Brenda's Bicycles

Peace soothes my soul as I sit back in a comfortable shaded hammock—a beautiful hammock weaved with rainbow stripes of various pastel colors. The brightness of the blue sky is rapidly fading as the sun prepares to take its leave from another gorgeous day. Chirping birds sing their beautiful evening songs breaking up the steady stream of background city noises that are constantly audible from the grounds of my beautiful little hostel—noises such as horns honking, people playing in the nearby park, music dancing in the distance.

Valladolid is a peaceful, pleasant city, with the municipal area providing homes to around 70,000 residents—very similar in size to the main city in Cozumel. The city was original founded by Spanish settlers in the mid 1500s. Being built on top an old Mayan town, the Spaniards used stones from the original Mayan settlement to build their own colonial style buildings. Many homes, churches, and other buildings in the area date back to the mid sixteenth century.

A large number of structures in the city are painted with a variety of the same beautiful pastel colors that make up my hammock, giving the city a very magical colorful feeling.

Several large and prominent Mayan ruins are less than thirty minutes away, including Ek’Balam, Coba, and Chitchen Itza—plus the city is home to three well known Cenotes (pronounced say-no-tays). A Cenote is a large sink hole, usually very deep, very often inside of a cave-like cavity. The bottoms of the Cenotes are filled with brilliant blue waters, reminding me very much of the turquoise waters of the Caribbean.

Mayan Treasures

Monday morning I had every intention of visiting two large Cenotes about five miles southwest of town. Around mid-morning I began packing my small daypack, eager to get started with my explorations. Just two minutes later, I was rapidly emptying literally everything out of my main backpack, anxiously searching, but coming up empty.

I was holding my swimsuit tankini top in my hand—but could find no evidence of a swimsuit bottom ever having been stowed away with my belongings. It was mysteriously missing. Rather than feel frustration, I simply smiled and decided that the universe was playing games with me, guiding me in a different direction. Not wanting to go to the Cenotes without a swimsuit, I began to ponder alternate solutions.

After hopping onto my bicycle, I proceeded to scour the entire city, stopping at every clothing store that I could find. Such stores were few and far between. As clerks in each store repeatedly informed me that they don’t sell swimsuits in November, I asked for referrals about a different store that might.

Three hours later, my search had thoroughly acquainted me with many of the remaining areas of town—but still no swimsuit. I actually did find four suits, but two were way too small, and the others were considerably too large.

By early afternoon, I gave up my search as I embraced a different strategy. Returning to one of the two largest clothing stores, I quickly found a pair of extra short blue-jean cutoffs that fit me perfectly. Surprisingly, they even match my tankini top quite well. My swimsuit problem was solved.

Since I was already in the store, I listened to additional intuitions as they guided me to find a skirt and blouse to wear in the Temazcal on Wednesday. I had already convinced myself to skip this week’s Temazcal, but after Eduardo told me that the Mayan Shaman who is the guardian of the Ek’Balam ruins will be the one running the Temazcal, my heart demanded that I reconsider. Space will be limited, and I may not get in, but my heart told me to be prepared with a comfortable skirt and blouse just in case.

By the time I walked out of the clothing store, only two or three hours of sunlight remained. Rather than heading out to the Cenotes at such a late hour, I allowed my internal intuition to guide me on a totally different path.

A strong feeling pulled me in the direction of an ancient convent, built by the Spaniards in the middle of the sixteenth century.

“Yes, I’ll go explore and see if I can go inside to take a tour.” I told myself.

As I arrived at the entrance, the gatekeeper told me. “There is no set fee. You can enter by making whatever donation you like.”

After gifting him with fifty pesos, he offered to watch my bicycle, and told me I could explore any area of the convent that I desired.

What a fascinating old building it was. Construction began in 1552, using stones from nearby Mayan ruins as the main building materials. The colonial architecture was very basic and mostly functional, but beautiful just the same. The exterior of the convent was painted a pastel yellow, with much of the interior being a light salmon color. As I wandered the maze of passageways, I passed a plump old monk, dressed in traditional brown fabric, almost like burlap. With his short scruffy beard, he looked as if he had just walked off an old movie set. I smiled and said hola—but by the time I thought about taking a photo, he was long gone.

My visit to the incredible convent was a perfectly timed synchronicity. Just as I began to ride away from this amazing piece of history, a young woman coming toward me recognized me and called out.

“You’re staying at the hostel, aren’t you?”

Immediately we initiated a delightful chat. Twenty minutes and a delicious coconut-flavored ice cream cone later, Jenni and I parted company as she entered the convent and I set off to do more exploring.

Two hours later, we bumped into each other again, this time back at the hostel. Our conversation ignited as she felt prompted to ask if I wanted to go get some dinner, and I felt inspired to say yes.

We talked nonstop for several hours. After devouring our delicious meal over at the bazaar, we began to simply walk through quaint city streets, walking and walking, talking and talking, continuing our animated discussion with nary a break. We kept coming back to topics of listening to and following our heart—surrendering and trusting our inner feelings. The common denominator of the entire conversation was the constant goose bumps and spine shivers that inspired us both.

I hated to say goodbye, but my internal voices were tugging me in a new direction. Eager to get caught up with my photos, I stayed up till after midnight organizing and uploading more than one hundred photos to my blog site.

This morning, I began extra early, creating two complete photo postings. I was fully engulfed in the energizing effects of all my preparations. By mid morning, my photos were happily in all the right places. Within minutes I was on the seat of my bicycle, eagerly pedaling the five miles back to a place called “Dztinup” (pronounced seat-nupe), home of the two Cenotes X’keken (esh-kay-kayn) and Samula (sam-oo-la). I was completely surprised and inspired by what happened next.

As I gradually descended the winding, steep staircase, I was anxious to see the beautiful Cenote of X’keken—but the steep carved steps in the underground cave-like tunnel were dark and obscure, very difficult to see. As I held onto the rope at my left, I slowly shuffled my feet forward, cautiously searching for the edge of each step before daring to commit my weight down one more level.

As I reached the bottom of the nearly invisible steps, I could feel the humidity of the water, but the room was so dark that all I could see was the faint glow of distant candles.

The soft sound of a wooden flute wafted through the air. Occasional light drumming sounds rhythmically echoed in the distance and I could hear quiet vocal chanting. As I drew nearer, I could see a crowd of more than one hundred people seated in a makeshift theatre consisting of uneven rows of rock steps carved into the side of the cave. In front of the crowd was a small alter, containing flowers, candles, and incense. Standing beside the alter were two native Mayan-looking men, both dressed in white. One was singing a quiet resonating song, sending a beautiful melody echoing throughout the chamber. The other was gently waving an urn filled with copal incense.

Soon, the song ended and the man began talking. In the midst of his words, I heard the word “Mayan” mentioned several times. As he finished his reverent speech, he invited the crowd to begin lining up. One by one, the older gentleman dressed in white began to bless and cleanse each soul.

The face of this older native gentleman seemed to almost glow as he repeatedly dipped a small handful of green leafy herbs into a light amber colored solution and passed it across the head, face, shoulders, chest, back, etc… of each person in line—slowly, not rushing at all, one beautiful person at a time.

My instincts were begging me to find a way to participate. I watched in deep reverence as row after row of people took their turn in line. As the last woman finally took her position in line, I made my way down to the front and asked the lady at the end, “Puedo participar?” (May I participate). She simply smiled and said yes. As the line slowly meandered forward, I noticed that tears were flowing down the cheeks of several people who were deeply touched by the proceedings. I simply held a quiet space of meditation as I slowly inched one baby step at a time. A few minutes later, my turn finally arrived as this elderly Mayan shaman lovingly included me in the group, reverently blessing me with his sacred herbs.

After a few more minutes of touching emotional speeches, the ceremony came to a loving conclusion, as many people in the group hugged each other tightly.

Then, almost everyone in the room began to strip off their outer clothing, revealing swimsuits beneath. As they started working their way toward the cool waters of the incredible Cenote, I followed suit and did the same.

The crowds in the water did not bother me in the least. I was deeply energized by their presence. Nevertheless, I stayed mostly to myself. First I swam out and hugged a huge stalactite that descended from the ceiling, ending below the surface of the water. After a few minutes of sharing the energy of this beautiful stone creation, I swam over to a column of long straw-like roots that dangled more than one hundred feet from the ceiling above, ending just inches above the water’s surface.

These columns of tree roots were incredible. Finding a shallow ledge on which to stand, I stood holding this six-inch-diameter bundle of energy—inhaling the earthy scent, feeling the rough straw-like texture as I ran the thin tubular strands across my cheeks. As I stood in the water on the ledge, holding my hands gently around the fragile life-giving strands, I imagined the energy of the tree above passing through these amazing roots and fanning out through my entire body.

As I stood there in silence, my entire body was alive with vibrations—I didn’t want to leave—I didn’t want to move—yet my feelings eventually guided me on toward my next adventure. I slowly ascended the steep dark stairs and hiked across the highway to the Cenote called Samula.

For more than thirty minutes, I enjoyed the blessing of having this incredible lake-filled cavern all to myself. My new friend Jenni had told me about the tiny fish in Cenote Samula—and I knew I simply must experience it for myself.

As I sat on a shallow ledge, I remained perfectly motionless. Very soon, a school of one-inch guppy-like fish swam over and gradually worked up their confidence. One by one they began nibbling on my ankles and feet. Just as Jenni had told me, these little natural wonders did not bite hard or break my skin. They simply nibbled on the dead layer of skin—totally at the surface levels.

Soon, ever so gradually, more and more fish surrounded me. Before I knew it, hundreds of them were simultaneously chewing on my toes, feet, ankles, shins, knees, thighs, arms, and back—just about anywhere that bare skin was exposed. The experience was totally energizing. Feeling no pain whatsoever, I felt as if someone were lightly tickling my entire body with feathers.

The sensation was so incredible, that I sat in mediation for more than thirty minutes, imagining that the little swimmers were giving me a professional spa exfoliation treatment. It was not until a group of tourists from England walked down the steps to swim that I decided it was time for me to go home to eat—to post more photos—and to write.

As I ponder these past two days, I can clearly see many beautiful benefits for having lost my swim suit bottoms. For starters, I gained some valuable exposure to the city. In addition, as I was out and about following new promptings, I met a beautiful new friend in Jenni from Montreal. But the frosting on the cake was the amazing encounter with the Mayan Shaman this morning.

If my swimsuit had not been lost, I would certainly have gone to the Cenotes yesterday, and I would have missed it all. Not only would I have missed today’s spiritual ceremonies and blessings—but I would have missed out on my magical exfoliation treatment. Had I not met Jenni the way I did, I would never have thought to allow hundreds of hungry little fish to chew away on my body.

On the surface, losing my swimsuit bottoms initially appeared to be a very annoying inconvenience. But by ignoring that ego-thought and instead focusing on the treasure hunt, many precious jewels did indeed manifest themselves. It is highly likely that none of these treasures would have found their way into my life had I not simply flowed with the situation, listening to the voices in my heart.

This may sound naïve, but I totally believe I was supposed to lose my swimsuit bottoms. Without a doubt, I know the universe wanted me at the Cenote today—not yesterday. I will not be surprised at all if my swimsuit bottoms magically reappear in my backpack sometime very soon.

Leap of Faith

Tomorrow (Wednesday) morning, I begin yet another magical and mysterious journey. For the next five days, I will be staying in a small rustic cabin near the Mayan ruins of Ek’Balam, participating in a series of Olmec ceremonies and rituals.

Tomorrow during the day there will be orientations and Temazcales. Wednesday evening is when the real fun begins. I will be participating in midnight silent walks through the jungle, powerful fire lighting ceremonies, and middle-of-the-night Cenote ceremonies. After being up continuously all night long, the festivities will persist throughout the day on Thursday, with no planned opportunities for sleep.

I will save a full description of the events until after I have experienced them for myself. I may not fully understand everything that will happen—but I will definitely feel it all.

I am deeply excited as I make final preparations for this leap into the unknown. I am not even sure if I will have internet access, so I may not have further opportunities to communicate until after I return to my hostel in Valladolid next Sunday afternoon.

I cannot wait to go through this fascinating leap of faith into the unknown—and to then write about it.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved