As our small twelve-person bus pulled away from the youth hostel, I could already visualize myself strolling among the ancient pyramids of Teotihuacan (pronounced tay-oh-tee-WHA-cun), absorbing as much of their radiant energy as possible.
Yes, you heard me right when I said youth hostel. Friday evening, as I explored the Zocalo, my growling stomach stubbornly insisted on a little bio-fuel. A nearby restaurant called out to me, and I was soon seated at a small round table near the back.
While waiting for my food, I began to look around, soon realizing that just ten feet to my left was the check-in-counter for a youth hostel. Looking more closely still, I noticed a tour-sales desk, directly behind my right shoulder. Above the counter, a small sign advertised tours of Teotihuacan for only $32 (US). Seconds later, a small flyer advertising the same tour was securely tucked away in my backpack.
Saturday evening, nearly twenty-four hours later, the noisy little Jedi-voices in my mind were silently coaxing me, “You know you want to go on THAT tour … buy your ticket now!” My feet were soon guiding me back toward the hostel. Not more than ten minutes later, I excitedly held in my hand a ticket for a 9:00 a.m. departure on Monday morning.
Finding it difficult to believe, Monday morning had already arrived, and here I was excitedly leaving the history center of Mexico City with my new friends-for-the-day. I was part of a group of ten tourists, eight of them being twenty-something adventurers who were staying at one of two different hostels.
I sensed an instant connection to three of my fellow travelers: two sisters from Europe, and a young man from New Zealand. I later learned that the two sisters were both Russian-born Germans. The older one currently lives in Switzerland, while her younger sister resides in Berlin. They had barely completed two weeks touring Southern California, Nevada, and Southern Utah, and are headed next to visit Cancun and Cuba before flying home. The adventurous young surfer-dude from New Zealand has been on the road for several months, visiting Brazil, Peru, and numerous locations in Mexico.
Tlatelolco Revisited
Soon, I was surprised when my van pulled over and stopped. Isaac our delightful tour guide, took turns speaking in Spanish and then in English. “This is our first stop. Before driving to Teotihuacan, we will visit Tlatelolco.”
As my feet found footing on the sidewalk, I looked up to a completely unexpected and amazing view. About seventy-five yards away, right in front of me was the same old church that had fascinated me at the end of Sunday morning’s march. This was the same ancient church I had been studying when I pondered “How I wish I had time to enter and explore.”
Directly between me and the church were the partial remains of a large city of ancient ruins—remains of the city of Tlatelolco (pronounced T-law-tay-LOW-L-coh). For nearly an hour, Isaac took us on a tour of the area, describing the history, the culture, and the traditions of the people who lived here.
After eagerly entering the beautiful old church, I soon learned that in the 1500s, the Spaniards had destroyed many of the pyramids, subsequently using the same stones to build this religious structure which is more than four centuries old.
As we entered the Plaza De Las Tres Culturas (directly adjacent to the church), Isaac took us to the same large stone plaque that I had passed by—while dressed in white—less than twenty-four hours earlier.
Isaac proceeded to tell us his version of the story of the massacre of Dos De Octubre. He explained that many thousands of university students and professors had marched to this plaza on October 2nd, just ten days before the 1968 Mexico City Olympics. They were protesting against the government—a government who mistakenly saw these protestors as being pro-communism. Throughout the afternoon, government troops surrounded the plaza, taking positions on various rooftops in the area. At sundown, the orders were given to open fire.
According to Isaac, the government claims that only about thirty people were killed, but many unofficial versions of the story claim that several thousand were massacred. Regardless of what happened, the government covered up the entire event, removing all of the bodies in the dark of night. In the morning, no evidence remained, nothing was ever mentioned in the press or newspapers, and the Olympics went on as if nothing had ever happened. It was almost thirty years later when the stories of that day began to be publicly revealed.
In a quiet moment, I asked Isaac what he knew about Regina. “Who?” he asked, before telling me “I have never heard of her.”
There is nothing in Eduardo’s stories about Regina that contradicts in any way the official accounts of the day. The loving native Olmec people with whom I will spend the next few days believe deeply in Regina and her spiritual mission. Their traditions speak of how Regina and her followers marched the “feminine road” from the Basilica de Guadelupe all the way to Tlatelolco on that very same fateful day. Regina and her followers were standing for love and peace among the thousands of students on the Plaza De Las Tres Culturas when the soldiers opened fire. The deaths of Regina and those with her were hushed along with the deaths of the students.
An hour later, as our van pulled away from Tlatelolco, a deep sense of gratitude radiated from within my soul. For once, I was beginning to fully understand the spiritual, cultural, geographical, and historical significance of events that are at the center of my adventure to Mexico City. Tomorrow, I continue this journey into the unknown as I travel for two days of commemoration at the home where Regina was born.
Teotihuacan
As our van made its final approach, the amazing Pyramid of the Sun and Pyramid of the Moon dominated the surrounding landscape. The pyramids were energetically calling to me—but the agenda called for patience.
Our first stop was at a small restaurant with a large collection of bicycles parked out front. Feeling drawn to a bright red mountain bike with thick knobby tires, I was soon riding with my hair blowing freely in the cool breeze. Our group rode clockwise around the external perimeter of the ruins. These majestic pyramids continued to call out, seductively luring me with their energy. About half way around the loop, we temporarily abandoned our bicycles to engage in our first venture within the confines of the ruins.
This first stroll was just a teaser. On foot, we explored the southernmost end of Teotihuacan, a slightly newer section of the ruins. With fascination, I watched as workers were carefully working in fresh open rectangular holes. In places where the soil had already been removed, tops of new ruins were beginning to take shape. I observed one set of workers carefully sifting through the soil with small trowels, meticulously documenting everything they uncovered.
Soon we were back on our bicycles, completing our round-trip excursion of the perimeter. This section of the ride was slightly more difficult because we were climbing a gradual incline while approaching the Pyramid of the Moon.
A series of five or six gates lead into the pyramids from the perimeter road. As we passed each gate, my young friend from New Zealand kept steering his bicycle toward the inside, only to be called back by the honking of our van that was following behind. My Kiwi friend was every bit as eager as I was to leave the fluff behind and get to the meat of our tour.
But a considerable wait still lay before us as we dropped off our mountain bikes at our starting point. Next, we consumed a very slow relaxed lunch that seemed to never end. Then our driver stopped at a local artisan’s shop, a place where local obsidian is carved and polished into the most beautiful of shapes and statues.
Finally, at nearly 3:00 p.m., we walked through the gate leading toward the Pyramid of the Moon. Doing an incredible job of mixing culture and history, Isaac guided us through a series of smaller pyramids, residential complexes, and temples along the way to the larger Pyramid of the Moon—which is the smaller of the two large pyramids. Tourists are only allowed to climb about half way to the top, which is about forty-five meters in height—but even from the halfway point, the view was fantastic.
Directly below, and running all the way to the distant Pyramid of the Sun, is the “Avenue of the Dead”—a long walkway lined on both sides by continuous ruins of smaller temples.
It was only as I was about one-third of the way down this long avenue that I began to feel the incredible power of the ambient energy. Dropping back a short distance behind my group, I spread my arms out to my side, palms forward, and began to imagine the ancient people who lived here. Here I was at last, strolling in the energy of their footsteps.
Chills began to flow up and down my spine—chills that continued for the remainder of my visit. With every step, I experienced delightful aliveness, bathing in this divine energy. Imagine my excitement when we reached the Pyramid of the Sun and I heard Isaac tell us, “The remainder of the time is yours to do with as you please. Meet back here at 5:00 p.m.”
I had fifty minutes to climb this huge amazing pyramid. Being wider than two football fields at the base, the pyramid rises to a height of sixty five meters (about two hundred feet). The steps leading up were very steep and tall—requiring a great deal of effort and continuous concentration. Occasionally, I took advantage of a welcome handrail that some safety-minded workers had so thoughtfully installed.
Right before turning us loose, Isaac mentioned that some people come here dressed in white. “They hike to the very top,” he continued. “Once there, they pray to the four directions on each side of the pyramid—the north, south, ease, and west.”
“At the same time,” Isaac continued, “they honor the four elements—earth, water, fire, and wind. When they are finished, they walk to the exact center of the pyramid. A small silver point marks that spot. Their spiritual journey ends when they touch this silver marker, bringing them peace.”
As I began my long climb, meticulously placing my feet on each steep step in front of me, my energy levels were strong and constant. Within fifteen minutes I found myself standing on the very top. A refreshing cool breeze was gently blowing from the south, the warm sun providing a gentle but not excessive heat from the west.
The top provided a 360 degree view of the fabulous green valleys and surrounding small mountains. But it was the breathtaking view of the Avenue of the Dead, looking back towards the Pyramid of the Moon, that captivated me. Even now, as I attempt to describe the gorgeous image in writing, my words cannot begin to describe the sight. While I studied the ancient pyramid-lined road, energy flowed wildly through my veins as I imagined what it must have been like so many centuries ago.
The ancient people of Teotihuacan stood in this very same spot, with the same sun, wind, and stars. Their hearts must have also been filled with wonder and energy as they contemplated their respective journeys into the unknown of their own lives. They were real people, with real feelings, dreams, emotions, desires, and hearts.
One by one, in complete silence, I stood facing each direction, arms outstretched, and palms facing forward. In peaceful meditation, I honored each point of the compass, each element of nature, simply inhaling the feeling, being entirely in the moment. Finally, overwhelmed with peace, I walked to the middle, placing my forefinger over the top of the tiny silver marker identifying the exact center of the pyramid.
Not wanting to leave, wishing I could linger all day, I remained on the top of the pyramid for nearly thirty minutes, inhaling every feeling.
For a few brief moments, my memories flashed to my dear departed parents. My father entered the military in 1942. He and my mother were married in September, during a several-day leave from the army. Almost immediately, my father’s unit was shipped off to the east coast and subsequently to Europe.
Four long years later, in 1946 when the war finally ended, my mother and father took a much deserved honeymoon to Mexico City. While I know very little about their adventures here, I do believe that they traveled to Teotihuacan. As I stood on top of that pyramid, my heart momentarily imagined them standing in the very same spot, atop the Pyramid of the Sun. A small feeling in my heart confirmed, “Yes, they were here.”
Minutes later, I said my goodbyes and began a careful, gradual descent down the sharp steep rocky steps. Being tempted to look out over the valley, I instead focused intently on each foothold, maintaining the peace inside of me through each tedious step. This same peace followed me throughout the van ride back to Mexico City—and remains deeply embedded in my soul today as I sit writing in my hotel lobby.
Evening Miracles
Last night, I whipped out my laptop in the hotel lobby, desiring to catch up on a few emails. To my pleasant surprise, I discovered a message from my cousin’s wife, Vicki—her husband is the son of my mother’s younger brother.
Before proceeding, I need to make an apology. I honestly cannot say if I have ever even officially met Vicki. I do know that I would not recognize her if I saw her. Yes, I do know her husband (my cousin), but I have conspicuously avoided him for a very long time—not because of anything he did—but because of my own fears.
When I went through my major life transitions almost thirteen years ago, I withdrew from extended family. I was so exhausted from seeking the love and approval of my immediate loved ones, that the thought of trying to explain my path to extended family simply terrified me. Yes, out of fear—fear of rejection, fear of being judged, fear of ridicule, fear of the unknown—I simply disappeared from the lives of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Selling their love short, I found it hard to believe that they would ever be able to lovingly deal with such an outcast as me.
While still in the cemetery at my mother’s burial just two and a half months ago, another cousin had asked me for my email, saying “My sister-in-law wants to personally tell you how much she enjoyed your loving speech today—but she had to leave. She asked if I could ask for your email so she can write you a letter.”
Vicki’s email was brief, but filled with love. She went completely out of her way to introduce herself and to extend her loving thoughts to someone she hardly knows (me)—a gesture that is deeply appreciated. Her well placed words simply stated how much she enjoyed the loving speech I gave at my mother’s funeral—wishing me health and happiness.
Before retiring to my room, I sent Vicki a brief reply. Moments later I rode the hotel elevator in an upward journey—on the way to an experience that literally blew me away.
Feeling near collapse, my feet aching, my muscles tired and sore, I put on my pajamas and was laying in bed by 8:15 p.m., ready for some much desired rest.
Almost immediately, my little Jedi voices said “You have lots of time to rest, grab your IPOD, listen to some music, and massage your feet before going to sleep.”
Seconds later, I was back on my bed with my IPOD in hand. This may sound a little anal, but starting a few weeks ago, I began to methodically listen to a large collection of “beautiful music with a message” that I happen to possess. Not knowing how to do it any other way, I simply began to listen to the songs the way they were arranged—in alphabetical order by artist. A few nights ago, when I was whisked away to tears by the Celine Dion song “Come To Me”, I was just finishing up the “C’s”. Last night, it only seemed obvious that I would resume with the “D’s”.
The first song that popped up in my list was by Diamond Rio, titled “I Believe.” While I have heard the song many times before, I had always listened in ‘lazy mode’, never having paid any attention whatsoever to the incredible words. As the beautiful music began to unfold, I was immediately engulfed in the amazing words. My heart was on fire with loving emotion.
Beginning to feel a “repeat” coming on, I skipped back and played the song again. This time, my feelings flashed to my mother. This seemed to make so much sense. Twice earlier today, thoughts of my dear sweet mother had flashed into my consciousness—once in Teotihuacan, and again in Vicki’s email. “Yes,” I pondered, “I will listen to the words as if I were thinking about my mother.”
As the words streamed through my consciousness, the tears began to flow—not tears of grief or sadness—but tears of joy and deep spiritual connection. I could literally feel my mother’s love permeating my being. In some unexplainable way, I could feel her saying the words, “Brenda, I am so incredibly proud of you. I am still here, and I love you so very much. I am with you always.”
As I bawled my eyes out for the second time in just a few days, I soon realized that I have never really had an opportunity to express or even feel the emotions of my mother’s passing. Immediately, I let them flow as I replayed the song, over and over, for more than an hour.
My emotions were not those of sadness, they were of joy, peace, love, connection, and of knowing that all is beautiful and perfect. In that precious hour last night, an hour that I will cherish forever, I experienced a spiritual bond with my mother that I never before felt in mortal life.
Following are the beautiful words to this powerful song.
I Believe
Sung by: Diamond Rio
Album: Completely
Every now and then
Soft as breath upon my skin
I feel you come back again
And it’s like you haven’t been
Gone a moment from my side
Like the tears were never cried
Like the hands of time are holding
You and me
And with all my heart I’m sure
We’re closer than we ever were
I don’t have to hear or see
I’ve got all the proof I need
There are more than angels watching over me
I believe, Oh I believe
Now when you die your life goes on
It doesn’t end here when you’re gone
Every soul is filled with light
It never ends, and if I’m right
Our love can even reach across eternity
I believe, Oh I believe
Forever you’re a part of me
Forever in the heart of me
I will hold you even longer if I can
Oh the people who don’t see the most
See that I believe in ghosts
If that makes me crazy, then I am
‘Cause I believe
Oh I believe
There are more than angels watching over me
I believe, Oh I believe
Every now and then
Soft as breath upon my skin
I feel you come back again
And I believe
This day could not have been arranged in a more inspiring and beautiful set of seeming synchronicities.
First of all, I unexpectedly find myself prompted to be in the city where my parents enjoyed their extended honeymoon so very long ago. Then, while visiting Teotihuacan, a strong awareness permeates my being, telling me “My parents have stood in this very spot.” I’m sure my mother and father were equally inspired by their visit.
Then, more than two and a half months after the funeral, the unexpected email from Vicki “just happened” to arrive out of nowhere on this very day. Why not yesterday? Last month? Or next week? The timing was impeccable, almost unbelievable.
Finally, why would the Diamond Rio song “I Believe” just happen to be at the top of my play list?
No, there are just too many “coincidences” for this to have been a mere random occurrence. Spiritual energy continues to vibrate through my spine as I write these loving words. With all of my heart, I can honestly proclaim that “I believe.”
Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved