Love & The Goddess

by Coen, Mary Elizabeth

  “A vortex. It has special energy,” James offered.

  “A place where ancient people came to worship,” I said.

  “Or give offerings,” Maria volunteered.

  “Yes, you are all right in some respects.” Hakalan’s dark eyes widened as he continued. “A line running around the centre of the Earth aligns Machu Picchu with the Great Pyramid of Egypt, the Nazca lines and Easter Island. Electromagnetic underground currents known as ley lines run through these vortexes. Machu Picchu is a primary energy vortex, which like the sun radiates rays to other places such as this place. The ancients understood sacred geometry and how these places were connected to each other along vertical lines. The energy is strong here. Do you feel it?”

  James and Maria nodded. I wasn’t sure since I’d had a tingling in my legs since my arrival. Hakalan continued, “I want you to close your eyes and breathe deeply. Let go of your thoughts and connect to Pachamama, our great mother earth. What do you want from this, your sacred journey? Go deep and see what it is you need. Then open your eyes.”

  We did as he suggested and after a few minutes opened our eyes. Hakalan was seated again and he began unfolding a scarlet cloth to reveal an elaborately embellished short Incan sword in an engraved silver scabbard. He kissed the sword and passed it to James sitting beside him. “I will pass this around to you and as you take it, hold it to your heart. Each of you say what you want to receive from Pachamama while you are here.”

  “I want peace of mind,” James said, holding the sword close to his chest. He then passed it to Maria.

  “I want love, also to love myself.” After embracing the sword, Maria passed it to me.

  It took me a moment to think of exactly what I wanted. Then I held it to my chest saying, “I want to learn forgiveness.” I had been planning to ask for the same as Maria, but in truth, I found forgiveness difficult and despite my best intentions seemed to hold grudges as I had done with my sister Liz. Some days I felt as if I could forgive Trevor, since it seemed we were equally responsible for our dying marriage. Then the next day I’d wake up lonely and want to blame him for rejecting me. These opposing sets of thoughts came in and out of my mind like waves in an ocean. After embracing the sword, I passed it back to Hakalan.

  “All right, close your eyes again and let us meditate on that for a few moments. We call on the spirit of Pachamama to bring love into our hearts, to love ourselves and one another with great compassion and kindness. We ask that we may integrate the male and female energies in ourselves and in the planet for harmony and peace between all the races of this earth.” Hakalan broke into a chant, like a drumming sound interspersed with crying, “Pach … a … mam … a.” I flicked my eyes open momentarily and saw him stand up to blow wafting smoke from the incense over each of our heads, before sitting down again. I felt self-conscious as I briefly wondered what Julie and Trevor would think if they saw me. Then, just as quickly, I shrugged away the thought and relaxed. “Now, you finish by putting your right hand over your heart and your left hand over your centre, which is called your dantean. In this way you give yourself a loving hug. We all need to have forgiveness for ourselves and for anything we feel we have failed at, before we can forgive anyone else. And we need to love ourselves first. Now breathe deeply as you sit there. Know that Pachamama holds you close.”

  We each followed his instructions. It was very peaceful sitting in the warmth of the afternoon sun, while birds sang in the nearby bushes. Time lost all meaning until eventually Hakalan told us to slowly come out of our trance. As James and Maria got up, Hakalan offered me his hand, a strong muscular grip pulling me to stand up. As our eyes met, a shiver ran through me.

  Making our way back, Hakalan walked a few paces ahead of us. I felt a little insecure and wasn’t sure why. The shaman had an unsettling effect on me and I felt I was a little on the fringe of James’s relationship with his cousin. She was so quiet and serene that I found it difficult to strike up a conversation with her. I knew, as his only relative living in Ireland, she had been good to James when he hit rock bottom and finally admitted he was an alcoholic in need of help. They were deep in the midst of a conversation about family when Hakalan stopped, letting us pass through a gate ahead of him. On the other side he turned around to face us, a glint in his dark eyes as he spoke, “You know that here in Peru we worship the Goddess energy?”

  “Yes,” James said. “Tell us more about that. I’ve just come from Mexico and I’m trying to figure out the common denominator between these ancient belief systems.”

  “Your priests came here and killed my people.” Hakalan spoke as though he were expecting a reaction. “They said the Incas were stupid because they were dark-skinned and did not speak their language or worship your God. They destroyed my people. The same thing happened in Mexico.” He looked from me to Maria.

  “I agree with you,” I said. “It was terrible, but the same thing happened to the Irish. We were invaded and conquered by the Vikings and then by the British. Our land was pillaged and taken from us and then we were left to starve during the famine only one hundred and sixty years ago. Around five million people died. Like your people here, we have a very wounded past.”

  Hakalan looked decidedly disinterested in what I’d said. “The Conquistadores and the church were all one. The Christian religion is corrupt. It has always been about power not love.” He led the way to the van. Opening the door for us, he added, “Now you have all the scandals of priests molesting young men.”

  “Come on now,” said James. “What has happened is terrible but that was not what Jesus stood for. I’m not a Catholic but I do know Jesus was an enlightened master. He didn’t endorse the Conquistadores or the issues we have now with Catholic priests. He sacrificed his own life in the hope of saving humanity.”

  Taking her seat in the van, Maria said, “I was brought up Protestant and even though I no longer practice I believe our religion can be the gateway to our spirituality.”

  “All Christian religions along with Judaism and Islam insist God is male. All other religions acknowledge the divine feminine. Protestantism even went so far as to abolish the mother of Christ.” Hakalan’s words landed with a deafening thud. He turned his head away and started up the van.

  After a few moments, silence save for the engine and the evocative Peruvian music from the audio system, I murmured, “I’d never thought of that.”

  James was not amused. “Religious doctrine is different to spirituality. That’s why we’re here on this trip - to try to unlearn some of the stuff that was drummed into us as children and instead learn some truths.” He looked as if he was about to say more but decided not to finish. James was articulate and I knew he would be well capable of entering into debate with Hakalan but for some reason he was restraining himself.

  “Me too,” Maria said. “All the gurus I’ve attended have spoken of the need to unlearn before finding truth.”

  Hakalan said, “Good. In Peru we believe in the divine feminine, the divinity of Pachamama. We have respect for the earth. Christian religions never speak of caring for the planet that is being rapidly destroyed by human beings. Do you know we are the most destructive species to ever walk the earth? We pillage and rob from it, yet give nothing back. Bacteria give more back than we do, because they can recycle waste.”

  I finally twigged what the shaman was up to. He was provoking us to think differently. I knew that was supposed to be an aspect of the shamanic way of learning, yet I was beginning to find him arrogant. Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep, only awakening an hour later when Hakalan announced, “Now we are approaching Ollyantaytambo in the sacred valley.”

  We drove into a town nestled at the foot of the mountains, with a river running through it. As we bumped over a bridge, Hakalan said, “That is the Urubamba river. Every year it floods in the rainy season, threatening to wash away the houses and crops of the people who live here. This year was especially bad.”

  James nodded, “It was on the news.
The floods were so bad Machu Picchu was closed down for a few months.”

  “It must have been awful for the poor people whose houses were swept away,” I said.

  “These people are stupid. Stupid. Why they build houses here?” Hakalan asked indignantly, looking at us in the rear view mirror as he crinkled his face, and shrugged his shoulders. “The Incas were not so stupid. They knew you cannot build houses at the river. They built in the mountains. They were master engineers.”

  I could feel myself redden from the neck up, dumbstruck by his obvious vitriol. It seemed very out of character with what he had been saying previously, not at all balanced. All spiritual traditions emphasized compassion for others, yet this man was being disdainful of his compatriots. This really was not how I expected an enlightened person to act.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The sky had darkened to a pre-dusk deep blue by the time we approached the Terra Toscana, a four-storey hotel with a simple entrance on a busy street in Cusco. After we booked in at reception, Hakalan announced he would show us to our rooms. “Leave your bags here and they will bring them up for you. We take the stairs, it is quicker.” He smiled like an impish schoolboy and raced upstairs ahead of us.

  It was a test of physical endurance after the day we’d put in travelling. Maria and I were both panting as we reached the third floor. After showing James and Maria to their rooms, Hakalan asked me to follow him down the corridor. He opened a door and ushered me inside. “You see what I get for you?” he said, as I stared in astonishment around the lamp-lit, Spanish-style bedroom, and took in the enormous bed, covered with a beautiful intarsia throw. “I get you this special room. It is the honeymoon suite. If they ask you must say your husband is in the mountains and he will join you.”

  Why was he saying this? “But he isn’t with me and he won’t be joining me.” My voice came out squeaky with alarm.

  “But I had to tell them he was coming, in order to get you this special big bed. A big bed is more comfortable for you to sleep in, yes?” This time, there was no doubting his knowing tone and the seductive way he was looking me up and down.

  I was shocked – had I unintentionally flirted with him? Yet I wouldn’t do that – I knew he was married; I had seen pictures of his wife on the website. “I don’t need a big double bed …”

  “Why not? You could take a lover while you are here in Cusco. Peruvian men are excellent lovers – they know about the Tantra.”

  In an effort to buy time and hopefully think on my feet, I crossed the room, opened the window and gazed out as if transfixed by something in the street below. This man was to be our guide for the next seven days. How on earth could I get out of this one without causing offence? Turning to face him, I steadied myself before saying, “No, I don’t think so. You see after my marriage broke up I realised I preferred women to men. My lover is a woman, a beautiful woman, and I miss her.”

  His hawk eyes stretched wide with incredulity; his mouth dropped open. “Oh qué lástima … What a pity!” He shrugged his shoulders, and turned to leave. As soon as the door closed behind him, I locked it and breathed a sigh of relief. I’d been a coward making up a silly excuse, but I felt it would have been too uncomfortable to fall out with our guide right at the start of the holiday. I called down to reception, requesting a single room. Delighted to accommodate me, the porter arrived within minutes and showed me to a smaller, duller room with a queen-sized bed, hardly any floor space and badly-hung red curtains. I lay down for a few minutes to catch my breath and recover. It had been a long and emotional day. Then I unpacked, showered and went to visit James. Maria was already in his room, sitting on the edge of one of the two single beds that filled his room

  “What do you think of Hakalan?” James asked, standing in the bathroom doorway with his toothbrush in one hand and a tube of toothpaste in the other.

  I said cautiously, “I’m not sure. Is he trying to test us? They say gurus do that to push their apprentices or whatever we’re called into more conscious awareness. Or is he just arrogant …?”

  “Arrogant,” said Maria. “I couldn’t believe his contempt for the poor victims of the flooding.”

  I was relieved that her opinion chimed with mine. “You’ll never believe what just happened …” I told them about Hakalan booking me the honeymoon suite, and my pretending to be a lesbian. “I don’t know why I felt I had to make up an excuse not to sleep with him. I’m so sick of men thinking they can pick me up just because I’m vulnerable after a break-up.”

  Maria said, her brows knitted, “I had the same problem after my marriage broke down. I think in the early stages you give off this helpless vibe which appeals to men. And you know, a lot of these gurus are sex mad because kundalini – which is linked with sexual energy – gets activated through spiritual practice. When I was in India, women would queue up to sleep with gurus who hadn’t washed for half a century. Hakalan must have expected you to fawn all over him.”

  James was disgusted. “This trip is too expensive to be ruined by a lunatic tour guide. When I was booking it, I asked the travel agent if I could contact anyone who had come on this tour previously and she gave me a couple of email addresses. I’m going to run down to the business centre and check them out right away. I should have done it before. You guys can get a taxi to that restaurant we booked and I’ll follow on as soon as I’m finished. Okay?”

  The taxi ride took us through the town’s central plaza. I was enchanted by the prettiness of the place. The central area, dotted with flower beds and exotic palm trees, was lit with old-fashioned street lamps. Swarms of tourists sat on park benches or browsed the well-lit windows of the quaint indigenous shops that lined the streets on each of the square’s four sides. Our restaurant, La Taberna del León, was rustic with wooden benches and red gingham tablecloths. James arrived as we were ordering, and told the waitress he would have the same as us. As soon as she’d disappeared with our orders, he leant forward across the table: “Girls, I got the guy from Illinois on Google instant messenger. He warned me not to expect anything great. Hakalan looks after Hakalan, he said. He thought him a sharp businessman, not an enlightened master. He was there with a big group, maybe thirty people, and apparently some of the women thought it was desirable to have sex with the shaman. They thought they’d receive the seeds of enlightenment, so to speak.”

  “They would be more likely to get seeds of STDs if he’s that popular,” I said, throwing my eyes heavenwards.

  Maria sighed, “I expected to learn a lot from this man. I’m very disappointed.”

  “But maybe our journey is to learn from each other,” I suggested. “After all, we’ve all had different learning experiences prior to coming here. And I did learn something today about the feminine aspect of God, even if Hakalan is a pain.”

  “You could be right, Kate,” Maria said, as our tomato soup arrived. “When I was in India I met a wise woman who told me no guru or teacher can solve your problems because what another tells you is not your life.”

  “Indeed. There are no gurus apart from the one within,” said James. “The problem is we paid to come on this journey and none of us are happy with this shaman. So I sent an email to the tour operator telling her just that. I’ve asked her to see if she can she get us Raúl. He’s the shaman on the website, the one we were initially expecting. When she said we’d be getting Hakalan instead, I didn’t question it because he supposedly has a good reputation. But I really don’t think we should put up with him.”

  Just then the scent of tarragon in steamy chicken stock heralded the arrival of our main course. It was Aji de Gallina – a delicious chicken stew, served with slivers of hard-boiled egg with rice and garnished with olives. Very simple, yet different from any other chicken dish I’d come across. I made a note to remember it for my ever-expanding recipe collection. James drew my attention to a dessert called Suspiro de Limeña, a local speciality made with eggs and condensed milk. The friendly proprietor, a stocky woman with crooked teeth i
n a weather-beaten face, was pleased to tell us it meant “Sigh of a woman from Lima”. She hovered beside our table for a few minutes, explaining: “According to legend, this was given its name by the famous poet José Galvéz, who said it was ‘as sweet and soft as the sigh of a young woman from Lima.’” As we finished, she reappeared with a piece of paper in her hand. “Here, my dear, is the recipe for you.”

  Arriving back at the hotel, I felt strangely energised to be in Peru. Saying goodnight to the others in the lobby, I decided to visit the small room which housed two computers – the “business centre”, as it was called. I had short emails from Julie and Liz and there was a nice email from Geoff the artist telling me his exhibition went well and he hoped I was enjoying myself. His email made me think about the dating site again. There had been a lot of talk of goddesses in the past twenty-four hours – the Divine Feminine and Pachamama. It made me think about the username I had given myself. The myth of Persephone was a metaphor for depression, a descent into the underworld of darkness. Though a goddess, Persephone was very much a victim, having been abducted by Hades, king of the underworld. She was childlike and frail, an archetype I’d always felt was personified by women like Marilyn Monroe, a baby-woman whom men liked because of her vulnerability. After the run in with Hakalan and the comment from Maria about sending out vulnerable vibes, I knew I no longer wanted to identify with that aspect of womanhood.