puppies to stay warm. "We have 90 minutes
until dinner. Let's play a game," I encouraged. "Let's pretend that we
are doing readings."
"Janie," I said to the lady I knew least, "You are the reader."
"I used to read Tarot cards four years ago" Janie responded, "but
I have no cards."
"No problem," I said, "we will use pretend cards."
With that I handed her an invisible card. At that moment, something shifted in Janie's
face and voice. She began to speak as if she were channeling. We were astonished,
flabbergasted. One by one, she gave a reading for each of us. We sat in hushed silence.
At the end as we thanked her.
Janie said, "Oh, it is you I must thank. I have been a channeler as my life's
work. On 9-11 the voices of the dying would not leave my ears. I could not bear the
pain of their suffering. I asked my guides to stop the voices...I wanted to hear
nothing. Since that day, I have not done a reading. Tonight Gloria, your guides came
through with such power that I could not but hear their voices. When I realized that
I was safe, that you all were holding a sacred space for me, the guidance came back.
Thank you all for this gift of safety that has allowed my work to continue. Your
energy will be with me always."
Despacho ceremonies
The Shamans presented us with many despacho ceremonies. We gathered stacks of three
cocoa leaves each to pass to our friends with love and prayers. Often someone in
our large circle would come to us to offer three leaves as an offering of love and
prayers for us personally. Praia, a deeply spiritual Native American, came to me.
The look of love on her face jolted me into spasms of tears. All who offered me the
leaves did so with love and compassion, but something different was happening which
I could not articulate.
Later, when I asked Praia what had transpired, she spoke, "You are my sister,
and I recognized you immediately. You are ancient; you were here at the beginning
of the world. You have returned to the earth. In this time it needs your energy,
your love, more than ever."
Cannot that be said for each of us who take residence upon this planet? The history
of the world is being held in delicate balance as love and hatred, darkness and light
vie for ownership of mass consciousness.
Temple of the Feminine
Deep in the womb of the earth is a hallowed-out spot as if a meteorite had landed,
creating a temple with the bowels of the earth. Within that "womb," the
Incas had built terraces. Held in the stone walls of the terraces were "floating
stones" that extended out from the wall and provided a means by which one could
descend into the temple.
We women were to make the trek into the depths of the feminine and reconnect with
that part of our selves. The ceremony became a ritual of cleansing. Our ceremony
ended, and we chanted as the men descended in the dusk, led only by the sound of
our voices.
It was not a full moon. Without an extraneous source of light, we were guided by
starlight up the "floating stairs" from one terrace to another until we
emerged onto our campsite to a night sky iridescent from moonlight on snow-capped
mountain peaks.
In Shamanism, there is no separation between ourselves and what
we see as God manifested in the mountains, the rocks, the plants
or animals. The "I" must die. We do not become a "new"
person. We remember who we are. We are part of a community
that extends beyond us as a tapestry that holds the past, present
and future. Sacred time is non-linear. We can step outside the
grip of time and experience our original self. Because time can
be bent on itself, we can heal the events of the past and we can
find our future healed state and inform our bodies. We are not
bound by the dictates of probabilities; we have a choice to take
the path of the unpredictable, the way of the dreamer.
We have the responsibility of praying the non-probable world into being. Our will
cannot travel into non-ordinary time, only love and its intention are allowed. There
is no separation, no ego in sacred space. We cannot enter with "I," only
with an open heart of love.
Gloria Davis, BSRN, CRNA, of healing heART therapeutic center in Rochester, Minn.,
has been active in nursing since 1966 She was an anesthetist at Mayo Clinic for 23
years. She has studied and been certified in Bowen, Medical Massage, Shiatsu, Melting
Muscles, Ahavat Olam energy work . She has completed a yearlong apprenticeship program
with NICAB for intuitive healing. This course is provided as a continuing education
program for MDs, RNs, psychologists, psychiatrists and massage therapists. Gloria
has also received certifications in various other modalities of healing. She has
written a booklet on the Etiology and treatment of FMS and provides therapy for FMS/CFS.
To contact her write: theglowingheart@yahoo.com or call (507) 286-8912.
Copyright © 2003 Gloria
Davis
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