Brenda's Bicycles

(This is the seventh and final installment of a series of posts describing my experiences in Ek’Balam and my subsequent journey of physical and emotional healing. New postings will continue on a periodic basis—as inspired.)

It is Sunday Morning, December 6, 2009. Only two short weeks ago, I immersed myself in the energizing love and spirit of a beautiful sunrise closing ceremony surrounded by the lush green jungles of Kaxan Xuul. As I descended from the crest of that powerful earth-covered pyramid, I felt spiritually alive and on top of the world. But deep within my soul, even in that sacred place of Kaxan Xuul, an internal battle was already beginning to rumble.

Just moments ago, while struggling to resume my writing, the dynamics of that rumbling inner battle have once again erupted as I begin to re-live the emotional trauma of this tedious healing journey. Until this very moment, I had no idea that so much deep fear and terror could possibly remain bottled up inside my soul.

The emotional floodgates have now opened. As the words are beginning to flow from my fingertips to my keyboard, my red cheeks are simultaneously swamped with rivers of moist flowing tears.

Other than keeping them as quiet and muffled as possible, I make no attempt to suppress my shaking sobs and trembling jaw. I know with all of my heart that I need to process right through the core of these bottled-up emotions. I simply cannot ignore them any longer. Suppressed emotion is a subtle poison that lulls me away into spiritual numbness—and I am tired of feeling numb.

Ego is playing both sides of the game here. On the one hand, ego wants to suck me into the trap of believing that the objects of my fear and terror are real, causing me to identify with a sense of poor-me victimization. As I resist that tendency, ego is playing the spiritual pride game, wanting me to suppress and deny my fears, my weaknesses, and my seeming inability to shake the trauma completely. This “I’m-supposed-to-be-strong” spiritual pride nonsense wants me to simply pretend that everything is wonderful.

But the genuine promptings in my soul insist that I face these deep feelings head on—that I embrace the emotions, hug them, love them, acknowledge them, feel them, and process right through them. And so, in this moment, I am allowing myself to continue shaking and sobbing, knowing that what soon awaits me is true freedom and renewed spiritual connectedness.

The powerful nature of this continued emotional outburst is amazing to me. I keep expecting that the tears will die down at any moment, but the sobs and chattering teeth continue to dominate my present experience. In my heart I know that these are therapeutic tears, tears of deep genuine acknowledgment and release—I don’t want them to stop—I want to finish what I have started.

I would be deceitful if I tried to pretend that these last two weeks have been easy. Yes, for the majority of the time I have indeed felt confident, trusting, peaceful, and emotionally healthy—but then there are occasional times, like right now for instance, where thoughts of fear and panic begin to sink their hooks deeply into my imagination.

In such times, I temporarily slip into ego. I want to be angry. I want to just give up and run home to a normal life. I grow tired of sitting around, resting on my bed, babysitting a wound whose mere presence is capable of triggering fear and doubt. I just want to vent—to be allowed to have a moment of vulnerability. Crying actually feels very therapeutically relieving.

I am now entering my fifth day of severe writers block amidst what has been a growing feeling of spiritual isolation and numbness. In my attempts to remain spiritually connected and positive, I have unknowingly and quite subtly denied and suppressed my emotions.

Today it seems very obvious that there is nothing spiritual about denial.

As I pass through the height of my fear, I feel as if I am back in the jungle, re-experiencing the intense heat of hot charcoal roasting my foot, re-living the panic and fear while my imagination runs wild. I am terrorized at the thought of not being in control, of not understanding what is going on, of not being the one calling the shots, of trusting my fate to others, of blindly placing my life into the hands of the Universe.

I am engaged in a tug-of-war between two worlds. In one world, ego tells me I am an insane fool for not immediately pursuing more advanced medical care. In the other world, my heart continues to bathe my soul in loving peace and trust, guiding me to stay right where I am for a little longer while I continue to write—while I continue to process and explore my emotions.

How I feel at any given moment is a direct reflection of the world to which I am closest. For several days now I have been subtly drifting away from the spiritual world. But amazingly enough, as my unexpected outburst of tears begins to settle, I feel very spiritually centered, back in a place of loving peace and trust. My intuition tells me in a very powerful way that, at least for today, my journey is to continue writing right where I am—right here in Valladolid, Yucatan, Mexico.

Rocky Start

As I checked back into my cozy hostel room in Valladolid on Sunday, Nov 22, I quickly began to engage in an inner battle between ego and spirit.

“Surely, you have severe damage to your underlying skin and other internal tissues.” My ego screamed loudly. “Yes, even though you have a protective blister, the tissue below is bound to be cooked very deeply—probably even destroyed. You need to find a burn specialist—now!”

“You’re going to be OK Brenda.” Spirit whispered calmly. “Yes, go see a Doctor, and follow his advice, but there is nothing about which to panic. You need to stay right where you are, at least for now.”

For the next few hours, I bounced back and forth, like a ping pong ball. First, ego makes a vicious serve, filled with fear and panic. Spirit lovingly flips the ball gently back over the net, filled with peace. Ego puts a wicked spin on the next hit, hurling it back across the net along with a strong dose of anxiety. Again, spirit calmly and lovingly returns the ball, filled with trust and a feeling of calm.

Feeling slightly lost and fearful, I struggled to decide my next move. Peaceful thoughts were temporary and fleeting. I began to feel alone, helpless, and clueless.

Acting in the dark, feeling no direct promptings, I began to pursue several options. First I checked a Doctor’s office just barely around the corner from the hostel. It was Sunday afternoon and the door was locked tightly.

Next, feeling quite unsure of myself, I hobbled about one mile to the only hospital in town, expecting to find some type of organized emergency room. As I neared the back of the hospital, I found a large line of perhaps one hundred people that were waiting to be seen. Beginning somewhere inside the hospital, the line extended out of the back door and wound all around the walls of the small parking lot. Momentarily sticking my head inside the hospital to figure out what was going on, I noticed that there was no receptionist and no triage nurse—just a lot of people sitting around, waiting to be treated. Some of the children being held by their mothers appeared to be very sick.

A strong feeling pushed me away, telling me “this hospital is not for you.”

I listened to and followed that hunch—even though I continued to feel so disconnected that I was not quite sure of its source.

I considered rushing off to one of the bigger cities, all of which are about three hours away via bus.

“Surely I can find more sophisticated health care with English speaking doctors if I go to Merida, Cancun, or Playa Del Carmen.” I told myself.

But as I pondered all of my options, one seemed to resonate powerfully and peacefully in my soul.

“Stay in Valladolid.” The feeling began. “Tomorrow, you can go to the local doctor just around the corner. Based on how you feel at that time, you can make further decisions. Don’t worry, there is no rush, everything will be OK.”

As I lay on my pillow on Sunday evening, I truly found the inner peace that I needed. My body was exhausted from extensive walking, and I slept very comfortably.

Private Practice

Simply sitting in the waiting room of Dr. José Francisco’s office was quite an interesting experience. I arrived thirty minutes after opening, and about six groups of people were already waiting ahead of me. I observed that going to the doctor appears to be a family affair. No one in the room was alone, except for me of course. Most of the groups in the waiting room were couples with their children. Some even had grandma along for the ride.

As the receptionist finally came to her seat, everyone else in the room first jumped up to add their names to the list in front of me. I soon discovered that the doctor does not make appointments. He accepts all of his clients on a first come first served basis, very much like an after hours clinic in the United States.

“Does the doctor speak English?” I ask the receptionist (who I later discover is the doctor’s wife).

“No, very little—just a tiny bit.” She replies.

My heart sinks as I ponder the underlying meaning of her words. My medical consultation will be limited to a combination of simple vocabulary and basic show-and-tell.

About ninety minutes later, Dr. José Francisco opens his door and motions that it is my turn to enter.

I am surprised to realize that I am not in a sterile examination room. The large room looks more like a normal office. In front of a large wooden desk sit two normal high-backed wooden chairs. Motioning for me to take a seat, I take one of the chairs as Dr. José sits in the other. I lift my left foot and rest it on my right knee, carefully undoing my bandages.

In my best rehearsed Spanish, I explain the history of my burn, even showing Dr. José several photos of the huge blister before and after it was drained.

“It is just a second degree burn.” Dr. José quickly reassures me. “It should heal completely in about ten days.”

Feeling verbally handicapped, I am unable to adequately express my worries and concerns about the depth and severity of the burns. The skin from the blister is white and shrunken, completely opaque, revealing nothing of the damage below. I have to admit, that a visual quick glance does not reveal anything particularly alarming—other than the size of the burn that is.

Even with communication difficulties, I am mostly able to get across my most basic concerns, but Dr. José assures me that I do not need to worry. A feeling of peace settles into my heart as he carefully bandages my foot with cream-saturated gauze that is pre-soaked with an antibiotic ointment. Giving me the box containing two additional gauze pads, Dr. José instructs me to buy more, and to change them every day, doing it just as he had shown me.

Holding a prescription for antibiotics, an anti-inflammatory, and a tetanus shot, I leave Dr. Jose’s office feeling peaceful and confident that all is well—at least for today. 

The entire consultation costs only 250 pesos—barely less than $20 U.S..

Believing the hard part of my journey to be behind me, I set off to the nearest pharmacy. I soon discover that there are pharmacies all over the place, and most of them are tiny shops, carrying only the minimal basics. After visiting two pharmacies I was only part way to my goal; I had found the anti-inflammatory and antibiotics, but was striking out on the tetanus shot and the special cream-treated gauze.

To make a long story short I searched (on foot) for hours looking for what I needed. Dr. José had insisted that the tetanus shot was critical. He told me to inject myself, but when I protested, he told me he would do it for me if I brought it back to his office.

None of the pharmacies stocked my treated gauze, and the last few told me that it is impossible to purchase the tetanus shots at any pharmacy. After visiting seven different pharmacies (all on foot) and even taking a taxi ride to the hospital, I had come up empty and discouraged.

Returning to my doctor’s office, I begged the receptionist (doctor’s wife) for help. Two hours later, with her help, I had my tetanus shot and a promise that a pharmacy just down the street would have my gauze in stock tomorrow.

By the time I finished my medical adventure, the clock showed late afternoon, and exhaustion was setting in. As I re-bandaged my foot for the first time on Monday night, I was shocked to see just how red and swollen my foot actually was. My ankle was considerably larger than it should have been, and the area of infected redness in the skin reached several inches above the burn area.

Money Panic

I began my intensive writing effort on Tuesday, but interruptions were many. Quality writing time was difficult to find when interspersed between changing bandages, purchasing additional supplies at pharmacies, dropping off and picking up laundry, and going out for lunch and again for dinner. Doctor José had strongly insisted that I need to rest and stay off my feet, but these errands could not go undone; being alone I simply had to be out walking about just to survive.

Wednesday proved to be equally distracting. While out for lunch, I noticed that my cash was dwindling and decided that it would be best if I stopped by an ATM to restock my wallet. I had just recently been to this same ATM on Sunday, but doctor bills, pharmacy expenses, and prepaying for my hostel room had mostly drained my cash reserves.

As I reached for my Debit Card, my heart nearly sank through the floor when I realized that the card was nowhere to be found in my wallet. I searched several times to make sure, turning every piece of paper, searching every possible hiding place. Sure enough, the card was gone.

My imagination began to run wild. “Was it stolen? Is someone in the process of emptying out my entire bank account?”

Peace was quickly restored with a quick check of my online banking records. Every penny of my money appeared to be exactly where it was supposed to be. I acted very quickly.

Sunday when I had used the ATM, I had been in the midst of emotional distractions, trying to make medical decisions about what to do and where to go.

“Surely, I was just scatterbrained and left my debit card in the ATM machine.” I reassured myself.

Realizing that ATM machines often pull unclaimed cards back inside, I rushed over to see if there was any way the local bank could retrieve unclaimed cards from their machine. The banker just looked at me as if I were from outer space.

“Sorry, you need to call your own bank.” He replied bluntly. “We cannot help you.”

Soon I was on the phone with the toll-free numbers for my bank. A sweet young man with an interesting name, “Gerty,” was quite helpful—at least he was until he told me in a very business-like manner:

“Your new card will be shipped to your home mailing address within two weeks.”

“No, no, no, no, no,” I told him firmly (but lovingly). “It needs to be rush shipped to Mexico. I will not be back in the U.S. for possibly six months or more. I need you to ship it to me right here, right where I am at in Valladolid.”

“We cannot do that,” he insisted very sternly, “surely you understand why we simply cannot ship your card to Mexico?”

“But I know you CAN do that.” I calmly insisted back. “My hostel owner tells me that your bank rush shipped cards to another person here just a few weeks ago. Please, I need you to do this for me.”

After putting me on a long hold, a woman named Kristen came onto the phone. “Of course we will rush ship your new card to Mexico. Can you give me the address?”

My short term money worries were also quickly solved when I was able to get a personal banker at my local branch in Salt Lake City to initiate a bank-to-bank money transfer to a local bank here in Valladolid. A sense of deep gratitude filled my heart, when less than five hours after the seeming-crisis began, my wallet was filled with sufficient cash and a new debit card was on its way.

Yes, for a few minutes at the beginning of this ordeal, I briefly immersed myself in the fear. But even though the process was tedious and time consuming, I quickly turned what appeared to be a near disaster into a valuable and loving learning experience. At the same time, I deepened my friendship with Tania and Ewout, the owners here at the hostel.

Eight days later, Tania from the hostel gleefully called out my name when I walked by, saying “Brenda, your new card is here.”

Routine Writing

In an interesting twist of fate, the Universe had blessed me with a series of incredible stories to tell, while at the same time providing me with abundant time with which to capture those stories in writing.

With my foot bandaged and orders to rest as much as possible, what else could I do? I quickly immersed myself as much as possible into my writing, churning out eight blog entries in eight days.

Deep inner passion pushed me forward, urging me to capture every detail of my adventures in Ek’Balam. Not only was the writing time consuming and intense, it also proved to be extremely therapeutic, allowing me to re-experience all of the emotions of the weekend. Through the medium of writing, I began to powerfully explore the intense fearful emotions that continued to beg for further release and exploration.

But those eight days were not entirely devoted to loving feelings. The blistered skin covering my burn had become quite clear and transparent by Wednesday, giving me ample opportunity to see glimpses of the discolored and uneven skin below. One solid white area, about one-half inch in diameter, continued to occupy my thoughts.

This is the area where the tick bit me, the same area that received the most intense concentrated heat. My imagination began to run wild with speculation. When touched through the blister, the white area felt thick and dead, having no sensory feelings whatsoever.

“Surely this and possibly other areas of discolored skin are areas of third degree tissue damage underneath the blister.” I began to fearfully speculate.

On Friday afternoon, the day after Thanksgiving, I went so far as to research third degree burns on the internet. Everything I read simply fueled my fearful thoughts. In a state of near panic I skyped my friend JayDee in Cozumel to ask for advice.

“She used to be a nurse in a burn trauma unit.” I reassured myself. “Surely she will know the answers I need.”

“Yes, Brenda, it is possible to have a third degree burn underneath a blister,” JayDee responded, “but I cannot tell much from the photos you sent me. I would need to be hands on before I could give you an opinion.”

JayDee’s answer did not lessen my fear. On the contrary, the confirmation of possibilities simply fueled my worry and speculation, making it even stronger.

Somehow, in the middle of wallowing in these fears, I managed to meditate and re-connect with a deep peaceful feeling that resonated within, telling me:

“Brenda, you cannot go anywhere until you finish your writing. That is your number one priority. Even if there is more severe damage it will not hurt to wait a couple of more days. Now, get back to your writing. Trust me. There is no need to worry. All will be well.”

These unspoken words resonated in my heart with an intensely peaceful and reassuring energy, giving me the confidence and courage to again push my ego-based fears aside. For the remainder of the weekend, I peacefully and lovingly continued my intense writing routine.

The fears continued to grapple for attention, with the next round manifesting in the form of mild Urinary Tract Infection symptoms. Rather than panic, I again focused my attention inward as I located an already-filled prescription for Cipro—one that I have been carrying with me for six months.

After calming my speculative fears about the possible significance of a secondary infection, I listened to my intuition which whispered:

“This is simply my body letting me know that I need to add Ciprofloxacin to my medication mix.”

Again, the writing continued, inspired and driven from deep within.

As I listened, silent voices continued to whisper to my soul. “Keep writing Brenda. All will be well … quit worrying … trust your instincts … trust your heart … release your fears into the nothingness from whence they come.”

Other than my twice-daily walks (four blocks each way) for lunch and dinner, I remained mostly in my hostel room, writing, writing, and then more writing. Sure there were interruptions to care for my foot, to have an occasional conversation with friends, and to rest—but writing remained my inner passion.

Doctor Revisited

By recovery day number 10, Nov 30, my fears about possible third-degree tissue damage were again demanding an offering of appeasement. To humor those fears, I opted to make another impromptu visit to Dr. José.

Even as I stepped into Dr. José’s office on that Monday morning, a strong sense of internal knowing told me I need to finish my writing before changing focus. In my heart I knew that even if Dr. José agrees with the possibility of more severe tissue damage, that I would not be pursuing alternate treatments until at least Wednesday.

After a quick look, Dr. José reassured me, telling me “Brenda, it is good for you to worry and to ask questions, but everything looks fine. The white area is just an area of deeper burns, but it will be OK. Trust me when I say that these are just second degree burns.”

Giving me another prescription for more antibiotics to prevent re-infection, Dr. José instructed me to continue using the crème-treated gauze bandages every day, and to come back to see him in another ten days.

Doubt continued to fester in the background, causing me to question just how much I trust Dr. José—but I knew one thing for sure. I definitely need to finish writing.

Inner Rebellion

Finally, as the evening of Tuesday, Dec 1, worked its way into the history books, I felt a surge of pride for having attained my goal. After spending the entire day posting photos, my writings about my amazing weekend in Ek’Balam were complete.

But I subconsciously knew there was more. I was not finished. It was now time to write about my roller coaster ride of recovery—to document my faith and my fears.

As Wednesday morning rolled around, the emotional rebellion began to sink its deep roots into my psyche.

“I don’t want to write today!” I pouted. “I have been writing every day for more than a week and I am tired of it. I will do it tomorrow.”

Seeing no harm in waiting another day, I spent a relaxed and lazy day resting, watching television, listening to my IPOD­­.

Thursday morning I was determined to resume writing—but again the same rebellious attitude overwhelmed me. I was beginning to feel tired and numb, even slightly depressed. Writing was the last thing I wanted to do. Each and every time I sat in front of my computer, my mind was blank, completely empty. The day evolved into an unsatisfying all-day encounter with reruns on television.

Throughout Friday and Saturday, the emotional numbness and lack of motivation continued to build. I began to wonder if I was afraid to finish my writing, knowing that when I was done I would need to face the unknown of “what now?”

My lazy attitude had strengthened into a full-blown case of rebellion mixed with lingering guilt and self-doubt.

Finding Release

As Sunday morning finally rolled around, I was determined to get to the bottom of my resistance. For more than an hour I stared at opening paragraphs that I had repeatedly written, deleted, and re-written over the previous four days.

“What is wrong with me? What is the lesson in all of this that I need to explore, to process, and to learn?”

It was then that the emotional floodgates opened—that the intense sobbing and jaw shaking found their way into my experience.

As I finish this writing on the day after that beautiful experience of emotional release and healing, I am once again at peace. While still waiting for additional internal guidance, I am fully aware that my writing is now nearly complete.

I won’t lie. I still face the cycling fears on an almost daily basis. These persistent little fears seem to come in all shapes and sizes. But each time that I spiritually center myself, the fears melt away into trust and confidence.

My foot seems to heal very slowly. Daily improvements are hardly noticeable—yet there are definitely slight improvements.

Fueling my fears is the fact that my Urinary Tract Infection symptoms have again returned in a mild form. Continued use of Ciprofloxacin seems to keep the symptoms mostly in check—but they do not completely go away.

Then, yesterday morning, as I removed my bandages, a tiny corner of dried forming scab was stuck to both the gauze and my thin skin. Before I realized what was happening, I partially tore a small half-inch strip of the flimsy blister skin, getting a brief glimpse of what was below before quickly and carefully returning the skin to its preferred location.

What I witnessed on day number 16 of my recovery was a combination of some fresh newly developed pink skin—along with some narrow strips of white, raw skin that are definitely much further away from full healing.

The swelling and redness around my ankle have been gone for more than a week, and I have never been in much pain—just an occasional aching feeling which actually reassures me. I am also encouraged by the fact that except for the thick-skinned white area, I do feel the sensitivity of the nerves when I lightly prod the skin in other areas.

My faith and intuition continue to tell me that everything happens for a reason and that all is well—but they both tell me as well that my healing journey—both physical and emotional—is not yet over.

I will be seeing Dr. José again in a few days, perhaps sooner—but something tells me that I will also be seeking out a doctor who speaks English—someone with whom I can carry on a full meaningful conversation.

One thing is for certain. I will allow all of my feelings to surface in a genuine manner. I realize on a very deep level that my emotional and spiritual health is the key to my physical healing.

Messages From Above

As I left for lunch a few hours ago, I felt happy and content with today’s writing—but an amazing synchronicity just manifested itself out of nowhere, and I simply have to write about it.

Three or four days ago I decided to experiment with riding my bicycle to lunch. As soon as I straddled the seat and began pedaling, I felt a strong sense of confirmation that I had made the correct decision. Riding proved to be much quicker and less stressful on my foot. Feeling safe and secure, I began to ride to and from every meal.

Today, as I began my short four-block ride, I was shocked when my bicycle chain almost immediately broke and fell off onto the ground. As I realized what had just happened I burst out laughing—the whole situation seemed so unlikely, so funny.

“Surely the Universe is trying to get my attention here?” I giggled to myself as I picked up the broken chain and wheeled my bicycle back to the light pole where I lock it up in front of the hostel.

As I walked to lunch, I began to ponder the silly occurrence. “Perhaps the message is that I am not supposed to travel anywhere just yet—that I am supposed to stay in Valladolid rather than seeking outside medical consultations?”

I was not ready to jump to any conclusions—but I knew one thing for sure. The whole experience felt peaceful and familiar. Silent voices in my heart told me to be extra alert for any unusual messages that might come my way.

As I gobbled down the final few bites of my lunch, I was caught off guard when a younger Asian woman, perhaps around thirty years old, paused briefly by my table and commented in English, “That food looks good.”

Without even thinking, I simply smiled and automatically replied, “Yes, it is.”

Something about this woman called out for me to pay attention. I observed her very closely. She walked over to the same small fast-food Mexican diner where I order my lunches, and then returned with a menu, sitting at a table just a few feet away from me.

As I watched her study the menu, a very strong intuitive feeling silently whispered to me, “Hello … hey you … Brenda … pay attention … you know you need to go talk to this woman.”

As I silently observed, a distinct awareness also popped into my head. “If I had ridden my bicycle today, I would have been here ten minutes earlier, I would have already finished my meal by now, and I would have already left to return to the hostel. Surely this situation would not have presented itself if my bicycle chain had not broken to get my attention.”

My internal synchronicity meter was beeping wildly. “Talk to her … TALK to her … TALK TO HER.”

Seconds later, as I began to return my food tray to the diner, I casually passed by her table and asked, “Having trouble deciding?”

“No, I already know what I want.” She quickly replied. “I’m just ….”

I didn’t quite catch the rest of her muffled sentence.

Almost immediately she noticed my bandaged foot and asked, “Oh, what happened?”

As I quickly summarized my story, she seemed intently interested in what had happened to me. As we talked she repeatedly asked questions, exploring in great detail just how my healing is progressing.

Then, out of the blue she rolls up the sweat pants above her right knee and proceeds to tell me the story of her severe flesh wounds that were the result of a horse accident. The scars on her skin just below her knee looked bigger than my burn. She described the nature of the raw open flesh and what she had done to nurse it through the self-healing process.

“It is critical to keep the wound clean, sterilized, and dry,” she emphasized, repeating this message over and over to me in several different ways.

I told her how my friend JayDee had also told me to let the wound dry out a little each day, and that I have already been doing that for a few hours when I change my bandages.

“No,” she replied, “you don’t understand. You need to let it dry more than that. The humidity here is a main contributor to the problem. Bacteria grow extremely fast in these hot humid conditions, and under a hot moist bandage the harmful bacteria multiply and grow even faster.”

Suddenly a sense of deep understanding clicked into place in my resistant mind. My thoughts flashed to many experiences in Cozumel where my limes, oranges, bananas, and potatoes had decayed and rotted so unbelievably rapidly. Back in Utah, I could keep slightly-green bananas out on a counter, and they would still be edible even a week later. In Cozumel, if I kept bananas for more than two days, they would turn to brown mush.

The conversation rang with a feeling of truth and intuitive logic. The analytical side of my brain could really wrap its arms around the idea, and my spiritual side was vibrating with peace.

I never learned this woman’s name. I have no idea where she is from, or where she was going. I only know that I was holding back tears of peace and joy as I walked down the street headed back toward my hostel. Something deep inside peacefully confirmed that I had just had a personal medical consultation with God, and that everything is going to be OK.

Call it coincidence if you like, but there is no doubt in my mind. In her own special way, this beautiful woman served as a powerful messenger for the divine.

Sometimes, God communicates in such creative ways. All I have to do is be willing to pay attention.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

Throughout my five days near Ek’Balam, I took numerous photos. Today I would like to share many of them with you. I have spent the entire day posting over 170 photos and many video clips. I hope you enjoy them. Please let me know if you are able to view them, as I am not yet sure if they work properly.

As usual, you can click on any photo to download a full resolution image.

 

Miscellaneous Photos of around the Village

This is the street entrance to the “Cocina Maya” (Mayan Kitchen). This little diner is owned and operated by Trini, Carmen’s sister.

This isn’t the best picture in the world, but it is a photo of the inside of the Cocina Maya. Several from our group are seated at the large wooden table at the far end of the room.

These are the outdoor tables at the Cocina Maya. In the foreground is the top of a rock wall that borders the street. There are three such little thatched roof tables in the outdoor courtyard. Wooden stumps are used as chairs.

This is a close-up of the small sign at the entrance to the main kitchen area.

This is a large sign posted in front of the outdoor eating area. It advertises our five-day festival, “La fiesta de Chikaban”.

One of the many stray dogs that hangs around the Cocina, hoping some kind soul will toss him some leftover food.

Another hungry puppy, waiting  just outside in the street. Often, these dogs sneak into the dining area and the outdoor area. Trini soon catches them and chases them back outside.

A photo of Osiris, sitting in the dining area.

This beautiful little Mayan grandma was hanging out in the Cocina almost every night. She loved showing people photos from her past, and sharing stories about the old days.

This is another picture of he Mayan grandma (on the left.) On the right is my dear friend Antonia. She wore this red scarf on her head when we were out in the hot sun.

This is a photo of the exterior of my cabin. The thatched roof is real, but the palapa (wood pole) siding is decorative. The inside is some type of solid concrete/plaster. From this angle the structure looks rectangular, but on the inside, the interior was oval shaped.

This is a photo of our little exterior bathroom building, containing a toilet, a shower, and a sink. A single dim lightbulb lights the interior of this dark window-less room. Sometimes the water was hot, sometimes not …. The pathway between the cabin (on the right) and the bathroom was open-air, lined with a row of palapas (wooden sticks).

This is the end of the room as seen looking to the right from the front entrance. I slep in the bed in the middle, in the far corner. I love these mosquito nets.

This is the other end of the room, looking left from the front door. You can barely see the midle bed (without a mosquito net) on the right. In the far corner is the squeaky door that leads out to the exterior bathroom.

That is my red backpack on the bed. The table, chairs, and decor on the wall that you see here is about the only decorating in the entire room. It was very simple and functional.

A view of the surrounding area just outside my cabin.

Looking toward my cabin (in the distance) from a little ways away.

This is the little dirt road leading into the jungle where our cabins are situated (a few hundred yards straight ahead). The sign on the right identifies the cabins. The sign reads “Eco-tourist Center. Ecological cabins. ‘Uh Najil Ek Balam’ (the name of the cabins), Welcome”

This is one of the main intersections in town. I am standing on the little road that leads down to my cabins behind me. Straight ahead and to the left (where you see the big trees) is the town plaza/park. About a half block to the immediate left is the Cocina Maya. Several blocks to the immediate right is the tiny dirt road that leads to Kaxan Xuul.

This entire little village is maybe four blocks wide and four blocks long.

This is part of the only paved road that runs north-south through town. It is barely wide enough for two cars to slowly pass.

One of many of the very humble homes in this tiny village.

Another view of the road through town. This is looking south. I am standing near the small dirt road that leads north to Kaxan Xuul.

This is the little dirt road that splits off the main road and heads north toward Kaxan Xuul. As you follow the road about 1/2 mile, it makes several bends before arriving at the destination …

A photo of Gloria, Osiris, and me, standing in front of this beautiful little home.

 

Nov 18, 2009 – Arriving at Kaxan Xuul

Part of the jungle path that leads from the village to Kaxan Xuul.

This is the stone monolith that stands by the side of a small driveway that leads into the sacred area of Kaxan Xuul.

A view of the round dome-shaped Temazcal structure as I first enter the small meadow in Kaxan Xuul.

 

Nov 18, 2009 – Temazcal Ceremony in Kaxan Xuul

Irene (white blouse) working with her salmador (incense burner) and working on the small alter near the east door of the Temazcal structure. Her granddaughter (in blue) is assisting her.

 

In this photo, the first part of the fire-building ceremony has already taken place. This young man is helping to place volcanic rocks on the partially built fire. These are special rocks that will not shatter and break under the intense heat of the fire and subsequent cool steam-inducing water.

The fire has now been built, and Irene is scattering flower petals around the outside of the fire circle.

In this photo, Irene is pouring some type of yellowish water on the top of the fire. No, this is not gasoline. I assume it is the same tea that is used inside of the temazcal for producing steam.

Irene is helping to light the four fire-starting sticks. On the left, with the red headband, is Jose Manuel, the Olmec shaman that helped me later in the weekend.

Lighting the soon-to-be-roaring fire.

The fire is beginning to smoke. That is Delfino with the long hair, white shirt, and hat, standing just to the right of the fire. He is the Zapotec healer that used the charcoal to burn my foot.

A young man helping to bring in the palm leaves that were later used to line the inside floor of the Temazcal structure.

Preparing for the Temazcal. Irene is down on the left, working with her salmador, Sergio (the young man who helped me later)  is sitting on the bottom right, beating on his wooden percussion instrument–it makes beautifu two-toned sounds.

A stack of palm leaves waiting to be carried inside the Temazcal.

Many from our group, sitting playing instruments while the smoke from the fire rises in the foreground. That is Jose Manuel on the bottom right.

Eric, the man in charge of the Temazcal ceremony, is bending over playing his drum. Standing behind him is Jose Manuel. In the background is a pickup truck with a large barrel of water that is being used to fill a small dry well near the Temazcal. After the ceremony, many dip water out of this well to wash the mud from their skin and clothes.

The fire is now burning very hot. The rocks are almost ready to go. We enter the Temazcal shortly …

I’ m not sure if this video link will work.  It is a short video clip of some of the participants playing instruments shortly before the ceremonies begin.

Nov 18, 2009 – Ek Balam – Temazcal (30)

 

Bartolome is bending over the fire as he begins to construct add the original cross pieces to the already-constructed four-foot-square base.

Bartolome continues to construct the wooden pyramid as he places more vertical pieces around the exterior.

Many from the group standing, watching. Gloria is the one with the blue stripes on her dress.

Bartolome lights the soon-to-be-towering fire.

Bartolome blesses the fire as it begins to glow inside.

Bartolome (Mayan Priest and Shaman) speaks in Mayan as the fire begins to roar in a thin vertical column.

An interesting photo without flash.

My baby Ceiba (sable) tree being blessed near the sacred fire. This thin column of fire is hypnotizing.

The incredible column of flames near its peak. Occasionally, the flames appear to reach a height as tall as perhaps twelve to fifteen feet.

Toward the end of the ritual/ceremony as the fire begins to die down.

By the very end, the fire has been reduced to a glowing pile of very hot ashes.

In this video link, Bartolome is putting some type of substance around the base of the fire as he begins to build it. It looks to me like this may be copal.

Nov 18, 2009 – Ek Balam – Fire Ceremony (2)

In this next video link, you can hear Bartolome chanting something in the Mayan language as he works at the base of the now-burning fire.

Nov 18, 2009 – Ek Balam – Fire Ceremony (33)

In this final video link, you get a taste of live action from the fire as some people play flutes, rattles, and drums while watching this beautiful fire.

Nov 18, 2009 – Ek Balam – Fire Ceremony (40)

 

Nov 19, 2009 – Caminata from the village to the Cenote X’Canche

Standing in front of the Cocina Maya before the morning walk begins.

My beautiful roommate Antonia, standing in front of the Cocina Maya.

Antonia feeding two hungry stray dogs across the street, on the edge of the city plaza/park.

Barttolome talking to people in the street before we begin. I stood and listened …

The neighbor’s outdoor kitchen area taken when I used the restroom behind the store.

Our five kilometer walk has begun at last. I am sixth in line. Bartolome is at the very beginning, keeping a very fast pace.

The group behind Antonia and i. Sweet Sergio is in front. You can already see the group further behind falling back, not keeping up.

We have completed the three kilometer walk to the south and are now walking the two kilometers to the east. Here, we have some refreshing shade to block out the burning sun.

Looking back at Antonia from the same general location. By now, the main part of our group has fallen way behind.

A small open field as we walk by …

We have finished the first five kilometers. This is Antonia and I as we wait near the entrance gate to the Cenote X’Canche. We are waiting for the rest of our group to catch up. From here we have another 1.5 kilometers to walk before we reach the Cenote.

Walking down the one and a half kilometer path leading to the Cenote. This is the same path on which I later rode in a bicycle taxi.

A large welcome sign, indicating that we have arrived.

The railing in front of you is the edge of the platform on which we performed the water ceremony. If you look closely you can see the blue water about 100 feet below on the left side. This platform is directly above (vertically) the waters far below.

 

Nov 18, 2009 – Water Ceremony at Cenote X’Canche

Part of our group crowded in among the vegation on the hillside above the platform overlooking the Cenote.

Bartolome kneeling with a bowl of yellow tea as he performs part of the water ceremony.

Bartolome holding the wooden bowl over his head as he chants in Mayan.

This little baby in the foreground is the one that was so quiet and happy as his mother held him in the Temazcal during the first phase.

This sweet little boy is the one who cried loudly as his father brought him into the Temazcal to remain for two phases.

Bartolome works with his bowl of yellow tea. The bundle of leaves on his right (our left) is what he uses later to sprinkle the tea onto all of us participants.

Bartolome prepares to pour some tea over the edge to the waters below.

Another photo of Bartolome at the water ceremony.

One of our group drinking from the communal wooden bowl of tea as it snakes its way throughout the entire group.

Jesus Fabian as he supervises the passing around of the wooden bowl.

Looking over the edge of the platform (where we held the water ceremony). This is a beautiful view of the Cenote X’Canche below. I just love these incredible tree roots that run from the trees above at ground level all the way down to the waters below.

In the following video clip, I capture a tiny bit of Bartolome speaking Mayan, plus a short scan of the crowd seated on the hillside.

Nov 19, 2009 – Ek Balam – Water Ceremony (10)

In the following video clip, I capture a small bit of Bartolome singing/chanting, along with another short pan of the crowd. Sorry the volume is so low on these.

Nov 19, 2009 – Ek Balam – Water Ceremony (24)

 

Nov 19, 2009 – Guided Tour Through Ek’Balam

 

The beginning of our caminata into the ruins of Ek’Balam. Excavation of these ruins only began in 1997. Aj Men Bartolome is the Mayan Priest/Shaman that dedicated these ruins before they were opened for public tours.

In this picture we are standing on top an old partially restored pyramid structure. Behind me, we have a beautiful view of the jungle canopy. Here, Bartolome is speaking to the crowd, talking about the spiritual significance of the place on which we stand.

From the same spot, only looking toward the southeast, out at part of the jungle. The warrior below is the same one who led our ceremony in the Cenote on Friday, and who dressed up with his feathered headdress for the dance ceremonies.

Another photo of Bartolome talking to the group. The lady in the orange shawl is Irene. The man behind her with the hat is Jose Manuel, the Olmec Shaman.

Antonia, standing in the sun with her red scarf over her head. The lady in the pinkish-lavendar dress is Laura, the woman with whom I continuously exchanged huge joyful grins on Saturday evening.

Another view of Bartolome and some of the group gathered on top this older mostly-overlooked structure.

Yet another from the same spot, zoomed in. In case you can’t tell, I love this incredible man, and kept trying to get the perfect photo of him.

A view of “The Acropolis” as seen from the same spot where Bartolome is speaking.

A closeup view of The Acropolis, taken from the below, in the same spot where Bartolome sat on a stump and talked to us for yet another hour or so (the same spot where the poisonous spider was crawling).

A view from where I am seated, directly behind Bartolome (on the stump) as he speaks to the group. “The Acropolis” is right in front of us.

This beautiful vista is a photo taken from the top of the Acropolis. In the distance is the main cluster of excavated ruins in the Ek’Balam area. Straight below is the majority of our group, still clustered in the shade where Bartolome was talking to us.

A view looking southeast from the top of The Acropolis.

Another view of the same beautiful endless jungle, looking more toward the east.

Some of the well-preserved beautiful carvings on the upper levels of “The Acropolis”.

These carvings are arranged to resemble the mouth of a Jaguar (notice the tooth-like carvings). The name Ek’Balam means Black Jaguar. As I understand it, the tomb of an ancient Mayan King was found inside the pyramid right here.

This is a photo of most of our group seated on the bottom steps of The Acropolis. Bartolome is third from the right on the front (bottom) row. I am seated on the fourth row. If you look at the very back, count two in from the left, and then drop down slightly to the right — that is me.

Me in my white dress with a red sash. No, I have not put on weight LOL. The dress is a little big and baggy for me, and the way my sash is tied made the dress bunch up around my belly.

A photo of Antonia in her ceremonial clothing.

This looks like an overgrown hill, but it is actually a huge pyramid which has not yet been excavated.

The same overgrown pyramid on the other side.

According to our Mayan friend who gave us a whirlwind tour later in the afternoon, this is the many energetic portal/entrance to the ruins. All visitors should first pass through this structure and request permission from the spirits to enter.

A beautiful view looking back toward the towering Acropolis.

Sitting on top the observatory. Left to right: Gloria, Irene’s grandaughter, The Mayan man who gave us the quick tour, Irene, Brenda (me). Antonia is taking the photo.

Antonia and Gloria

 
Nov 19, 2009 – Theatre in the Park

Antonia. She makes sitting on hard concrete look so easy and comfortable. Of course, she is very flexible from teaching Kundalini yoga everyday.

Some local children from the village, watching the puppet show.

More local children watching the show.

A small part of the show with a Mayan warrior and a jaguar.

 

Nov 20, 2009 – Exploring with Antonia and Osiris

Some preschool children who were marching in a tiny parade through the village shortly before we set out on our days journey. Apparently November 20 is another Mexican Holiday, having to do with a revolution in the early 1900’s. Sorry, I don’t know more details.

The same preschool children gathered in formation on the concrete play area in the center of the town park. This is a great daytime view of the town park.

While walking the final two kilometers back to Ek’Balam on Friday morning we observed this beautiful bird–one of many. We believe it is an eagle. Does anyone know for sure?

One view of the small paved road leading into Ek’Balam

A boa constrictor that one of the young men by the entrance gate was playing with. (He brought it with him.) I touched it … proud of myself.

Antonia, Osiris,and Iexplored a tiny trail that led through the jungle from behind the back side of “The Acropolis” After a while, we found this open corn field with a pile of wasted corn.

This is the beautiful little trail that the three of us followed as we explored the less traveled parts of the area.

After spending time meditating on top of the Acropolis, we rode a bicycle taxi back down to the Cenote X’Canche. This is another beautiful view of the Cenote, taken on the oposite side from where we had the water ceremony yesterday. You can see the platform where we held the ceremony at the top left of the photo.

A closer view of the incrdible tree roots that hang down from above.

Me, down inside the beautiful Cenote.

A group of school youth were rapelling down the tree roots at the far side of the Cenote.

This beautiful green and yellow snake caused quite a stir as it was struggling with this larger frog, simply wanting to enjoy his meal in peace.

A closeup of this beautiful snake struggling with its rather large prey. I never did find out for sure if this snake is poisonous, but I tend to think not, since the frog occasionally struggled. If it were poisonous, I would think the venom would have quickly paralyzed the frog.

The following link is a video of this beautiful snake attempting to subdue the frog, which had mostly (but not completely) given up. Don’t watch this if you are queezy.

Nov 20, 2009 – Ek Balam – Free time to and around X’Canche (24)

 

Nov 20, 2009 – Ceremony inside the Cenote X’Canche

Prior to the ceremony, Gloria used her salmador (incense burner) to bless and cleanse all who desired. Here, she is blessing Antonia.

Our warrior guide, blowing his conch shell and holding his staff high.

Eric and Sergio, during the ceremony. They are on the far side of the Cenote. Sergio is in his green swim trunks, playing his drum.

 

Nov 20, 2009 – Dance Ceremony in the Jungle, Near Cenote X’Canche

Gloria, standing by her alter in the middle of the dance area–before the dancing begins. The lighter colored rock, in front of the lady sitting crosslegged on the left, is the rock where I sat while Delfino used the hot charcoal to burn my foot. One of the smoking salmadors in the middle is the source of that hot charcoal.

Our warrior in his ceremonial dance outfit.

Some of the group beginning to dance. Sorry, I don’t have many good photos of the dancing.

Our other dancer. I never learned the names of either of our dance leaders.

More of the early dancing–before the whole group stood up to join in.

More of the group beginning to join in.

The following is a short video clip of some of the dancing.

Nov 20, 2009 – Ek Balam – Dancing at Xcanche (12)

At this point, I put my camera away and began to dance with the others. It was perhaps 45 minutes later, right as the sun was beginning to set, when the tick bit me on the foot and the fun began. I have no more photos from this night–I was just focused on remaining spiritually centered in a loving place.

 

Nov 21, 2009 – Caminata through Chitchen Itza

Bartolome talking to some of the group just outside the main entrance of Chitchen Itza. In the yellow shirt is Jesus Fabian. In the orange shirt behind him is the nice young man from Tulum who gave me a ride in his Volkswagon bus (back to Valladolid) on Sunday.

The line of people behind me, preparing for our caminata.

The line in front of me. I was about ten back. Most of the “Abuelos and Abuelas”  (elders) were in front of me. Bartolome and Gloria lead the way.

My first view of the incredible “Temple of KuKulKan” (or the Castillo). This very sacred pyramid dominates the area. The public is not allowed to climb to the top.

Our first stop. Bartolome spends considerable time explaining the spiritual significance of this four-sided square column with seven levels of carvings.

A view of the “Temple of KuKulKan” looking back from the square column.

Bartolome speaking to the group. Antonia in the front middle. Jose Manuel to the right.

Carlos, Tina, and Rosa – Eduardo’s friends from Spain who now live in Playa Del Carmen. They are now my friends as well. Carlos is in all white, with his left shoulder up against the large tree.  Tina is sitting down in the middle, dressed in white, red hair, pink shoes. Rosa is wearing the yellow blouse.

 

Nov 21, 2009 – Lancing the Blister

Prior to Bartolome looking at my foot, I grabbed my camera to capture a few photos. By now, Sergio was holding my hand. This is what my bandages looked like as I walked around Chitchen Itza. Prior to this point I had not seen the burn since it happened.

This is the first thing I saw as I removed the ace bandage. I was shocked to see the yellow color of the blister, and the almold like nut on top of my foot. The little white patch is dried lotion–the same lotion that Sergio applied the night before.

I’m sorry if this photo grosses you out. My ankle here looks much more swollen that it really was. I have since learned that this particular camera creates a look of having a huge elephant foot–but yes, I did have some swelling and redness from infection.

Bartolome’s hand, gently coaxing the infected fluids out of my blister.

The remains of the blister after the fluids were drained.

 

Nov 21, 2009 – Dance Ceremony in Old Chitchen

Bartolome standing behind the trunk of a young sacred Ceiba (sable) tree. Notice the incredible thorns on this young tree. These thorns fall off when the tree gets bigger. Around the base of this sacred tree, Gloria has built an alter, and many of the group have placed items here to be blessed.

Gloria with her salmador. (Antonia bending over).

Dancing in the woods.

It looks like people are standing around, but they are really dancing and moving with the music.

More dancing.

More playing instruments and dancing.

Yet another photo – more of the same.

Gloria, with copal incense blowing in her face.

Our dance leaders gathered around a small alter on the ground.

Another beautiful photo of the alter around the sacred Ceiba tree. In this photo, many more items have been added by participants. The painting on the right is Osiris’s beautiful mystical painting. Yes, that is a watermellon. We ate it afterword (in the dark).

Bartolome performing a blessing ceremony. In his right hand he holds the bundle of leaves that he later uses to bless all of us. In his left hand is the crooked staff that belongs to the dressed up dancer.

Another photo of the same. Gloria is on the left.

Bartolome using the leaves to bless the dancer.

Jose Manuel, the Olmec shaman who helped me so much during the last 48 hours.

Blowing the conch shells as we gather to salute the four compass points during some closing rituals.

In this next incredible video link, the conch shells are blowing while Bartolome begins his blessing ceremony with the wet leaves. He begins by blessing our dancers and Gloria. After I stopped the video, the whole group lined up to be blessed.

Nov 21, 2009 – Ek Balam – Dancing in Old Chitchen (30)

In this next video clip, the whole group is up on their feet, dancing to the drums. If you look at the final image as the video ends, Jose Manuel is on the left, and Delfino is behind him.

Nov 21, 2009 – Ek Balam – Dancing in Old Chitchen (32)

In this final clip, the conch shells are blowing during part of our closing ceremony.

Nov 21, 2009 – Ek Balam – Dancing in Old Chitchen (39)

 

Nov 22, 2009 – Sunrise Farewell Ceremony

I didn’t take any photos until after the ceremony was finished. This is a view of where the mystical fog was wafting through the trees, but by now the warm sun had burnt it all away.

The ashen remains of our Wednesday night fire ceremony.

Carmen holding the baby Ceiba tree after I have gifted it to her.

Some of the group sitting around.

Delfino (the Zapotec healer who burned my foot) talking by the fire area.

The baby Ceiba in its temporary resting place, waiting for Bartolome to come back to perform a planting ceremony.

Another zoomed-out view of the tree (on the right) as it sits next to the remains of the sacred fire ceremony.

This is a daylight view of the small earth-covered pyramid at Kaxan Xuul. On top of this pyramid is where the fire ceremony, and today’s sunrise ceremony took place–and where my baby Ceiba tree temporarily waits.

Another view looking up at the earth-covered pyramid at Kaxan Xuul.

(This is the sixth installment of a series of posts describing my experiences of this past week. Subsequent posts will follow very soon.)

My beeping cell phone startles me from a deep sleep. It is already 5:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, time to quickly prepare for a final goodbye ceremony—a ceremony that will take place back in Kaxan Xuul, on top of the same overgrown pyramid where we participated in the amazing fire ceremony just four short nights ago.

I look around the room and notice that Gloria is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Gloria?” I ask Antonia.

“It was very late,” Antonia replies, “and she had still not finished packing up her things. She decided to go ahead and sleep in her own cabin.”

In less than twenty minutes we are on our way. Gloria quickly joins us as we pause briefly at her cabin door.

The skies are still dark, but the bright stars are already beginning to fade. I hold my tiny flashlight in one hand, helping to guide us all safely over the rough and rocky road below. In my other hand I carefully hold my precious little baby Ceiba tree.

“Today is the day that I will plant this beautiful tree.” I tell myself.

I momentarily lean my nose down close to my armpits to see how badly I smell. This is the fifth and final day that I will be wearing this sweaty white dress. The scented powder does an adequate job of masking the odor, but I still pray that no one around me will faint as I hug them. I receive a sense of comfort as I realize that in just a few hours I will be wearing normal, dry, clean clothes.

Shortly after 5:30 a.m., my three friends and I join the others who are already circled up around the white ash remains of the fire ceremony. For the next ten minutes or so, a few other stragglers continue to filter in. Many of our group left us last night, continuing on their respective journeys after leaving Chichen Itza. By 5:45 a.m., about 25 of us who still remain have gathered around the ashes of Wednesday evening’s fire ceremony to say our final goodbyes.

The skies have lightened considerably by the time Jesus Fabian begins speaking. As I glance around, the surrounding jungle appears very mystical. We stand slightly above the canopy of tree tops, allowing us to see for miles. The surrounding trees are engulfed in a light hazy fog—just enough fog to provide an incredible mysterious ambience, but not quite enough to hide the trees completely from our view.

The vista is literally breathtaking.

In the midst of this enchanting backdrop, Jesus Fabian first leads us in a traditional salute to the compass points. After discussing a few logistical points, he then turns the time over to us, requesting that we each share our experiences and feelings about our past five days together.

Standing on Jesus Fabian’s right is a beautiful woman named Carmen. She lives in Playa del Carmen, and is one of the co-organizers of our event. In fact, Trini, who owns and runs the Cocina Maya is Carmen’s sister.

Jesus Fabian asks Carmen to begin our round of sharing. Seconds into her beautiful words, tears begin to stream down Carmen’s cheeks. As she continues to talk, I begin to think about what it is that I want to say—what it is that I am capable of saying. Almost immediately, I am overcome with the same joyful, loving emotions of intense love and gratitude. Tears begin streaming down my own cheeks as I attempt to hide my muffled happy sobs.

José Manuel puts his arm around my shoulder to comfort me. This loving Olmec Shaman has been standing by me, providing physical support as I try to maintain my footing among the uneven rocky ground while limping around in my flimsy flip flops. I am so grateful for the love I feel radiating from him as he makes such a kind simple gesture.

Ten minutes later, it is my turn to speak. My tears have temporarily stopped, but immediately burst forth yet again as soon as I open my mouth.

“It is with all of my deep love,” I struggle to form words through my tears, “that I express my gratitude to each of you here for helping me to have a wonderful experience this week. I am filled with so much love and joy for having had the opportunity to be here with each of you.”

“I may not have understood everything here,” I pause and point to my head, “but I felt every bit of it here in my heart.” I point to my heart.

By now my tears are really flowing, my voice is shaking.

“I want to personally thank everyone here who helped me and shared your love with me.”

Then I make a small announcement.

“I have here in my hands a small baby Ceiba tree that my dear friend Eduardo in Cozumel gave me to plant somewhere in the Yucatan. I have decided that I want to plant this sacred little tree right here in Kaxan Xuul. I want to leave it here to honor this sacred place.”

Immediately upon hearing my words, Carmen bursts into tears.

The sharing continues for most of the next hour and a half. I am repeatedly brought to tears as I witness person after person speak from deep within their hearts, many of them reaching tearful and joyful emotion as well. I expect many of the women to openly cry their tears of joy, but am thrilled to see many of the men doing the same. My heart goes out to a handsome young man from Tulum, Josué, as he shares a powerful message of love while tears stream down his dripping wet cheeks.

As Jesus Fabian announces the end of our ceremony, I am saddened, wanting to continue, not wanting this loving experience to end.

Antonia rushes over and gives me a big hug, telling me that she has to leave. She needs to get to Valladolid to catch her homeward bound bus. We exchange huge hugs before Antonia quickly disappears down the side of this earth-covered pyramid. I wish I had more time to say proper goodbyes.

Amidst a powerful flurry of deep hugs and love-felt goodbyes, Carmen approaches me and asks, “So where do you want to plant the Ceiba?”

“I am not quite sure yet.” I reply. “I would love your help in deciding.”

Before we have a chance to discuss this further, Jesus Fabian speaks from across the fire circle.

“Brenda,” he begins, “there are official ceremonies for planting a Ceiba tree. What I would really like to happen is for you to officially give the tree to Carmen. Then she can coordinate the planting as it should be done.”

I am slightly confused, but think I more-or-less understand. As I stand facing Carmen, I hold the precious baby tree in my hands. Then I reach it out to her, and say:

“Carmen, with deep love, I give you this tree, with the intent that it be planted here in this sacred space of Kaxan Xuul.”

Carmen accepts the tree, very carefully sets it down on a rock at the top of the pyramid, and then disappears with Jesus Fabian to discuss logistics.

As I stand here, staring at this sacred little tree that is no longer mine, I feel very conflicted and perplexed. I fully expect that she will facilitate the planting of the tree today, right now.

Dear sweet Gloria walks by and I ask her. “I am confused. Can you please help me understand what will be happening with my baby tree?

“Carmen is leaving it here on top the pyramid.” Gloria begins. “She is going to contact Bartolomé to arrange a time when he can return to perform the planting ceremony. When he is able to come, Carmen will return to Kaxan Xuul to participate in the ceremony.”

“But I want to be here when it is planted.” I reply with a certain amount of emotion and attachment. “Do you think that would be possible?”

“You’ll have to work that out with Carmen.” Gloria lovingly responds.

But Carmen is nowhere to be seen, and I do not have her contact information. Even so, I somehow know that everything will work itself out perfectly, exactly the way it needs to happen.

With deep emotion, I turn and say goodbye to my precious little tree, taking one last photo for memory sake.

Everyone but Gloria has already left. I proceed to follow her around, fascinated by what she is doing.

Waving the copal-emitting salmador around in front of her, she performs a few final blessings around the fire ashes at the top of this earth-covered pyramid. At my request, she also blesses the tiny tree before we descend the path.

As I follow her slowly, Gloria walks down the trail toward the Temazcal structure. With deep love and reverence she walks around the small round dome. Pausing at each doorway, Gloria holds her salmador in the air, one by one saluting the east, west, north, and the south. I shadow her every move, quietly following her from a few feet behind, being careful to stay out of her way. Another young woman joins us half way through our silent ceremony.

Soon, Gloria holds the salmador to the sky, thanking and blessing the heavens above. Finally, the three of us kneel on the ground while Gloria humbly salutes the earth below.

Walking several feet to the west of the Temazcal, Gloria digs a small hole in the ground using the sharp edge of a nearby rock. Then she pours the remaining hot coals from her salmador into the shallow hole. After pouring a little water, sending puffs of sizzling steam into the air, Gloria uses her feet to push brownish-red soil over the top of the steaming remains. Gently, she stands on the pile of dirt, rotating her body in a 360 degree circle, as she presses the soil downward with her shoes.

“Thank you for staying here with me.” Gloria tells me as we begin to walk away, headed back toward the village. “I really appreciate it.”

Final Goodbyes

As Gloria and I approach our respective cabins, I notice Osiris just barely walking into ours. As I follow him in, he looks very emotional as he stands reading a hand-written note from Antonia. I walk over to my backpack and find that she has left me a beautiful loving note as well. In addition, she has left me a beautiful gift—a handcrafted necklace created from small lavender, light-brown, and green stones.

“I need to leave now.” Osiris begins, “I found a ride with the group from Tulum. They will be leaving soon, and I need to meet them at the Cocina.

I walk over and give Osiris a huge hug. Then, staring him straight in the eye, holding one hand on each shoulder, I tell him:

“You are an incredible young man, with a huge heart and a powerful spirit. I am so grateful for having the opportunity to get to know you.”

I then wish him well on his travel adventures to South America, and promise to look for him on Facebook.

After one more heartfelt hug, Osiris disappears through the front door. Feelings of deep love radiate through my soul as I quickly proceed to pack up my own scattered belongings, eager to arrive at the Cocina Maya myself. While hurriedly stuffing my backpack, I am pondering two issues—first, I would love to exchange contact information with Carmen so that maybe I can participate in a future planting ceremony—and second, I have no idea how I will be getting to Valladolid.

As I hobble down the lane, wearing both my heavy backpack and my daypack, I somehow know that there is absolutely nothing to worry about. Both issues will quickly resolve themselves.

I set my heavy backpack down on the ground as I enter the crowded Cocina Maya. After exchanging several more heartfelt hugs, I find a seat next to many of my new friends.

Delfino is sitting directly across from me. Matter-of-factly he leans over and holds out his thumb and two forefingers.

“Brenda,” he begins, “I just wanted to show you my fingers. I was holding the hot charcoal the whole time, and I did not get burned.”

It never even occurred to me to ask Delfino how his fingers were. As I glance at his hand, I see that these three fingers are a tiny bit yellowish on the end, but there are no blisters, no signs of trauma, and no pain (so he says).

“Could it be that his end of the charcoal really was scalding hot?” I ponder to myself. I may never know the answer to the question.

Seconds later, I notice Carmen walk into the kitchen to visit with her sister. I quickly corner her and express my desire to attend the tree planting ceremony as soon as she is able to coordinate with Bartolomé. She fully agrees, and we quickly exchange contact information. Concern number one is easily resolved.

Gloria has since walked into the kitchen and I ask her how she is getting back to Valladolid.

“Jesus Fabian is giving me a ride to the bus station.” She replies.

Minutes later, I notice Jesus Fabian pull up and run over to ask if he has additional space. I strike out as he tells me that his car is full.

Soon I notice an old Volkswagen bus pull up—it is the Tulum group, the same group of artists who put on the puppet show in the park on Thursday evening. I notice Osiris climb in with them and I run over to ask my question.

“Is there any way you have space to let me ride with you as far as Valladolid?” I ask quickly.

Seconds later, I have hugged Gloria goodbye, waved at all of my other new friends, and squeezed into the back of the crowded Volkswagen bus. Sitting around me are a group of young performing artists from Tulum—plus my dear friend Osiris, who is also an artist at heart. Osiris still has his beautiful painting with him, carefully stowed in the back right behind my head.

The return journey passes rapidly, and it seems like only minutes before I am standing on the sidewalk, just one block from my hostel. Lifting my heavy backpack up over my shoulders I begin to hobble back toward my temporary home.

My emotions are again mixed.

On the one hand I am basking in the joy of an incredibly beautiful experience, a five-day weekend that I will never forget, an experience in love, peace, trust, surrender, and self-discovery that has taught me so much about myself. Yes, I am overflowing with gratitude for everything that has taken place.

On the other hand, I suddenly feel very alone. I am in a foreign country, in a new city about which I know very little, and am unable to fully communicate in the local language. My burn is quite severe. There is no doubt in my mind that I need to seek medical assistance, but I have no idea where to begin, or how long the healing process will take.

I am about to embark on a whole new growth path as I explore another realm of fear and doubt. I fully realize that no matter what happens, I will be OK, and the growth will be amazing.

Yes, in spite of the uncertain healing journey that I know lies ahead, I would not change a thing about these past five days. There is no doubt in my mind that everything happened exactly the way it needed to happen. The treasures have already been manifesting themselves in the form of deep loving bonds, and new relationships. A sneaky suspicion tells me that I have yet to uncover the most beautiful gems. Yes, all is well; all is exactly as it should be.

But for now, I just want to curl up and rest.

To be continued …

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

(This is the fifth installment of a series of posts describing my experiences of this past week. Subsequent posts will follow very soon.)

After some brief, but quite restful sleep, I awake very early on Saturday morning. Using my little flashlight, the same flashlight that I bought near Mexico City, I quietly check my watch so as not to disturb the others. When I realize it is only 4:00 a.m., I make an effort to return to dreamland, but the little doubts and fears that were hiding in the shadows are now beginning to grapple for my attention once again.

While in this fear-filled space I begin to mentally and physically re-live the trauma of the prior evening. My body tenses up, and I feel my heart begin to race as I observe my rapid breathing. Peace of mind can be such a fleeting goal when I allow fear to sink its teeth into my soul.

With intense focus, I immerse myself in meditation, reminding myself of the difference between pain and suffering. In my mind, I replay José Manuel’s words telling me that I will be OK. I focus on my breath, consciously breathing in and out, slowly and deeply. While concentrating on deep loving thoughts and feelings, I remind myself that everything happens for a reason, reassuring my heart that beautiful growth will come from this experience. I also remind myself that this mortal body does not define who I really am.

“Attitude and perception are everything.” I ponder silently. “The physical damage to my body is already inflicted. It is a fact that I have a potentially painful and tedious healing process ahead of me, but I need not approach it with an attitude of suffering. I can pass through this journey with a peaceful attitude of unconditional love.”

Still afraid to remove the bandage to take a look, I reach down and gently place my fingers over the area where the burn took place just twelve short hours earlier. The area is bouncy and squishy. Immediately I feel great relief as I realize that a huge blister covers the area of my burn. The presence of such a blister comforts me as I realize that my wounds may not be as severe as I had worried. Yet I am still queasy about the thought of looking under the bandages. No, I am not quite ready yet for that visual trauma.

By the time my alarm goes off at 6:00 a.m., I have successfully re-centered myself in a beautiful, calm, energetic, confident, and peaceful state. Surrendering to the promptings in my heart, I go against all common-sense logic and decide that yes, today I will go to Chichen Itza with the group, I will carefully march through the ruins dressed in white, and maybe, just maybe, I will even be blessed by some personal time with Bartolomé.

Carefully I slide my feet out of bed into my waiting flip-flops below. These soft, squishy Crocs are very comfortable. I can stand and walk on them without putting any direct stress onto my skin around the burn area. As I take a few practice steps, I realize that if I walk with a slight limp, putting my weight on the front and outside edge of my foot, I can easily move around without pressuring the blister in any way.

For the fourth day in a row, I slip into my sweetly scented white dress, which is now close to being able to stand up all by itself. A few minutes later, Osiri, Antonia, and I are walking down the dirt path headed toward the Cocina Maya. Experiencing only minimal pain, I am very encouraged by my ability to walk. My heart peacefully cheers me on, continually letting me know that I am doing the right thing.

As I sit down for a few bites of polcanes for breakfast, many people who I do not even know come up to express their deep love as they ask how I am feeling this morning. I sense a much deeper connection forming with everyone else in our group. For a few moments I reflect on the many warm hugs I received last night right before Antonia helped me walk to the bicycle taxi. Several woman, I’m not even sure who they were, had come up to me and wrapped their arms tightly around me, hanging on for minutes, telling me over and over again just how much they loved me.

Yes, even if no other treasures manifest themselves, these deep loving connections are treasure enough for me.

Chichen Itza

There are fifteen in our group that need outside transportation, and for the low cost of one hundred pesos ($8 US) each, Jesus Fabian has conveniently arranged for a single fifteen passenger taxi/van to shuttle us for the day. As twelve people seem to completely fill up the van, the taxi driver protests and insists that it is indeed a fifteen passenger van. One extra person must squeeze onto each bench seat. Because of my foot, Antonia insists that I ride in the passenger window seat up front—which is not all that comfortable when two other small women climb up and squeeze in between me and the driver.

But hey, it was only an hour and fifteen minute ride to Chichen Itza, and I was quite grateful to have transportation, especially for only $4 US each way.

I am pleasantly amazed when we arrive at Chichen Itza ten minutes ahead of schedule. We have plans to meet Bartolomé at 9:00 a.m. in the parking lot by the main entrance. While standing around near the entrance gates, Antonia approaches Bartolomé, tells him about my foot, and asks if he might be able to look at it today.

“Yes,” he replies, “later … after we are done here.”

Bartolomé then nods his head from side to side, indicating his disapproval as he continues, “They should never have used heat to remove your tick, because heat increases the risk of the tick spreading its toxins.”

I do not fully understand everything Bartolomé says, but I do comprehend enough for my stomach to crinkle up in a knot once again, momentarily releasing my imagination to run wild, sending a jolt of short-term panic through my mind.

“Is he saying the tick was poisonous, and that the heat made the poison worse?” I silently ask myself. I don’t quite know how to word the question, and am not sure that I want to know the answer anyway. However, the thought lingers in my mind throughout the day.

Subsequent internet research confirms Bartolomé’s words. Heat actually encourages the tick to regurgitate its stomach contents into the skin prior to removal, greatly increasing the risk of spreading germs and tick-carried diseases. The preferred method is to remove the tick using tweezers carefully placed between the head and the skin.

A few minutes later, after having a short conversation with Antonia, I manage to re-center myself into a peaceful and loving state of mind, realizing that if there were serious cause for concern, Bartolomé would have said so.

By the time we actually enter the ruins at 9:45 a.m., our group has grown to the impressive size of almost one hundred people, mostly (but not all) dressed at least partially in white.

As we begin our silent walk through what is considered by many to be one of the seven wonders of the world, excited anticipation radiates from my heart. Many tourists pause to take photos of our group as we reverently walk by in single file.

As we continue forward, the incredible Temple of Kukulkan (the Mayan name for Quetzalcoatl) comes into view. Many people call this same structure by the name “El Castillo”. This huge and famous pyramid dominates the surrounding area of Chichen Itza, which was at the peak of prominence between 600-1000 AD.

As in Ek’Balam, we are not on a traditional guided tour for tourists. Bartolomé walks right past most of the prominent structures as we continue to follow in his footsteps. Soon we stop and gather around an old square column with seven levels of carvings that wrap around on all four sides. At considerable length, Bartolomé discusses the deep meaning and symbolism of the carvings on this towering rock. I only wish I understood him better.

We continue this pattern of occasionally stopping as Bartolomé delves into the spiritual meanings of several structures, pointing out the abundant numerology involved in the numbers of columns, and the number of rocks used to create a column, etc…

Our three hour caminata—much of which takes place under a blazing hot sun—is fascinating and energizing. As I hobble along, being careful to protect the inside edges of my left foot, I am amazed by how much strength I have, and how little pain I feel.

Soon we pause in front of the great Temple of Kukulkan. After Bartolomé declares our walk to be complete, we stand in the energy of this towering pyramid, taking advantage of one last photo opportunity.

Needle Therapy

We have moved to the grounds of a beautiful old hotel, a few kilometers away, near the borders of Old Chichen—an area where tourists have not been allowed for many years. Bartolomé knows these people, and has arranged for us to meet in the nearby woods—just a few hundred yards down a path that leads into the wilds of the jungle.

After an hour and a half lunch break, as we are preparing to begin our walk into the woods, I make eye contact with Antonia and ask, “Do you understand when Bartolomé plans to look at my foot?”

She boldly walks right up to him and asks. Bartolomé turns, looks lovingly at me, and says “Yes, we can take a quick look right now.”

Uneasy anticipation flutters through my consciousness as I sit down on a low wall, grab my camera, and begin to gradually unwind the dirty elastic bandage. This is the first time that I (or anyone else) will see the burn since last night, and I am filled with butterflies regarding what I am about to see.

Sweet little Sergio comes over and holds my hand throughout the entire process. I squeeze his hand tightly, feeling a deep sense of gratitude for his powerful loving gesture.

As the last piece of elastic bandage is unwound, I see a huge blister, more than two inches across, sticking out at least an inch away from my skin. The blister is filled with dark cloudy yellow fluid. A portion of Sergio’s white cream has hardened and loosely sits on top of the blister. The most surprising thing I see is the large almond-like nut sitting on top of my foot. I had not actually been aware of its presence before this moment.

As I look into Bartolomé’s eyes, I see a look of concern.

“The yellow water must be let out,” he begins, “It is infected from the toxins of the tick, and we should get it out right now.”

In the background I hear a young child say “Eeeeuuuuwww.” I look up and realize that I have an audience of about thirty people, standing around observing and snapping photos. I jokingly comment that they have all become tourists and I am now the spectacle.

Bartolomé asks someone for a cigarette lighter and then queries if anyone has a needle. Antonia disappears into the hotel, asks for help from the staff, and quickly returns with a long shiny sewing needle.

After using the flame to carefully sterilize the needle, Bartolomé gently begins. As he pokes the needle into one side of the blister, a tiny stream of yellow fluid squirts out into a clump of Kleenex held in Bartolomé’s hand. Almost immediately however, the fluid stops flowing. Again and again he pokes the blister in the same place, carefully coaxing all of the fluids to drain while maintaining the integrity of my now very white and wrinkled skin.

As Bartolomé drains my blister, the logical side of me is slightly concerned as to whether or not this is the proper thing to be doing—yet my feelings peacefully encourage me to submit to Bartolomé’s treatment. I feel deeply grateful for the opportunity of having a prominent Mayan Shaman personally perform such a loving and compassionate service.

A part of me even smiles as I think, “Hey, how many people can say that a Mayan Shaman has lanced a huge blister on their foot?”

Subsequent research confirms that draining infected fluids is indeed the medically correct treatment—Bartolomé was right on both counts.

Once the messy task is complete, Bartolomé indicates that it is time to re-bandage the wound. Having no clean compresses of any kind, I pile a stack of clean white Kleenex over the blister and carefully re-wrap the ace bandage around my foot.

“That will simply have to suffice.” I tell myself, knowing that tomorrow I can seek out more appropriate bandages.

Before beginning our walk into the jungle, I ask Bartolomé what I should do next with my foot.

“You will be OK,” he confidently reassures me, “but you should see a Doctor to care for your skin.”

This is exactly what I hoped he would say. I too feel a deep sense of confidence that I will indeed be OK, but I recognize that the damage to my skin is definitely serious enough to seek medical assistance.

Dancing With Energy

A sacred young Ceiba (sable) tree stands in a beautiful jungle clearing surrounded by a ring of rocks. The green trunk, perhaps four inches in diameter, is covered by sharp thorns, looking very much like the thorns of a large rose bush. The tree’s canopy of leaves towers some fifteen to twenty feet above.

Gloria is busy multitasking, switching her attention between the hot coals of the salmador that she just lit, and the task of building a small alter around the base of this sacred tree. The same two dancers from yesterday are behind some bushes putting on their dance costumes. Sixty or seventy people are gathered in a large circular area, waiting for the festivities to begin.

Carlos, Tina, and Rosa (Eduardo’s friends from Playa Del Carmen) are here. We exchanged huge hugs earlier in the day when we first reconnected. The reunion feels like a rejoining of old friends, even though we just met barely two weeks ago.

As I sit on some plastic bags that I brought with me in my backpack, I have absolutely no intentions to dance—but of course I need to live in the moment, and who can predict what the next moment will bring.

Gloria finishes adding copal to her salmador, and begins making her rounds. When she comes close to me, I stand up and ask her to bless my foot with her sacred incense. With Antonia’s help, I stand on one foot, holding my left foot out in front of me while Gloria skillfully moves the salmador in circles under and around my foot.

Soon, Bartolomé stands and begins speaking. Not far into his speech, he looks in my direction and says a few unexpected words about me.

“We have a sister in our midst who is suffering from a severe burn,” he begins.

After a few more sentences, which sounded beautiful, but which I do not totally understand, Bartolomé concludes with (referring to me), “… and this experience is a great test of her ability to love.”

“What a beautiful thing for him to say!” I ponder as I glow with love inside. “He is so right on. Everything about this experience has been an incredible lesson in learning to love everyone and everything.”

As Bartolomé shifts to other topics, I feel deeply honored by this spiritually devoted man’s thoughtful inspired words.

Soon the conch shells begin sounding as we once again do our customary honoring of the compass directions. Then the drums and flutes join in and we are off to the dances. Ten minutes later I am on me feet, gently and slowly moving with the music. I make no effort to keep up with the aggressive dance steps, but nevertheless, I am baby-stepping, feeling the energy of the experience just the same. I do not sit down for the rest of the evening. The energy of standing and moving is far too addictive.

Every time I look to the right, I unfailingly make eye contact with a beautiful woman named Laura. I don’t have a clue as to the nature of this synchronistic connection between us, but each time our eyes meet we both break into a huge joyful grin, filled with an undeniable bond of unconditional love. We continue to make frequent glances in each other’s direction, and every single time, without fail, we break out in huge contagious smiles.

My heart swells with joy and love. After nearly ninety minutes of energetic movement, the ceremony and ritual quickly become our focus again as Bartolomé grabs a large bundle of leaves, moistens them in a bowl, and begins to bless some of the musicians. As he begins, several others line up on the ground in a semicircle, awaiting their turn to be blessed. Not wanting to be left out, I hobble over to the end of the semicircle with my little hand rattle and kneel down on the ground.

Soon, Bartolomé is splashing the wet leaves on my head and shoulders. Then he repeatedly does the same with the small hand rattle that is cradled in my upturned palms. As he moves on, I return to my feet, feeling deeply honored to have a small instrument that has been blessed by a Shaman.

Bartolomé continues until everyone in the group has been blessed. Then he branches out and circles the entire area around us, continuing to moisten his leaves and splash the drops in an area more than one hundred feet in diameter.

As Bartolomé completes his task, he returns to the circle, speaks a few more loving words of wisdom, and then pronounces the evening ceremony as being complete. By now, darkness is setting in, but no one seems to be worried.

I join a line of people who are taking turns thanking and hugging Bartolomé. When my opportunity arrives, I grab his hand, give him a warm hug, and then begin speaking.

“I want to thank you with all my heart,” I begin, “for everything you have taught us this week. I am filled with gratitude and love for all the time you have spent with us, for everything you have done for us, and especially for the help you have given me.”

I am not especially pleased with my words. I want to say so much more, but my language deficiencies limit my choice of vocabulary.

Not expecting him to say much back to me, I am surprised when he speaks for almost a minute. How I wish I could record his words. While I do not fully understand everything he says, I am deeply aware that he is giving me a special blessing, as well as telling me what a strong and loving woman that I am.

I give him one more grateful hug, before moving on to my next task—finding Antonia in the darkness and resuming our homeward trek.

We are back at the Cocina Maya by around 8:30 p.m., and a bowl of Escobeche chicken never tasted so good.

And Then There Were Four

As Antonia and I stroll back to our cabin, I have every intention of taking a much needed shower and then going to bed as quickly as possible. I desperately needed a shower last night, but did not dare get my bandages wet. Tonight, the water is warm, soothing, relaxing, and energizing.

After putting on my pajamas, I crawl on top my bed and pull down the walls of my mosquito net—but my body is not ready to sleep.

Over and over again, I put the netting back up so that I can have another short conversation with Antonia.

“Brenda, did Gloria talk to you about her room?” Antonia asks.

“Yes,” I respond, “She talked to me earlier today. I told her that I would love for her to join us.”

Gloria, who is all alone in her cabin next door, had cornered me earlier in the day to see how I would feel about her sleeping with us. I am thrilled to have such a loving woman join with us in our humble cabin.

Then the conversation takes a different twist.

“Why do you call people ‘Abuela and Abuelo’ (grandmother and grandfather)?” I ask Antonia. “Does the title simply mean they have grandchildren, or does it mean something more, something different?”

I soon learn that these terms are a title of position and respect within their spiritual traditions. It has nothing to do with the fact that they may or may not have grandchildren.

I reply to Antonia that in English, the Native Americans refer to their respected leaders as “Elders.”

“You mean like the Elders in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints?” She asks.

“No,” I giggle, “that is the same word, but means something totally different.”

Then I begin to ask her about various people to whom I have become close over the course of the week. It is during this conversation that I learn that Abuelo José Manuel is an Olmec Shaman, that Abuelo Delfino is a Zapotec healer, and that Gloria is an Abuela from the Aztec traditions.

I am fascinated by the conversation. I am learning so much. Soon Osiri knocks on the door. After he enters, we start talking about Mayan and Aztec calendars. He says that Gloria will be here soon, and she is going to look up our birthday/birth year in the Aztec calendar.

One thing leads to another as Gloria soon joins us. As she starts with Osiri, I am shocked to learn that he is 27 years old (exactly half my age), and shares my same exact birthday, March 10. My intuition sees this as more than a powerful synchronicity.

Next, Gloria gather’s my personal information, does her magic with her little calendar tools, and begins to tell me about myself. I am fascinated, but exhausted. Our giggling and nonstop talking has taken us till 1:00 a.m., and my body is crying out for some sleep.

While the other three continue quietly talking, I excuse myself, pull down the mosquito nets one last time, and am soon dancing with my dreams.

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

(This is the fourth installment of a series of posts describing my experiences of this past week. Subsequent posts will follow very soon.)

Sleeping in until 8:00 a.m. is such a nice treat. As I organize my daypack for our Friday activities, I make sure to pack my swimwear and a small towel. A part of me is firmly attached to swimming in the Cenote X’Canche, and I am hoping that today provides such an opportunity.

For the third day in a row, I slide into the same white dress. I am slightly embarrassed by the sweaty smell, but this is the only white clothing I have, and I am determined to be properly dressed for the ceremonies. I rationalize that everyone else is dirty and sweating too, and I pray that the odor is not too noticeable. Using some scented powder, I attempt to camouflage the yucky scents.

Last night, Jesus Fabian told us that our first activity would be at the Cenote X’Canche. “Please be down inside the Cenote at precisely 12 noon,” he told us. “We will start the music and dancing right on time.”

Our entire morning is free, so Antonia and I decide to catch a quick breakfast before spending some quality quiet time in the ruins of Ek’Balam.

I make a special mental note. Realizing that I don’t know very much at all about Antonia, I commit to myself that today I am going to start being more talkative with her. I want to learn more about her life and her family. Fear of not being able to communicate effectively causes me to pull into a quiet shell, and I am determined to break out of that shell, at least with Antonia.

Breakfast is … you guessed it … polcanes for the third day in a row. Even though I still have no idea what this mystery food might be, it is definitely growing on me.

Waiting outside the Cocina Maya is a young man that I noticed last night before the Mayan calendar lecture. He has medium length dark curly hair that is parted in the middle, held in place by a colorful headband. He is slender, about my height, and has a handsome glowing smile. Under his arm is a large two foot by three foot painting. The painting is carefully covered by a large protective scarf. He doesn’t seem to go anywhere without it. Last night, right before the Mayan calendar lecture, I watched as this young man proudly described his masterpiece to another woman. The painting has a very mystical feel, covered with abstract blue and white swirls. Hidden in the swirls are numerous objects and animals containing hidden symbolism. 

As Antonia and I begin to discuss whether or not we are going to have to walk the five kilometers to Ek’Balam, we notice Jesus Fabian drive up in his car. Antonia runs over and asks if he will give us a ride.

“I have to drop someone off at the bus station in Valladolid,” he responds, “but I can drop you off at the intersection three kilometers south of here. Antonia and I quickly slip into the back seat. Almost immediately Antonia slides over into the middle, as I realize that the handsome young man is joining us. He too would like a ride.

A few minutes later, the three of us are happily strolling on foot along the final two kilometers of narrow paved road. I use this opportunity to begin asking questions.

“Will you tell me about yourself, and about your family?” I casually ask Antonia.

Soon I learn that she earns money by teaching Kundalini yoga. She lives with her husband in Carrétara, a short distance south of Mexico City, and has two beautiful children, a boy and a girl, both in their mid twenties. She loves to go to Indigenous festivals like this one, but her husband is not interested in participating.

“But he is very spiritual.” She throws in. Then she turns the conversation around and says, “Brenda, tell me more about you.”

After I give her a short summary of my current life journey, Antonia turns to the beautiful young man that is walking with us and begins to query him.

We soon learn that his name is “Osiri,” he currently lives in Tulum, but very soon he is taking off on a multi-year trek down through Central America, hoping to end up in Argentina. Osiri smiles deeply as he tells us about a young woman he plans to visit in Argentina. Antonia makes a teasing comment about Osiri being in love. As he blushes, I take note that his eyes are glowing.

By around 10:00 a.m. the three of us have walked back to the base of “The Acropolis”. I had not expected to climb back to the top, but just minutes later we find ourselves doing just that. For the better part of an hour, the three of us enjoy the amazing vistas in silent meditation. I feel as if the three of us are bonded, sharing the joy and peace of this experience together, but we don’t say a word.

Finally, Osiri removes a bag of dry corn from his pack and asks if we would like some. Both Antonia and I grab a small handful. After observing Osiri reverently toss portions of the seeds to the four compass points, I follow suit and do the same. I face north and meditate, following which I toss a portion of my corn into the rocks below. Three more times I repeat the process, facing east, then south, then west.

Then Antonia asks if we would mind doing a prayer with her. She pulls out a small notebook and reads the words while we repeat them after her. The ceremony is beautiful, very spiritually intimate and bonding.

At 11:30 a.m. we look at our watches and begin our descent, eager to not be late for the ceremony in the Cenote.

As we reach the beginning of the 1.5 kilometer trail, Antonia looks at me with a big smile and suggests, “Why don’t we ride down in a bicycle taxi.”

Giving my feet a rest sounds like a great idea and I quickly reply “Yes, of course.”

The Waiting Game

As our afternoon activities begin, I have no idea what to expect. In my mind, I envision that we will do a small ceremony down inside the Cenote, after which everyone will strip to their swimsuits and jump in, just as I had observed in the other Cenote X’KeKen on Tuesday. Eager to be prepared, I slip into a changing room to put my swimsuit on under my white dress.

As I emerge from the changing booth, I ask Antonia why she is not putting on her swim suit too.

“I want to dance first.” She replies.

Several times I have heard Antonia talk about the dance ceremony, but I still do not understand exactly what the ceremony entails or where we will do it.

By noon, Antonia and I have descended the steep wooden staircase taking us down inside the Cenote. As we look around, we notice Osiri swimming. Gloria appears to have just finished her own swim, and there are a few others from our group who are waiting, just as confused as we are. As we walk around the boardwalk that surrounds the blue-green water, it becomes obvious to both of us that there is no room down here for any type of ceremony.

Antonia asks “Brenda, do you want to swim now?”

“Yes, I want to swim,” I begin, “but I think I will wait. I don’t want to be wet during the ceremonies.”

In case it is not yet obvious, I am obsessed with swimming in this Cenote. Throughout the afternoon, my mind continues to return to my mental attachment to swimming. This persistent nagging thought (I want to swim) continues to pester me as I repeatedly attempt to remain centered in the present moment.

Antonia and I decide to do our waiting up on ground level, at the end of the main trail where there are some shady benches.

While sitting on one of the benches, we observe some excitement about 25 feet away. Two men have discovered a small snake that has bitten a much larger frog. The two are engaged in a life and death struggle. The snake is beautiful, having long green and yellow stripes and a beautiful bright green head. Soon the snake makes a break for it, carrying the frog a few inches above the ground as it races across some gravel headed right toward the bench where I sit.

Antonia and I jump up as several men surround the frightened snake, causing it to stop so that we can observe and take photos. The poor snake is confused and simply wants to enjoy his meal.

I ask a few men nearby, “Is the snake poisonous.”

One man tells me “yes,” as he rattles off a long exotic name, leading me to believe he knows what he is talking about.

A few minutes later, another man tells me “No, this snake is not venomous.”

This display of nature in action provides quite the welcome distraction to our long wait. Finally, around 1:15 p.m., a few more people from our group begin to filter down the trail. Conspicuously absent are any of the leaders who know what we are doing.

“This is a perfect opportunity to practice non-attachment.” I tell myself, as I watch several men running around trying to make arrangements for what we are doing and where we will be doing it. Each seems to be operating independently of the others, leading to considerable confusion, at least in my mind.

Taking a deep breath, I remind myself to chill, to relax, and to simply enjoy the peace of this moment. My mind still wanders to “I want to swim.”

Dancing With Joy

At 2:00 p.m., we line up single file and begin a silent descent to the waters below. As my feet reach the bottom step, I follow the others who have begun to walk counter-clockwise around the boardwalk that completely encircles this beautiful pool of cool fresh water. As we reach the far side we pause.

A lone conch shell loudly calls out, sending vibrating energy echoing across the water and bouncing off the rugged walls of this underground wonder.

On the suspended bridge, directly across from where I am situated, stands a lone warrior dressed in white. In his left hand is a crooked wooden staff, held high over his head. The upper end of this staff is adorned with deer antlers and colorful feathers. In his right hand, the warrior holds a large conch shell to his mouth.

In silence, this man reverently leads us through an energy-filled salute to the north, south, east, west, the heavens above, and finally the earth below. Chills run through my spine as I simultaneously observe and participate.

As the ceremony comes to an end, we resume our silent march, completing our full circle around the waters below, following which we slowly climb back up the wooden steps to the ground far above.

“When do I get to swim?” is still a very nagging thought in the back of my head.

Thirty minutes later, we march to a small clearing in the jungle, perhaps two hundred yards from the Cenote. Almost immediately, Gloria begins to prepare an alter in the center of the clearing, while many of the men busily work to brush away leaves and rocks.

Off to the side I notice the same man who just finished leading us in the ceremonies below. He is busily preparing. After tightly wrapping a wide red band around his abdomen he proceeds to put on the remainder of his dance attire. His loincloth and shoulder covering are of red and brown leather, with thick leather fringe hanging from the bottom edges of both. His headdress is adorned with beautiful long feathers.

His partner, a young woman, wears a short dress made from similar red and brown leather. She has a blue scarf around her hair, and has a much smaller headdress with just a few foot-long feathers.

Once the area has been cleared, the ceremony begins. I soon realize that this is not a dance performance as I had originally assumed. Several people from our group get up and begin to dance in a large circle right along with our leaders. Minutes later, Gloria jumps into the mix and leads a few dances herself, telling those of us who are sitting on the ground that she needs us to all participate.

For most of the next hour, I attempt to follow a series of very complicated dance steps as we dance and circle around the alter in the center. I feel very clumsy and awkward, but give it an honest attempt. The main dances are very animated and active. My tired body cannot keep up, I am sweating profusely from the heat and humidity, and I spy a rock that looks like a great resting place.

As I sit watching the others for ten or fifteen minutes, my mind wanders back to the fact that I am still wearing a swimsuit under my dress, and I really hope we have time to go swimming.

Finally, feeling a little guilty for resting, I stand up to rejoin the others.

“Ouch,” I exclaim, “something just bit my foot.”

Pain Versus Suffering

I look down at my Mudd sandals and do not see anything, but I still feel a sharp pinch on the inside of my left foot. Bending over, I gently pull back the ankle strap of my sandals revealing something black and round, a little bigger than a quarter of an inch in diameter.

Acting on instinct, I immediately try to brush the clingy little guy off from my ankle, but he isn’t going anywhere. After several failed attempts to gently brush him off my foot, a sense of knowing flashes into my mind.

“This is some kind of exotic tick.” I think to myself. “It has its head buried in my skin and is not going to let go with simple brushing and tugging. I need some help.”

At this point in time, I am focused entirely on the tick. Everything happens so quickly that I do not have time to analyze the situation or to experience fear. I do, however, feel a strong internal sense of urgency—to do something quickly. Immediately I tap Antonia on the shoulder and point out the bug on my ankle. Struggling with the language, I somehow manage to communicate that the little guy is biting me and will not let go.

My mind digs deep, searching for information on what to do. Prior to today, I have heard many stories and rumors about ticks, but I have never actually even seen one. I have no education or factual knowledge to draw upon. What little bit I do know is a strange mixture of folklore and fact, and I am not quite sure which is which.

My father always said that if you get bitten by a tick that you should touch something hot to its back, causing it to release. I have also heard that pulling a tick off will leave its head under the skin, causing many more problems.

But I don’t have time to separate fact from fiction. My mind flashes back to the poisonous spider that was crawling on Bartolomé just yesterday. Then it flashes to the potentially poisonous little snake a few hours ago.

“Could this little tick be poisonous?” I panic at the thought.

In a matter of seconds, I find myself sitting on a rock near the center of the dance circle. A gentleman with a long salt-and-pepper colored beard rushes up to help me. He takes a look, and then disappears for a few seconds. I later learn that this man’s name is Delfino, and that he is a healer/therapist from the Zapotec tradition.

While waiting for him to return, I take a few moments to examine my scary new friend. He is actually quite pretty and very exotic looking. His back is solid black, almost velvety. When he relaxes, he is almost three eights of an inch across. Tiny saw-like serrated edges run all around the circumference of his amazingly beautiful body.

When I touch his back, the little guy seems to slightly curl up. The serrated edges disappear, and he looks to be only one quarter of an inch in diameter.

After a few seconds of curiously admiring my little attacker’s beauty, Delfino returns holding a stick of charcoal taken from one of the salmadors (incense burners). The coal-black charcoal is shaped like a long fat piece of chalk, like the kind children use to draw on sidewalks. Delfino holds one end with his thumb and two forefingers. I make an assumption that his end must not be hot, but there is no doubting the heat on my end.

Being very careful to not directly touch my skin, Delfino holds the glowing hot end of the charcoal as close as possible above the back of my exotic little parasite.

Immediately I cry out in intense pain from the excruciating heat. It is more than I can bear. I begin to breathe forcefully, panting as fast and hard as I can, attempting to control the pain. As tears begin streaming down my cheeks, I want to scream, I want to push his hand away, I want to tell Delfino to stop—but a strong feeling of trust settles in, telling me to allow him to continue, to surrender to what he is doing.

“He must know something I do not.” I ponder. “Why else would he be in a rush to use such drastic measures?”

I do not dare watch what is going on. With eyes closed, I continue to breathe rapid puffy breaths. My eyes continue to flood my cheeks below with a solid stream of tears. For what feels like minutes, Delfino holds the intense heat just millimeters above my skin, occasionally pulling it away to check the tick—it simply does not let go.

In my mind I am silently begging Delfino to stop, but no such words find their way out of my clenched lips.

When I feel the heat pull away, I open my eyes and look down. The little black tick is still attached to my skin, but appears stiff and crisp. I look at my skin and I begin to go into a state of shock and terror. Surrounding the tick is a one inch diameter circle of what looks to be solid white, charred skin.

Delfino gently touches the skin with his finger, and the skin slides easily over the tissue below. I observe as he carefully grabs the tail end of the tick between his forefingers and wiggles it. It pops right out in one solid piece. Delfino reassures me that the entire tick has been removed, before leaving to sit down on a rock a few feet away.

My emotions are conflicted. On the one hand I feel a deep sense of relief that the tick is completely out of my skin. On the other hand, I feel momentarily angry at Delfino for what he just did to me. Amazingly, however, the anger is almost immediately replaced with love and gratitude. I know in my heart that he acted out of pure love and a desire to help me, and I remind myself that everything happens for a reason.

But while there is no anger at Delfino, I am totally consumed with terror, shock, fright, panic, and just about every other fear word that exists in the English language. I’m sobbing and tears are streaming everywhere as my imagination runs wild about what is going to happen next. Here I am in the middle of the jungle, hours away from the nearest reliable hospital, unable to fully express myself verbally, not quite sure what just bit me, not fully confident about what to do next.

Almost immediately another bearded man steps in to help. I later learn that this man’s name is José Manuel, and that he is a Shaman in the Olmec tradition. Holding me in his arms, he first comforts me and lets me cry on his shoulder for a while. Soon he looks me in the eye and asks me if I am in a lot of pain.

“It is not so much the pain,” I tell him, “I am very scared, frightened actually.”

Then this beautiful José Manual says something that grabs my attention, a powerful combination of words that is exactly what I needed to hear.

“You know, Brenda,” he begins, “There is a big difference between pain and suffering.”

Immediately, my focus concentrates on these amazing and powerful words.

“Yes,” I tell myself, “I am in a lot of pain, and yes, I will have some serious healing to pass through, but the damage is already done and I do not need to suffer or wallow in misery. With a simple change of thought, I can let go of the suffering and replace it with love and joy for the present moment. I can still feel the pain, but I know that everything happens for a reason, and just like everything else, this experience will bring with it beautiful treasures. I can get through this one moment at a time.”

Almost immediately, José Manuel begins to do energy work on me. Soon, another beautiful young man named Sergio comes over and asks if it OK to put some ointment on my burn. José Manuel says yes. Sergio opens a small glass container containing a white cream. Using a tiny feather to spread the ointment, Sergio gently covers all of my burnt skin.

As José Manuel continues whatever energy work he is doing, I notice that another beautiful woman is only two feet away, performing Reiki on me. At the same time, Sergio has begun massaging several pressure points between my left ankle and my knee.

In the midst of my continued tears, deep gratitude is swelling in my heart. I am profoundly touched by all of the amazing loving energy that is being directed my way.

I notice that my entire leg is tingling from below my knee down to my foot. I have very little feeling, and again begin to panic, believing that some type of spider venom is taking over my body. In a frightened tone of voice I announce that I am losing sensation in my leg. The woman calmly reassures me that it is just because my foot is asleep from the position in which it has been held so long.

Immediately, I begin wiggling my toes. Grateful relief is what I feel as my leg begins to regain its feeling of aliveness. Again, my panic subsides.

Soon, José Manuel looks me in the eyes and very confidently tells me, “Brenda, you are going to be OK. I put a ring of protection around you, and there is nothing to worry about. You are going to be OK. You will heal from this. Trust me.”

For a brief moment I see Delfino sitting on a rock a few feet away. He looks at me with deep love in his eyes and says, “Brenda, I am so sorry for burning you.”

Sergio returns minutes later with a small square of white cotton fabric, placing it very gently over my burned area. Then he places some type of large nut above the arch of my ankle before wrapping an old ace bandage around back and forth, first around my foot, then around my ankle. As he finishes tying a knot to secure the ends of the bandage, I immediately feel the intense tightness of the wrapping job. I struggle to find the words to express that “It is too tight.” Apparently I communicate better than I think, because Sergio quickly undoes the knot, loosens the bandage, and then ties a more gentle not.

Over the past fifteen minutes, my tears have gradually diminished, fading into nothingness. I feel my strength and courage returning as someone asks if I think I can walk.

Very carefully, I slide my toes into my sandals, leaving the ankle strap under my heel. José Manuel helps me to my feet. Yes, I do feel that I can walk a tiny bit, with some help of course.

Immediately, Antonia runs over and lifts my arm over her shoulders, helping me to take one slow careful step at a time.

“We have arranged for you to have a bicycle taxi,” she lovingly tells me.

“I guess this means I am not going to swim in the Cenote.” I jokingly reply.

Somehow, I find the strength to make it back to the path. As I take my seat in the two-wheeled front of the bicycle, my sweet friend Osiri takes the seat right next to me, not wanting to leave me alone in the cart.

About halfway back to the parking area, I again begin to stream big alligator tears down my cheeks.

Looking quite concerned, Osiri asks me, “Are you in a lot of pain?”

“No,” I reply, “These are tears of joy, gratitude, and love. I am feeling overwhelmed with deep gratitude for the love I felt back in the jungle. I know that everything happens for a reason, and I know that this event will bring with it beautiful hidden treasures.”

Mixed Emotions

Someone ran back to the parking lot and managed to secure a taxi for me. We are lucky, because most taxis had already left due to the lateness of the hour. Just minutes later, Antonia, Osiri, and I are dropped off at the Cocina Maya back the village. I had hoped to eat at the restaurant by Ek’Balam, but it was already closed. Osiri tells me that the restaurant has no electricity, so they close at sundown.

After a quick bowl of “Escobeche de Pollo” (a local Yucatan Chicken soup), I am eager to go back to the cabin.

A part of me would like the privacy to just sob, bawling my eyes out, processing and freeing myself from all of the unexpressed emotion that still feels bottled up inside. José Manuel had tried to get me to scream and yell while he was working on me in the jungle.

“It will help to free you from your fears if you scream your feelings out.” He insisted.

I tried to scream then, even managed to let out a few muffled screeches, but felt silly, embarrassed to do so with so many people watching and listening.

But now I want to scream and cry, but do not have the privacy. I have a roommate that wants to care for me and watch out for me.

It is hard to explain. I am still deeply immersed in a feeling of love, but a certain awareness tells me I need to physically process my fearful feelings in order for them to go away.

As I finish eating dinner, Antonia insists on walking back to the cabin with me. Almost immediately I prepare for bed and climb under the covers.

We talk a little longer.

“What do you call the animal that bit me?” I ask.

“It was a garrapata (tick).” She replies.

“He did get the entire head out, didn’t he?” I really need some reassurance.

“Yes,” she replies. “It’s a good thing too, because if you don’t get the head out, it stays alive and crawls through your body, chomping away on your insides, doing very bad things.”

Given this new visual (which I later learn is not true), I feel another round of gratitude for not having the head of this garrapata still embedded in my body.

I am feeling peaceful, but fear is waiting for me in the shadows just around the corner. I know that looking at my wound will reopen the door to that fear and panic, so I opt to keep my bandage covered, untouched. I do not want to see the damage.

As I rest, Antonia makes a comment that she is going to go shower.

“Hopefully I will be done before Osiri comes.” She Begins. “He got here last night and doesn’t have a place to sleep. If he comes while I am in the shower, here are the tent and sleeping bag that I want to give to him.”

It amazes me how much I miss when I don’t speak the language. Immediately I tell Antonia, “I didn’t know that. Please, if it is OK with you, ask Osiri to sleep here in the cabin with us. We have plenty of extra beds in here.”

Around 10:00 p.m., Osiri gently taps on our door. Within minutes, we have a new roommate. Now we are three amigos.

I begin the night feeling very peaceful, but then start to develop a fear of going to sleep. I wonder if I could possibly have been poisoned, and just maybe the poison will take effect during my sleep. I consider taking a sleeping pill, but that scares me even more. I definitely do not want to be asleep if poison is consuming my body.

I begin to meditate again, focusing all of my energy on peace, love, joy, and gratitude. With all of my willpower, I continue to mediate, spiritually centering myself, pushing the fear out of my mind, remembering the words of José Manuel when he told me, “Brenda, I put a ring of protection around you, and there is nothing to worry about. You are going to be OK. You will heal from this. Trust me.”

Somehow, in the wee hours of the morning, I fall asleep, still uncertain of what I will do tomorrow. Deep gratitude flows through my veins, love holds my hands, faith gently rubs my cheeks. I know I will be OK.

Afterthoughts

As I write today’s story, exactly eight days have passed since the events in that remote jungle. Up until now, I still had not found the time or occasion to work through the unprocessed and buried emotions of this day that still seems like yesterday.

While writing, I re-immersed myself into the emotional trauma of the experience, fully allowing all of the fear to return. I am pleased to report that I bawled my eyes out, right here on my bed in my hostel room. The buried emotion was so powerful that for more than fifteen minutes, my jaw shook violently as I allowed the fear to come up and out amidst the tears and sobs.

I now feel complete and total peace. Yes, I am still dealing with the healing process, and still have unknown issues to face with possible tissue damage, but I know that all will be OK, and I still would not change a thing.

To be continued …

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

(This is the third installment of a series of posts describing my experiences of this past week. Subsequent posts will follow very soon.)

Beep … Beep … Beep.

As my little cell phone alarm wakes me from a deep sleep, I look at my watch and discover that the time is already 6:15 a.m.. Thursday morning seems to have arrived very quickly. Feeling rested and eager to take on a new day, I hop out of bed and quickly throw a few items into my daypack. I don’t want to be late for the start of our five kilometer caminata (walk) to the ruins of Ek’Balam.

Fifteen minutes later, Antonia and I are dressed in white with red sashes, strolling down the dirt lane on our way to the Cocina Maya for a quick breakfast. Last night, the main organizer of the event (Jesus Fabian) made it very clear that he wants to begin the long silent march at precisely 7:00 a.m..

As we sit down at the large table in the tiny food kitchen, it is already 6:45 a.m., and we are the only ones here. Antonia and I look at each other as she jokingly comments, “Does 7:00 a.m. really mean 8:00 a.m.?”

Both of us just smile, feeling completely at peace, knowing it really doesn’t matter. I laugh inside as I realize that the Universe is simply providing me with ample opportunities to practice non-attachment to schedules.

A small stray dog wanders into our dining area and Antonia speaks to it ever so kindly. Seeing the deep love in her behavior I ask, “You really love animals, don’t you?”

“Yes,” she quickly replies. “At home I have fifteen cats and four dogs. I rescue them and try to help them find permanent homes.

As we finish our breakfast of delicious “polcanes” (not much variety here), Antonia disappears momentarily as she walks next door to a tiny store—one of three such stores that I have found in the village. Just minutes later she returns with a small bag of snacks. I soon realize that the snacks are not for her as she walks across the street, opens the bag, and proceeds to share it with three skinny dogs who have been quietly observing the events in our humble restaurant.

By around 7:15 a.m., members of our group begin to gradually filter into the restaurant. As Antonia and I wait on a small bench in front of the Cocina Maya, I realize that I should probably use the restroom again before leaving on our march. Not wanting to do a full ten minute race back to the cabin, I ask Trini if she might have a restroom I can use.

“Not here in the Cocina,” she begins, “but you can go next door … there in that little building behind the store.”

As I step into the yard behind the store, I am unprepared for what I see. For a few brief moments, I am blessed with a glimpse of day-to-day life of these humble people.

Attached to the back of the tiny store is a large open-air awning, underneath which appears to be a makeshift outdoor kitchen. An older Mayan woman is leaning over a boiling pot that is cooking on the grill above a small smoking fire. A couple of old home-made tables are covered with pots, large water bottles, condiments, and kitchen utensils. The ground is simply dirt, with several plastic buckets scattered here and there. A few plastic bags hang on hooks. A metal pipe with a water faucet sticks out of the ground on the left. A small puddle of water in the mud indicates slightly leaking pipes.

Not wanting to draw any attention to my presence, I do not pause to stare, even though I am eager to absorb every detail. On my way back from the dirty but adequate outdoor bathroom, I notice that the older woman has left, and I quickly snap a photograph, hoping no one sees; I really do not want to offend these beautiful people by my curious interest in their living conditions.

As I return to the street, I notice that Bartolomé has arrived, and several people have gathered around engaging him with questions and discussion. I quickly gravitate to that same circle, listening intently to his every word—still not having the language confidence to say much myself.

Finally, by 8:00 a.m., it looks like our group is all present and finishing their breakfasts. We seem to have grown in numbers, yet again, as sixty or seventy people line up in the street. Jesus Fabian asks us to walk single file, while remaining in complete silence as we proceed down the road on our five kilometer trek—first three kilometers to the south, and then two kilometers to the east. Antonia and I line up early, as close to the front as possible, being fifth and sixth in line behind Bartolomé. Something inside of me pulls me to be as close to him as possible.

Bartolomé walks quickly, making good time. I find it moderately difficult, even for me, to keep up with his pace. As I glance around, I take note that a good portion of the group behind has fallen back, unable to keep up with the hurried pace. The gap gradually grows wider and wider.

After walking for about an hour in the hot sweltering sun, I am eager for a rest as the lead part of our group arrives at our first destination—the ticket table for the Cenote X’Canche (pronounced esh-con-shay). After paying the thirty peso entrance fee, we again begin to line up in silence just inside the entrance gate.

Twenty minutes pass as we wait for the final stragglers of our group catch up and join us. The “old me” would have felt annoyed by the delays, causing me to judge the slower people as lazy or inconsiderate. The “present-day me” simply enjoys the extra time to rest as we stand in the shade of these beautiful jungle surroundings. Oh, the joy and peace that comes from not being attached to any outcomes.

Soon we are walking again. I joyfully observe that this phase of the caminata  feels more reverent, more special. Strolling under the shade of thick, overhanging trees, we walk single file in complete silence down a wide earthen trail that winds an additional one and a half kilometers through the jungle. Twenty minutes later we arrive at the end of the trail. Our destination, the Cenote X’Canche, is very near.

Celebrating Water

I rest on an uneven rock on the hillside that slopes down to the edge of the large sink hole. The beautiful waters of the Cenote X’Canche sit about one hundred feet below me, just barely visible through the trees. Recognizing that there is not adequate space around the depths below, our leaders have opted to perform the sacred water ceremony while seated on and near the platform directly above this incredible creation of nature. A four foot wide stair case leads from the main path above down to a wooden platform just below and to my right. From this platform a steep staircase leads down to the refreshing sacred pool.

Jesus Fabian, acting with the park’s permission, requests that we carefully spread out on the sloping hillside directly above this platform, trying to inflict as little damage as possible to the surrounding trees and plants. 

For more than an hour, Bartolomé performs the beautiful rituals. As with last night, he speaks almost completely in the choppy, staccato rhythms of the Mayan language. Several times he also sings in this beautiful language. His voice is not concert quality, but the humility with which he sings is deeply enchanting and endearing.

As I reverently observe the rituals, I understand very little of the symbolic meaning behind what is taking place. Even so, a feeling of fascination keeps my attention focused on every movement, every word, every prayer. A large portion of the ceremony involves wooden bowls filled with some type of yellowish tea, repeatedly held to the sky above while chanting in Mayan. Midway through the ceremony, Bartolomé pours some of the tea over the edge of the platform. Moments later, I hear a splashing sound in the waters far below.

During the final twenty minutes of the ceremony, a wooden bowl of the yellow tea is passed throughout the crowd. As each person receives the wooden bowl, they meditate briefly, some holding the bowl above their heads, some moving it in circles in front of them, others simply pausing for a few moments of silence. Then, before passing it along, this person first places his or her mouth on the edge of the bowl and takes a small sip of the tea.

The bowl makes its way through our large crowd in an organized snake-like fashion, up and down through the reverent participants on this slanted hillside. Each time the bowl passes near the platform, it is refilled before being passed back up to the next section of people.

While waiting for my turn, I have ample time to think about whether or not I want to place my lips on the bowl when it comes to me. My old logical left brain would have insisted that I should not risk the spreading of germs. My heart, on the other hand, very lovingly encourages me to drink, reassuring me that all is well, that there is absolutely nothing at all to fear, reminding me of the incredible power of our minds and our beliefs.

When the small wooden bowl finally reaches my hands, I eagerly raise it in the air, pause in meditation, and then place it to my lips, confidently taking a large sip of the sweet tasting yellow mystery tea.

When all have finished drinking from the wooden bowl, Bartolomé picks up a bundle of leaves and dips it into the yellow tea. For several minutes he makes his rounds, remoistening the leaves when needed, using the leaves to splash droplets of the yellow tea onto all who are gathered around him.

Before terminating the ritual, Bartolomé gives us a few minutes to enjoy some music making. I am becoming quite attached to the energizing melodies of flutes, the beating of drums, and the powerful resonating calls of conch shells.

As the ceremony concludes, Antonia and I peacefully stroll back up the long trail to the parking lot. We laugh together as we talk about our next adventure. We have been asked to be back in the main parking lot, ready to pass through the entrance to Ek’Balam at precisely 12 noon. I smile at her and make the comment “I bet that means 1:00 p.m.” We both giggle.

Ek’Balam At Last

Ek’Balam is a beautiful Mayan community that was at its peek during the period of 600-900 AD. After being abandoned by the Mayans, it was completely overgrown and obscured by jungle. It was not until 1997 that restoration of the ruins was begun. Amazingly, Bartolomé is the Mayan Priest/Shaman that dedicated these ruins before they were opened up to public tours.

Shortly after 1:00 p.m., our next adventure begins. What a pleasure it is to have Bartolomé personally guide us through these beautiful ruins. As before, we line up single file, following Bartolomé in silence as begin our walk.

Bartolomé does not treat this like a normal tour. He is not here to tell us historical facts about the various structures. Instead, he uses the opportunity to teach us about the spiritual beliefs of the Mayan people.

We only stop in two places. The first is on top of a small structure at the southeast corner of the grounds. For forty-five minutes Bartolomé tells us about the holy nature of this mostly overlooked structure. The view here is incredible. We are above the tree level of the surrounding forests, looking for miles and miles at the top of the thick green canopy of trees before us.

Our second stop is on the grounds right at the base of the tallest ruin, which is called “The Acropolis.” This beautiful structure dominates the area, and is home to some incredibly well preserved rock carvings. At its tallest point, this ruin stands 96 feet tall. The base measures 480 feet across, and 180 feet deep. A cluster of beautiful trees provides a canopy of shade at the base where we gather to feast on Bartolomé’s words.

Bartolomé sits on a large round stump, facing straight up at the ruins. I choose a seat on a small bench just two feet behind him. Many in the group gather around in front of Bartolomé, sitting on the ground at his feet.

As he begins to talk to the crowd I hear someone call out, “There is a spider on Bartolomé.” By the time Bartolomé stands up, the big ugly spider had already crawled onto the back side of the stump, just a foot or two in front of me. This little guy’s body is big and long, perhaps three fourths of an inch in length, but it’s leg span is between two and three inches. The coloring is quite fascinating; part of its body glows with a very earthy red, the other half is the color of a pale yellow banana.

Upon seeing the spider, Bartolomé indicates that he does not normally kill spiders but we need to kill this one. “It is venomous,” he says very mater of factly, showing no fear whatsoever. He calmly tilts the stump toward the ruins, opening a gap at the bottom near the ground. When the menacing-looking spider crawls under the stump, Bartolomé simply pushes the stump back flat to the ground, squashing the poisonous creature beneath.

As Bartolomé talks to our large gathering, he says very little about the ruins themselves. Instead, he talks for more than an hour about Mayan traditions, spirituality, love, forgiveness, and a variety of other fascinating topics. Throughout the discussion, I am glued to his every word. Much of the discussion turns into question and answer. A man sitting on the ground right in front asks several very poignant questions. I notice that he addresses Bartolomé by the title “Maestro” (Master), showing great respect to our teacher.

Have I said yet that I love this man? Well I do. He simply exudes love and peace in everything he says and does.

Shortly after 3:00 p.m., Bartolomé declares that our afternoon session is over, but no one leaves. I take a fifteen minute break to scale to the top of “The Acropolis.” The view is incredible. Were it not for the blazing sun, I could sit here on top all day long, inhaling all of the amazing vistas. From this vantage point, I can see the entire ruin complex, and the panorama of surrounding jungles is breathtaking. Surges of energy permeate my entire body as I pause to meditate while facing each of the four directions.

Feeling pressed for time, I realize I need to join my friends below. As I descend, the crowds are just beginning to gather at the base of “The Acropolis” to take large group photos. I hurry down the steps, zigzagging back and forth, just as I had done on the way up. Eduardo had previously taught me that zigzagging is the proper way to show respect when climbing up and down these sacred structures.

Even after the photos, everyone continues to linger. A line forms in front of Bartolomé as we all take turns thanking him and giving him small monetary love offerings. When my turn arrives, I give him a huge hug and tell him what a pleasure it is to meet him. I express my gratitude and love, and thank him for spending so much quality time with us.

Finally, Antonia and I set off on foot, hoping to get to the nearby restaurant before darkness sets in. However, Antonia notices a local Mayan man giving a personal tour to Irene, Irene’s granddaughter, and Gloria.

Antonia asks, “Do you mind if we join them?”

How could I say no to that? Soon we are being whisked around, up, and down various parts of the ruins, seeing things we might never have seen otherwise, listening to stories we definitely would have never heard. By the time we finish it is already after 4:45 p.m., and we know we need to hurry. The sun will be setting very soon, and we are starved, having had no lunch whatsoever.

Soon, Gloria, Antonia, and I are finishing up a delicious meal of “Papazules” (don’t ask, I could never describe what they are) at a restaurant just 200 yards down the road. As we begin to contemplate just how we will navigate the five kilometer walk back to town in the dark, Jesus Fabian pulls up in his car to offer us a ride.

An Evening Of Fun

The remainder of the evening is delightful. We have free time, but various festival attendees have planned a sort of impromptu mini-conference. My favorite activity is presented by a group of creative young adults from Tulum. They brought a puppet show with them, and have decided to perform a small show in the tiny town park, inviting all of the village residents to bring their families and enjoy the fun.

Yes, I thoroughly enjoy the puppets of Mayan warriors, jaguars, and even Bob Marley, but my biggest joy of the evening is watching the local residents, especially the children, as their eyes light up with delight, laughter, and giggles.

After the show, Antonia and I attempt to enjoy a very dry late-night speech about the Mayan calendar. Ten minutes into the speech we are both yawning with exhaustion, struggling with the task of staying awake. A quick glance around the room confirms that we are not the only ones facing the exhaustion dilemma.

When my head finally hits my pillow, sleep is not far behind. As I drift off into dreamland, my heart is full of love, my memories are dancing with incredible images of a beautiful day well spent, and my thoughts are eagerly anticipating the wonder of tomorrow.

To be continued …

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

(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

(This is the first installment of a series of posts describing my experiences of this past week. I’m writing as fast as I can, and want to capture the essence of the entire experience. Subsequent posts will follow very soon.)

A whirlwind of butterflies stirs in my soul as I slowly descend the stairs outside of my now-empty hostel room in Valladolid. Wednesday morning, November 18, has arrived at last. Pausing for a moment to adjust my backpack, I look around and inhale the gentle peace of my surroundings. The skies are a solid baby blue with hardly a cloud to be seen. The early morning sun shines brightly, warming the beautiful garden area at the base of these outdoor stairs. I smile as I glance back at the roof where my faithful bicycle catches my eye. My two-wheeled friend will not be making this short journey with me—it will remain safely locked up on the roof of the hostel, waiting patiently for my expected return.

In this moment, all previous fears are but a vague faded memory. A strong sense of peaceful and loving confidence radiates throughout my entire body. Today I am taking a giant step into the unknown, and a feeling deep in my heart tells me that the next five days will be a marvelous journey.

As I surrender my room key to Tania at the front desk, I also reconfirm my reservation to return on Sunday. A minute later, I eagerly slip through the front door, exiting into the fresh open air of Candelaria Park, a small but beautiful little oasis. Under the huge majestic tree in the center of this little plaza, several people are already seated on benches, visiting with each other, reading newspapers, or simply enjoying the cool morning shade.

But I have no time to stop and enjoy the park today. I am focused, anxious to move forward to discover what amazing treasures lie ahead. Within a few minutes, my backpack is safely secured in the trunk of a small taxi, and my five-day journey has officially begun.

The northbound highway is wide, straight, and flat. As I stare out the window, I begin to daydream, imagining myself returning to this same road on my bicycle, contemplating what I would do with the freedom of being able to explore nearby villages and jungle paths.

Thirty minutes later, my daydreams are interrupted as my taxi slows to a near stop and then turns to the east down a narrow paved road—a road that is barely wide enough for two cars to slowly squeeze by each other. The tiny road is crowded on both sides by lush green vegetation—a mixture of beautiful trees and a variety of thick underbrush.

After a few miles, we approach a small intersection. Large wooden signs indicate that the archeological ruins of Ek’Balam (pronounced eck-bah-lahm) are two kilometers straight ahead—but as we reach this tiny road crossing, my taxi driver turns left instead, once again resuming a northbound direction.

At just before 9:00 a.m., my taxi enters a tiny village. At the center of the village is a small park, surrounded on all sides by humble homes, most with thatched roofs, many with walls constructed from palapas (wooden poles). A quick glance around detects no initial evidence of any type of stores or restaurant, and my imagination briefly carries me away to a state of worry about where I will be able to find food to eat during my four-night stay.

But I don’t have time to concern myself with food quite yet—and I somehow know that all will be OK. As we reach the northeast corner of the town plaza, my taxi turns back to the east, passing down a small dirt road. Several hungry looking stray dogs move to the side of the road as my taxi passes by. A small goat is tied to a tree in front of one of the more humble homes on the left. In front of another, a small Mayan woman is washing clothes by hand in a large rectangular basin propped up under the shade of a large tree. A number of clothes are already drying in the hot sun, suspended on a piece of rope hanging between two nearby trees. While the woman works, several small children play on the ground nearby.

The rough and bumpy dirt road narrows to a single lane as I glimpse a large blue sign with white letters reading “Cabañas Ecológicas Uh Najil Ek Balam” (translation: Ecological cabins of Uh Najil at Ek Balam). As I read these welcome words, I simultaneously exhale a long sigh of peaceful relief. With the assistance of my kind and friendly taxi driver, I have successfully jumped over the first hurdle in my path. For the next four nights, I will call these rustic cabins “home.”

Soon I am exploring my new living space—cabin number five. The cabin is functional and simple. From the outside, the structure appears very rustic, with a tall peaked thatched roof, and with walls built out of palapas. However, upon entering, I discover that the interior walls are solid, appearing to be painted concrete or some type of plaster. Looking up, the thatched roof is indeed genuine, supported by strong wooden poles. The underside of thick bundles of long carefully arranged dry grass creates a unique and interesting pattern in the ceiling above.

The oval shaped interior is much bigger than I imagined, being perhaps fifteen feet across and thirty feet wide. As I enter through the front door, I note that two twin beds are situated on one end to my left, two more are on the other end to my right, and a fifth twin bed sits directly across the room from where I am standing. The beds on each end of the room are equipped with flimsy white mosquito nets that are suspended from poles several feet above. For some reason, the lonely bed in the middle has no such protection. The bed frames are homemade, being small wooden platforms supported by eighteen inch wooden legs. The mattresses are typical bunk-bed type mattresses, with a four-inch-thick foam interior. Every bed has a pillow, clean white sheets, and a lightweight white cotton bed spread.

My curiosity is peaked as I notice a door in the far left corner. The brown wooden door is difficult to open, being quite swollen from the constant barrage of daily humidity. As I force it open, the door squeaks and sticks as it rubs against the frame, and then drags across the concrete floor. I peak around a bundle of grasses that hangs down from the outside roof and discover a small hallway, open to the sky, lined on both sides by poles wired together. My imagination momentarily wanders to the thought “What types of interesting creatures might be found crawling around on this low-hanging grass when I am groping to find my way out to the bathroom in the middle of a dark night?” I dismiss the thought with a small laugh and continue my exploration.

On the other end of this short path is another door, through which I discover a tiny thatched roof structure containing a toilet, a shower stall, and a small sink with mirror. High above the sink, a single low-wattage light bulb provides illumination for the dark window-less room, barely emitting enough light to recognize my dim reflection in the mirror. Upon returning to the main cabin, I notice that it too is illuminated with only a single low-wattage bulb.

In spite of the squeaky, swelled-up doors and the dim lighting, I love my room—it is very clean, the beds are comfortable, and it only cost 350 pesos per night (about $27 US). What else could I ask for in the middle of the jungle near a small indigenous Mayan village?

The Quest for Kaxan Xuul

Briefly unpacking a few items in my backpack, I grab a skirt, a white blouse, and a towel—preparing myself for what I hope will be an opportunity to participate in a sweat lodge.

My immediate task at hand is a quest to locate a place called “Kaxan Xuul” (pronounced ka-shawn shool). As I lock my cabin door behind me and begin this search, I have no idea what Kaxan Xuul is, nor do I have any idea where I might find it. The only thing I know is that Kaxan Xuul is where I am supposed to meet up with the rest of the group. I pray that it is not far, because I am now on foot, and this little Mayan village does not appear to have any taxis.

One thing I have learned in Mexico is that when I ask for directions I rarely understand the answers—yet someone always steps in to help me. As I walk up to the cabins’ small guest reception building, I ask a young woman for directions. Her answer proves to be just as confusing as I expect.

I barely understand the basics of her response, which sounds something like this: “Go that way (back toward the town)  … blah blah blah… turn right … blah blah blah … pass a school … blah blah blah … continue going straight.”

Having absolutely no idea what this young woman really said, I make a decision to begin by following the first part that I think I understand.

“Hopefully,” I tell myself, “I will find someone along the way that can help guide me further.”

As I pass by several homes, I notice people out in their front yards working with yarn and a large wooden knitting tool, creating what appear to be beautiful and colorful hammocks. Each artist has a different setup, but is performing the same basic tasks. With yarn stretched tightly between wooden poles, the hammock weavers use the wooden knitting tool to tediously loop one loose stitch after another, passing the yarn through one loop, pulling it back, and methodically repeating the process over and over again.

After observing perhaps ten or more homes with such setups, I quickly deduce that creating hand-woven hammocks must be an important industry in the lives of these beautiful local residents.

Amazingly, after a few blocks of walking and making several turns, I locate a medium sized building that is obviously a public school. Knowing that a village of this tiny size could not possibly have any other schools, I feel quite confident that I am on track with my quest—yet at this point in time I am absolutely clueless as to where to go from here.

As I stand by the school feeling helpless, a young woman passes by.

“Can you please tell me how to find Kaxan Xuul?” I politely ask.

“Go that way and keep following the road,” she answers, pointing down the road to my right.

As I look a block away toward where she points, I see the narrow paved highway curve off to the right, and I take note of a small dirt road that continues straight ahead.

“Do I go this way or that way?” I attempt to ask as I point at the two possible directions. The speech center in my brain cannot seem to find the correct descriptive words to clearly express my concern.

The only part of her answer that I think I understand is “that road is tiny and narrow (pointing to the dirt road), while that road is wider.”

As best as I can tell, this young woman’s hand gestures tell me to follow the curve to the right, but to be honest I still have absolutely no idea what she really said. I begin to walk away from the north end of the village in the hot morning sun. Intuition tells me to go left, but instead I choose to follow the main road—the one to which I believe she was pointing.

After about ten minutes and almost a half mile of uncertain footsteps, a gut feeling tells me that I am indeed lost. Stopping to contemplate my next move, I notice a lone man on a bicycle slowly approaching from the distance.

I walk out in front of him to get his attention, and when he finally arrives I kindly ask, “Please, can you tell me how to find Kaxan Xuul?”

“Go back that way and then turn right.” Is about all I understand.

The sweet Mayan man pauses for a few minutes while I begin to retrace my steps back toward the village. Soon, his bicycle catches up and stops right beside me. Then he begins to volunteer a few additional details.

“Turn right just past the preschool and then follow the little road,” he tells me before continuing on his way.

I vaguely remember seeing a large home with the word preschool, and realize that the man is telling me to turn down the narrow dirt road—the same one that I had almost taken ten minutes earlier.

As I return to the intersection of these two roads, I observe a short middle-aged woman weaving a beautiful bright yellow hammock in the shade of a large tree in her front yard. Still not being totally sure that I am about to take the right path, I approach the woman to confirm.

“Yes,” she replies as she motions with her hands, “you must follow the path of this small dirt road.”

After walking another half mile down this remote jeep trail, I again begin to feel slightly lost. I have already followed several turns in this continually narrowing road, the jungle is closing in around me, and I still have absolutely no idea exactly what it is that I am trying to find.

A short distance down the road I see a man walking up a path into a small farm home hidden in some thick trees on the right side of the road. As I near the home, I follow the same path up to his home, humbly asking for help one more time.

“Yes, Kaxan Xuul is very close. Just continue following this road,” are the kind man’s words.

Energized by the confidence of his words, I resume my trek into the jungle. Finally, after continuing another hundred yards, I notice some white rocks marking a wide dirt driveway that leads up a small incline through some trees to my right. Following my intuition, I enter the driveway. Part way up the incline to my right, I see a tall stone monolith with Mayan-looking carvings. Even though there are no signs, I sense that I am close to whatever it is I am looking for. Around the next bend I find a small parking area with several vehicles. On the left is a small meadow with a cluster of tents. In another small clearing just a little further on the right sits a permanent Temazcal (sweat lodge) structure. A handful of people are gathered nearby; several of them are dressed in white.

My heart tells me I am here … I have indeed jumped over hurdle number two. I have found Kaxan Xuul.

Old Awkward Feelings Revisited

I walk confidently over to the group of strangers, introduce myself, and officially confirm that this is the gathering place for the “2009 Fiesta de Chikaban (pronounced Chee-kah-bon).”

A man named Eric seems to be in charge as he briefly introduces me to several other people, referring to them as “Abuela (grandmother) so and so, or Abuelo (grandfather) so and so”. I express my interest in participating in the sweat lodge and Eric tells that they are not yet prepared, but yes, there is room for me to participate.

“Because there are so few people here,” Eric begins, “we are combining the two scheduled sweat lodges into a single one that will begin about 1:00 p.m..”

A quick glance at my watch reveals that the time is barely 10:00 a.m.. I begin to sit back and watch the others. Immediately, my insecurities begin to manifest. Old patterns of social phobia cause me to sink into an awkward feeling of separation. Everyone present seems to already know each other quite well. They are all busy, chatting rapidly in Spanish amongst themselves, each of them being immersed in a last minute rush of final preparations. My brain cannot decipher their conversations and I begin to feel invisible, insignificant, and awkward. I want to volunteer to help, but really don’t know what I could do.

I sit and briefly chat with an older grey-haired man, but after a few minutes the conversation reaches the limits of my language capabilities. We stop talking, and I begin to simply observe the others. All the while, I continue to sink into a deeper state of feeling socially stupid and inadequate.

“I think I’m going to go back to my cabin for a while.” I tell the older man. Then I ask him, “What time should I be back here for the Temazcal?”

After agreeing that 12:30 p.m. would be a great time, I make my quick exit, eager to spend some time alone—time to further check out my cabin and search out sources of potential food.

Throughout most my early life, being in social settings around strangers almost always caused me to feel great anxiety. In the past, struggles with my own self-concept had led me to believe that no one would be interested in a conversation with me. I had felt broken, defective, and un-loveable. In those darker days, I could never have dreamed of talking about my deepest struggles, and I felt totally incapable of carrying on a surface-level small-talk type of discussion.

Even with all of my deep spiritual and emotional healing, being around strangers can still, on occasion, trigger memories of such past feelings of inadequacy. Even knowing that such emotions are merely old tapes playing in my head, somehow, in times like today, these old voices still have a way of momentarily seizing control.

As I walk back toward my cabin, I become the observer, replaying the morning’s events and emotions, knowing that everything will indeed be OK.

“I simply need to regroup and give it another go when I return.” I tell myself. “I almost always start out slow with people I do not know … but a loving and genuine attitude consistently opens all the right doors in the end. This fact never ceases to amaze me.”

What About Food

As I reach the edge of the village, food is the main thought on my mind.  While following a slightly different route, I notice a small home with the words “Community Store” painted on a small wooden sign out front. I immediately decide to explore my options.

This small store has a selection of snack foods, chips, and basic staples—but everything I see is either junk food or requires a functional kitchen to cook. Picking up a large bag of tortilla chips, I tell myself that if no other food source manifests itself, I can at least survive for a few days eating chips and snacks.

After a short rest back in my cabin, I opt to pursue a definitive answer to my pressing question.

“Is there any kind of restaurant here in the village?” I ask the young woman at the reception area.

My growling tummy seems to smile when the young woman answers “Yes … go that way … and blah blah blah … turn left.”

In spite of my continued confusion in understanding directions, I soon find myself on the east side of the city park staring at a tiny fenced home with a small sign in front that reads “Cocina Maya” (Mayan kitchen).

As I walk up to the open front door, a very kind woman approaches and greets me in Spanish.

“Welcome to our kitchen. My name is Trini. Are you here for the Fiesta De Chikaban?”

As I answer yes, Trini continues, “Today for breakfast we have Polcanes (mystery food) and frijoles (beans). Would you like some?”

I immediately realize that in this small kitchen there is no menu. There are only two choices: eat what is offered, or don’t eat at all. I choose the former. I find it a bit odd that a meal at 11:30 in the morning is being called breakfast, but just the same I answer “Yes, I would like both.”

As I enter the tiny restaurant, I observe that it also doubles as a small gift shop. The walls are lined with local souvenirs, many of them hand made. The large room is perhaps sixteen feet long and eight feet wide. A single large wooden table sits in the middle of the room on the far end, filling up more than half the room. On each side of the table is a long wooden bench, large enough for six adults to sit comfortably. The table has no table cloth, is covered with food stains, and does not appear to have been cleaned anytime in the immediate past. A collection of shared condiments sits in the middle of the table, consisting of a bowl of salt, a bowl of raw sugar, a tiny open jar of instant coffee, a few tea bags, and a small plastic container partially filed with green picante sauce.

Finger marks in the spoon-less salt container cause me to ponder “just what is the preferred method for salting my food?”

As I sit on the bench, waiting for my mystery “polcanes”, I observe that a small open door in the middle of the room leads to an additional outdoor eating area. In the dirt yard are several small round tables with thatched-roof umbrellas above them. Rather than having chairs, each small table has two or three wooden stumps on which people can sit while they eat.

I devour my delicious food. Even after eating a serving of four polcanoes, I am not quite sure what they are. They are about the size of large chicken fingers, but I do not believe they are meat. The exterior is breaded and appears to have been deep fried. The interior is slightly hollow.

Just after mid-day, with the blazing sun high above in the sky, I leave the cozy little Mayan kitchen and begin my trek back to the remote ceremonial grounds of Kaxan Xuul.

I am happy to know that hurdle number three has been successfully crossed. I may not know exactly what I am eating, but I will definitely not be starving during my upcoming adventures. I cannot wait to see what happens next.

To be continued …

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

It has been a week since my last post and I decided I should try to post a quick status update in case anyone is worrying/wondering about where I am and what I am doing.

On Sunday, after a beautiful retreat experience, I returned to Valladolid to my favorite little hostel. The five days of ceremony and ritual were an incredible experience—one which I will never forget—an experience for which I will be eternally grateful.

As I previously suspected, I had absolutely no internet access in the area where I was at, and I would not have had any time to write even if I did have access.

I fully intended to jump right into writing as soon as I returned to Valladolid, but a small hiccup snuck its way into my life.

Friday evening, while participating in a beautiful dance ceremony in the jungle near Ek’Balam, a large jungle tick (I’m told it was not all that big, but it was huge to me) decided to use my left foot as a source of food. As soon as I felt the bite and realized that the little bug was firmly attached to the skin—I sat down on a rock and asked for help.

I had no idea what was biting me—no idea if it was poisonous—and fear and panic found their way into my heart.

A lovely man—a Zapotec healer—jumped up to help me. Being unable to find anyone with a cigarette, he grabbed what he thought was the next best thing. He ran over to an incense burner and picked out a piece of glowing hot charcoal (he grabbed a non-glowing end) and held it very close to my ankle—right above the back of the tick—never touching my skin.

The pain from the heat was excruciating. I felt like a marshmallow being roasted, but I trusted this dear sweet man—and given the circumstances of not knowing what was going on, I let him proceed.

A few minutes later he gave up because the tick had not backed out of my skin. A large two-inch-diameter patch of white charred skin remained. As he wiggled the tick—now a very hard and crispy tick—he pulled it out and declared success.

I continued to sit on my rock, crying with fear and pain—but mainly fear. Another man, an Olmec Shaman jumped up and took over while several other native healers simultaneously worked on me with various healing techniques.

Somehow, in the midst of this experience I was able to maintain an attitude of love, and to remember that everything happens for a reason.

I was sure that the intense heat had cooked and charred my skin to a crisp—but miraculously, probably through the energy of the blessings I was given, the burn is only a large and ugly two-and-a-half-inch diameter second degree burn.

I would not wish what happened to me onto anyone—yet I feel deeply blessed by the experience and would not change a thing. Overall, I learned a great deal about unconditional love, surrender, and trust—and the experience had a powerful way of bonding me with all who were present.

I have spent much of the past two days resting, seeking medical attention, and even getting my laundry done, but today I finally began writing.

There is so much that I want to share about last week. I will probably be posting four or five long blog entries over the next week or so just to catch up with today. I am not ready to post today’s writing, but I wanted to give everyone a quick update. Actual postings with full details should resume tomorrow.

If anyone reading this wants to send loving and healing energy my way, it would be greatly appreciated. I will be staying in Valladolid until I am fully healed—probably a couple of weeks.

I love you all so very much.

With deep gratitude and love,

-Brenda

Copyright © 2009 by Brenda Larsen, All Rights Reserved

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