(This is the second installment of a series of posts describing my experiences of this past week. Subsequent posts will follow very soon.)
As I step back into the beautiful clearing at Kaxan Xuul, I am puzzled by the fact that no fire is burning, no smoke is rising into the clear blue sky above. Perhaps twenty or thirty people have gathered, but most are standing around talking, waiting. There are few if any visible clues that would lead me to believe that a 1:00 p.m. Temazcal ceremony is even possible.
Having been someone who was formerly obsessed with sticking to a schedule, I often struggle to maintain a peaceful balance when in situations where schedules seem to be meaningless and/or ignored.
As I ponder the fact that schedules seem to mean nothing here, my ego silently pouts, holding its breath, throwing a mild temper tantrum. But my heart almost immediately reminds me that I am in Mexico, I have nothing else to be doing, and that peace comes only through emotional surrender and allowing things to be just as they are.
Quickly, I smile and immerse myself back into the moment, simply sitting back to observe how things unfold. Soon, my insecurities attempt to resurface into my awareness, telling me, “You need to be doing things, interacting with people, making friends.”
For thirty minutes I ignore my insecurities, peacefully observing my beautiful surroundings. I am fascinated by what I witness.
A beautiful middle-aged woman named Irene places several chunks of black charcoal into her salmador (hand-help incense burner). Then, using a match, she carefully lights a few specially treated fire-starter sticks and jabs them down into the bottom beside the charcoal. Her attention is carefully focused on coaxing the tiny fire, frequently and gently fanning the flames with her breath. Soon the charcoal is burning brightly, with flames rising several inches above the rim.
Briefly setting the incense burner down on the ground, this devoted woman switches her attention to the alter that she is arranging on the ground near the east door of the Temazcal structure. After placing several palm leaves in a fan pattern, she places a red handkerchief on top. Soon, the entire area is carefully arranged with a variety of offerings to be blessed, a few of the items being a small conch shell, several bowls of seeds, a small buffalo-skin drum, some small mugs of water, and a small flute.
After frequently nursing her salmador, Irene’s coals are soon hot and glowing orange. From a small plastic bag she retrieves a few small chunks of white copal, scattering them on top of the glowing hot charcoal. Almost immediately a cloud of white scented smoke rises, gently drifting into the surrounding air.
To my left, I watch as another man begins to take charge of building the fire. To my amazement, the whole process becomes a carefully orchestrated ceremony. Two men and two women are selected to participate, each being told to select one piece of wood. The men stand on opposite corners, one on the east and one on the west. The women occupy the north and the south corners.
As instructed, one by one, these four take turns placing their branches on the ground, forming a square, with one branch on each side. The four temporarily step aside while more branches are methodically stacked, building on the square as a base, following which several bundles of small dry branches are spread out on top. Minutes later, several young men methodically carry about twenty volcanic rocks, balancing them in a pile right on top of the eighteen-inch high stack of firewood.
Once the volcanic rocks are in place, larger logs are carefully arranged in a teepee shape surrounding the base and pile of volcanic rocks. These long branches are vertically stacked all around the sides, coming together in a point at the top of the soon-to-be blazing hot fire.
At this point the two men and two women resume their positions at the four compass points surrounding the fire. With the rest of us holding hands in a circle around the fire pit, Irene makes her rounds, using her smoke-emitting salmador to bless the wood, and all of the rest of us who are participating. Then, setting her salmador on the ground, Irene walks around the fire pit, carefully scattering handfuls of colorful rose petals around the entire perimeter.
The time for lighting has finally arrived. Each of the four people surrounding the fire is given a long fire-starting stick. Each holds their stick such that they slightly intersect the others above the middle of the fire. Then a cigarette lighter is held under the tips, simultaneously lighting all four at the same time.
The flames struggle and keep going out. Soon, Irene brings her scorching hot salmador and holds it under the tips of the four sticks. It does not take long before each stick is burning brightly.
Simultaneously, each of the four people lights their own side of the fire, placing their burning sticks down toward the base. The four little individual fires gradually grow while grey puffy smoke streams into the air above. Gradually the flames come together, growing exponentially brighter until the smoke is replaced by towering red flames.
In the meantime, several large stacks of palm leaves have been piled up near the fire. Initially, I believe that these will somehow be used in the fire, but I soon observe several women and girls taking the leaves inside the Temazcal, spreading them all over the bare ground, creating a thin carpet of these large green leaves around the entire interior of the structure.
While the fire continues to burn hotter and brighter, the group gathers and begins playing drums, flutes, rattles, and conch shells. I am amazed at the incredible variety of these sacred ceremonial instruments, especially with the flutes and drums. Some of these beautiful people are very talented musicians. The music and rhythm is fascinating to listen to.
Soon, Eric, who is in charge of the Temazcal, announces that we are ready and asks everyone to form a large circle around the permanent structure. This little domed building is painted in an earthy terra-cotta color. It is round, perhaps 15 feet in diameter, standing about six feet tall in the center. Unlike most other Temazcal structures that I have seen, this one has four doors, one facing in each compass direction. For our ceremony today, the north, south, and west entrances have been covered. We will use the east one.
While standing around in a circle, we again go through formal ceremonies of saluting the four directions. In addition, we also salute the sky and then the earth. Irene and another woman, Gloria, make the rounds with their salmadors, one on the inside of the circle, one on the outside. As soon as they complete a full circle, they switch places and make one more complete round, blessing everyone in the circle with their copal incense.
While this ceremony is going on, my mind is a little preoccupied. Before going to Mexico City in late September, Eduardo had advised me to bring a skirt to wear in the Temazcal because swimwear is considered inappropriate. Today, as I look around, all of the men have stripped down to either shorts or swimming trunks. Likewise, most of the women are wearing swimsuits as well. I am the only one in a long skirt and blouse. Even though I feel slightly self-conscious, and wish I had time to retrieve my swimsuit, I realize that once I am inside, it will not really matter.
At last our circle begins to rotate in a clockwise direction. One by one, people get down on hands and knees and crawl through the tiny east entrance, continuing in a clockwise direction around the inside of the structure. I end up taking a position almost directly opposite the entrance. The wall behind me is very rough; the ground is equally uncomfortable. The middle stems of the palm leaves are thick and tubular, and one happens to be right under my buttocks. I wiggle, twist, and pull until I am finally a little more comfortable, but a small hard bump in the dirt below causes me to continue squirming and changing positions.
In silence, I watch the entrance as more and more people continue to crawl into the increasingly crowded room. The outer wall is full, so a second circle begins to form around the rock pit in the center.
I hear a screaming child, and seconds later I see a man trying to coax his small two year old son to enter with him. The boy resists as he sobs with fright. His father does not take no for an answer and ends up carrying the scared little boy into the dark tunnel. Once inside the crying continues. A part of me wants to intervene, to judge the situation as wrong, traumatic for the child; yet I resist the urge to condemn and find love. Somehow I re-center myself and manage to remain peacefully focused in spite of the loud crying. Soon, a young mother enters with her baby. The baby seems quite content.
Thinking the room is as full as it can possibly get, two more women enter—the same two who were using the salmadors. Out of curiosity, my analytical mind kicks in and makes a quick count. Crowded into this tiny little space are twenty eight adults and two children.
Each Temazcal in which I have participated has been different. Yes, they all have four phases, extreme steamy heat, and an element of discomfort, but the ceremonial part has been different each time. Today, I note that there is very little ceremony or ritual. For the most part we sit in the steamy heat, play drums, and sing.
The temperature in the first two phases is actually quite tolerable, leading me to believe that I will easily make it through all four parts with no problems. The father with his crying son leaves after the first round. The mother with her baby leaves after the second. During the third phase however, the heat is intense, almost unbearable, but somehow I manage to get through it while still sitting up. By the fourth round, I am laying flat on my back, attempting to keep my face as close to the cool earth as possible.
By now, the palm leaves have shifted, exposing the reddish brown dirt below. The combination of sweaty skin and dirt quickly begins to create a slimy mud, which soon manages to find its way all over my arms and legs.
While the door is open before the third and fourth rounds, small wooden bowls are passed around. Some are for drinking while others are intended for sprinkling on head and shoulders. When the sprinkling bowls come by, people use their hands to dip in and splash water on their bodies. In the midst of the experience, I notice some people getting confused about which bowl is for drinking. After one person’s muddy hands dip into the water, someone else drinks from the same bowl. I end up opting to skip the drinking part altogether.
Overall, we are inside for almost two hours. As I emerge through the opening back into the world of fresh air, a feeling of deep refreshing gratitude floods my awareness. Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed the sweat lodge, but I enjoy the cool outside air even more.
Desiring to get cleaned up as soon as possible, I waste no time as I quickly set out on the fifteen minute walk back to my cabin, all the while dreaming of the soothing warm shower that awaits me. I am sure that I look like a complete mess.
As I pass by some children playing in front of their home, one young girl giggles and says “You’re all wet.”
I simply smile and giggle back at her, point to my clothes, and reply “Temazcal.”
With great anticipation I turn on the faucets in my shower. Regardless of which faucet I turn, uncomfortably cold water gushes forth out of the shower head above. After waiting several minutes for the much anticipated warm water, I give up and take the plunge. Need I point out that this is one of my quickest shampoos and showers I have had in a very long time.
By now it is getting dark, and I notice that all lights seem to have a fuzzy ring around them. I know it is not foggy outside, but it takes me a while to finally realize that it is my own eyes that are acting up. Following my intuition, I realize I am severely dehydrated and I soon begin to guzzle water as fast as I can drink. I chug the first liter down in a matter of seconds. The second takes about ten minutes. About an hour later, I notice the fuzzy visual rings beginning to fade and disappear.
Aj Men Bartolomé Poot Nahuat
As our evening activities are about to begin, I am thrilled to learn that our schedule has been altered. Immediately, my heart wants to send a long note of gratitude to the Mexican parks department for saying “No. That is too early.”
Original plans for tonight called for a midnight fire ceremony, followed by a 4:30 a.m. five kilometer march to the Cenote X’canche. Our new plans have moved the fire ceremony up to 9:00 p.m., and pushed back the morning march till 7:00 a.m., giving us all a chance to actually get some sleep. I could not be happier as I imagine resting in my soft warm bed.
Even though our weekend activities were organized by Olmec leaders, following Olmec traditions, this week’s festival is open to people of all traditions. Since the event is being held in the backyard of the Mayans, the organizers decided to ask a Mayan priest/shaman to facilitate most of the ceremonies.
Before tonight I knew nothing of Aj Men Bartolomé Poot Nahuat—other than the fact that he is one of the most prominent and loved Mayan leaders in this part of the Yucatan. As I understand it, “Aj Men” is a Mayan title indicating his position, while “Bartolomé Poot Nahuat” is his name.
As we begin gathering near the reception area of my cabins, I notice a Mayan man talking to a group of people as they stand in the gravel road waiting for tonight’s activities to begin. Something about this man causes me to gravitate to the conversation. He has a joyful look in his face, and everything about him exudes love and peace. With great interest, I stand nearby, listening to all the wise words that he shares with his friends.
At 6:30 p.m., we all take seats in a large well-lit meeting area just two minutes from my cabin. I am not at all surprised when I quickly learn that the beautiful man to whom I had been gravitating was none other than Bartolomé himself.
With great humility and love, he speaks to us for an hour, introducing us to the ceremonies and rituals in which we will be participating. He describes the fire ceremony in which we are about to partake, telling us of a few times in the past where the incredible flame was completely blue.
But most of all Bartolomé talks about love and other deep spiritual principles. Everything that comes out of this loving man’s mouth resonates powerfully with my soul. I have no doubt in my mind that he is indeed a very enlightened being that practices everything that he teaches.
Bartolomé’s beautiful speech ends all too quickly. I could sit and listen to him for hours. Amazingly I have actually understood most of what he said. At 7:30 p.m. we begin a one hour break, giving us all a chance to grab a quick bite to eat. I head straight for the “Cocina Maya,” where I am joined by many others from our group. My little baby Ceiba (Sable) tree—the one that Eduardo gave me—makes the journey with me. I have already decided that before this weekend is complete, this sacred little tree will be remaining behind in Kaxan Xuul.
As I sit eating and listening to surrounding conversations, I continue to feel a little bit awkward and shy, but those silly emotions are already beginning to melt away. In casual passing, I mention to one lady sitting nearby at the table that I am in a cabin by myself, and that if anyone needs a place to sleep, I have room for them.
At 8:30 p.m., I am still confused about where we are going and how we are getting there. As half of our group takes off on foot, I am puzzled that the other half remains behind, seemingly unconcerned. Finally, I realize that those who remained behind have cars. As soon as I figure this out, I dart out into the dark by myself in an attempt to catch up with those on foot. It is not until we reach Kaxan Xuul that I understand what is going on. The real march will begin right here in the open field by the Temazcal. Where we are going, I still do not understand—but I am safe, I am with the group, and I am filled with energy, peace, and excitement.
Mayan Fire Magic
It is 9:00 p.m., and the stars above are incredible. The sky is moon-less, pitch black. The stars are brilliant, glowing brighter than I believe I have ever seen in my life. What an incredible setting to begin an amazing night walk in the jungle.
After lining up in the field, we begin our silent walk. Perhaps fifty or sixty people are present. I am prepared to walk for miles, and am very surprised when our march ends on the top of a small round-topped hill, less than two hundred yards away. I suddenly remember Eduardo’s words telling me that the Yucatan is flat, and if there is a hill it is really a pyramid that has been covered over by the jungle. As I use my flashlight to examine the surroundings I notice that, sure enough, the hill is shaped exactly like a small pyramid.
In the very center at the top, a circle of rocks has been carefully placed around a large flat area. In the center is a four foot square of small straight branches lined up side by side. Surprise sets in when I realize that the fire is not already built. What unfolds next is a beautiful and meaningful ritual.
After our entire group reaches the top of this small pyramid, Bartolomé begins speaking. He tells us that the ceremony will last a little over two hours, and that during the ritual parts he will be speaking entirely in the Mayan language. A part of me smiles inside as I realize that I will understand these parts just as well as everyone else.
Grabbing an armful of wood sticks, Bartolomé gets down on his hands and knees and begins. In a very carefully laid out pattern, he starts to construct the fire, beginning by placing a log across the middle, east to west. Next he places pieces across this log in the opposite direction. Continuing to methodically add logs around the edges, Bartolomé eventually constructs a large pyramid-like structure, mostly square at the bottom, and pointed at the top, perhaps three feet tall.
Throughout the ceremony, Bartolomé frequently stops to speak in the Mayan tongue. The words have a very native tone to them, filled with crisply pronounced consonants, accented sounds, and a rhythmic cadence. I am fascinated.
Once the fire is built, people in the crowd are invited to retrieve any items that they want to bless and to place them around the outer edge of the rock boundary of the fire circle.
I retrieve my little Ceiba (Sable) tree and hold it in my hands in front of me. I want to bless this little sacred tree, but have no desire to kill it by setting it on the ground near what will soon be a roaring hot fire.
Bartolomé has a few friends with him, and he invites one to sing a song. Immediately I do a double-take and look more closely. It is the same exact Mayan man with a beautiful voice that, only yesterday, had been conducting ceremonies in the Cenote X’KeKen—the very same ceremony that I had stumbled into on Tuesday Morning.
The next two hours are filled with incredible energy and magic. After the flames are lit, the fire gradually grows taller and taller. At its peak, the tall vertical column of flames reaches to a height of perhaps fifteen feet or more. Amazingly, the flames form a tall and narrow vertical column, rising straight up from the very center of the wooden pyramid. The flames remain yellowish orange. Tonight is not a an occasion for the energies of the universe to bless us with a blue fire—but nevertheless, the experience is powerful, amazing, energizing, awe inspiring.
During the latter part of the ceremony, we all have an opportunity to sing, play drums, flutes, conch shells, or whatever, as we immerse ourselves into the experience of such powerful energy.
Eventually, ever so slowly, the dancing orange flames diminish in size, retreating closer and closer to their source. The burning heat subsides as well while we all move gradually closer and closer to the magical fire.
Finally, shortly before 11:30 p.m., Bartolomé announces that our ceremony is complete. I choose to remain for a while, enjoying the incredible peace that is radiating all around me.
I hear my name called out.
“Brenda, do you still have space in your cabin?” a woman asks as she approaches me.
“Yes,” I reply, “I do.”
“This is Antonia,” the woman continues. “She just got here this evening and needs a place to stay. Can she stay with you?”
“You are more than welcome to share my cabin.” I tell Antonia.
As we walk together under the unbelievable pitch black skies and bright stars, Antonia asks how much I want her to pay me.
I answer her, “I am paying for the room whether you are there or not. You can pay me as much or as little as you are able. It is a pleasure to be able to share.”
For a moment, I feel a little awkward as I realize that I will no longer have complete privacy, and that I may have difficulties communicating effectively with my new roommate.
As Antonia and I continue down the dark path headed toward our cabin, two other men join us to keep us company. The four of us chat and giggle as we continue to observe the amazing sky above.
Within a few minutes of arriving back at the cabin, I am in bed, exhausted, well on my way to a restful nights sleep. As I drift off to la-la land, I am filled with butterflies, wondering how my new roommate situation will work out.
I will soon discover that the universe is blessing me with an incredible friend, someone to guide me through the remaining three days, someone with whom my heart will deeply bond.
To be continued …
Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved