Conference, Cutimbo, and the Miracle of the Pantyhose

Earth, air, fire, and water. These are the “elements” around which the ceremonies leading up to the Solar Disc activation will be based. This is ancient practice. Shamans from around the world understand ceremony based on earth, air, fire, and water. These elements give us life and we cannot live without them. Our lungs fill with air when we enter this life, and when we die, it is said that air leaves first, then fire, then water, and finally, earth.

We are to do air ceremony the day following the fire ceremony. But first, we have conference in the morning. As the elders and shamans arrive, I am struck by the miracle of our all being here, in this place, at this time. So many have been called to join together for these events and while I had a sense of it the previous night, it is not until we gather for the morning conference that I feel the full impact of it. I am humbled to be a participant and, as I look around me, I feel the collective power of those gathered. I have no doubt that we will activate the Solar Disc. I have no doubt, in fact, that we could, collectively, shift the tectonic plates if we chose to. But shifting collective consciousness is more what we are about.

Jorge Luis opens the conference and then turns it over to others to share seeds of wisdom, as he puts it. The Amazon shaman, don Jesus (who blessed me the previous night), seems thrilled that we have all come to take part in this important event. He says that he thought the Amazon River was big—and then he came to Lake Titicaca. We laugh, appreciating his innocence. He carries that mingling of wisdom and innocence I’ve seen in those who have seriously gotten over themselves—like His Holiness the Dalai Lama and Arikara/Hidatsa elder, Marilyn Youngbird.  Don Jesus’ wife, Juliana (also known as The Bird of the Amazon), sings for us. HeatherAsh Amara, a longtime student of don Miguel Ruiz, speaks of the elements and learning to lean into them as we give up our identification with self and our resistance to acknowledging that we are, indeed, magnificent beings. Nestor Caceres Escalante talks about sacred geometry. Don Isidro urges us to take that which is within us and express it in the world. Meg Blackburn paints mental pictures of light organizing into geometric shapes that remember all they have experienced. Local shamans—don Raul and don Jose Ramos—tell us how pleased and honored they are that we are there.

The Conference

And so it goes. All morning. As HeatherAsh would have us lean into the elements, I lean into the teachings, as a tree leans towards the sun. It is the extraordinary ordinary people of the world who impress me—not rock stars or athletes or heads of state—and these are extraordinary ordinary people. It is clear to me that each of them is contributing to the evolution of consciousness in their own way and I’m glad to be sharing this experience with them.

We travel to Cutimbo for the afternoon air ceremony. Not far from Puno, in the altiplano—the high plateau—Cutimbo rests on a large, flat plain more than two miles above sea level. Dominating the site are both a square and a round chullpa. 

Cutimbo Chullpas

We are asked to remove our shoes and socks, then form a large circle. Most of those present do so, though a small group seems to separate from the larger group and conduct their own small ceremony nearby. The circle is huge. There are more than a hundred present for the ceremony. Peruvian shamans gather in the middle to orchestrate the ceremony. Those of us comprising the circle are asked to move as the wind moves. One of the shamans talks and gives offering as we dance our wind dance over moss and rocks, delicate flowers and weedy growth. Overhead, the wind conspires with the cloud people. It looks, for a time, as if it might rain, but it does not. The air is crisp and we are all washed clean by the wind.

I had dressed for the day in hiking pants and shirt, hiking boots and thick socks. But beneath it all, I am wearing pantyhose, as I do most days. Having removed my shoes and socks—but unable to remove the hose—I have been dancing over the rough terrain in stocking feet. This is a sacrificial pair of hose and I am happy for them to be so. They will be shredded by the time we are done. I am, admittedly, a throwback to another time, a laughable anachronism of a woman. And I expect my due for being one. I would have been better served barefoot, but I am not. And I couldn’t care less about the hose.

But when we have completed the ceremony and I sit down to put my socks and boots on, my mouth drops open as I see my feet. Not only are my hose not shredded, there are no runs, no snags—nothing. The hose are in perfect shape. It is completely ridiculous. It is impossible. It is wildly amusing. I am on the receiving end of a minor miracle. I have been shown that when one throws herself completely and joyously into work on behalf of something larger than herself, the ordinary rules of life, physics, and pantyhose are suspended. That Spirit would use something as mundane as pantyhose for this lesson amuses me to no end. At the same time, I am a little in awe. And I keep what has happened to myself, at least for the time being.

Feeling the Energy

After the ceremony, we spend time at the chullpas, praying, some of us crawling on hands and knees through an opening to sit in the womb of pachamama within one of them, feeling their energy. I do all of this. But I do it as the silent witness to the miracle of the pantyhose.

Cutimbo, Post-Ceremony

Copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall

We Begin

As Frank Herbert pointed out, beginnings are important. They are delicate time, times that must be approached with respect. I had been in Peru for a few days, long enough to allow what I believed would be an important experience to begin delicately. People were arriving on a daily basis, from around the world and around Peru. Jorge arrived at the hotel one morning with a small, wizened lady, an Inca elder. If character could be likened to ocean depth, this woman’s face reflected a depth of several thousand feet. Wisdom, humor, joy, and sorrow were all wrapped up in her eyes and her face was like a helicopter view of the Texas arroyos. In short, she was gorgeous. 

Not everyone was handling the altitude well. Some people reported headaches, deep fatigue, queasiness, shortness of breath, and an overall feeling of having been pummeled by an Inca warrior. A person or two needed oxygen fixes and I entered the hotel lobby one day to find a woman lying on a couch with an oxygen mask over her face and the tank next to her. I was incredulous at the sight of a few people puffing cigarettes in the courtyard and I was unable to fathom how one could manage the demands of the altitude with lungs caked in soot. Still, most people were cheerful, expectant, and hearty. 

As for expectations, I’d come with few. I knew I was meant to be there. My only expectation was to participate in and lend my personal energy to the solar disc activation in whatever way that would be of service to Jorge Luis, the Grand Mother of all lakes, Titicaca, and to humanity at large in whatever form it took right there in the moment. Having few expectations can be a beautiful thing. I’d already been thoroughly delighted by the beauty of the hotel and grounds, the sacred quality of the like, and the enchanting nature of things in general. I was about to be delighted further, but not just delighted—awe struck. 

The ceremonies began on Thursday, February 11, 2010. We gathered in a large hall. I had arrived with my friends and colleagues early enough to have a nice seat, close enough to feel a part of things but not so close that I risked falling into some shaman’s lap. 

And there were plenty of shamans’ laps one could fall into. Jorge Luis introduced the shaman who would kick things off with a sound invocation. He was from the Machu Picchu area, which had just suffered the worst flooding in many years, and had walked ten days to connect with others so he could make his way to Lake Titicaca and participate in the ceremonies. What a blessing that he was there! 

Using chant, drum, flute, music, and words he thrust from his mouth like arrows of intent, he invoked the divine with sound that vibrated walls, windows . . . and our hearts. Two colleagues in my group wore hearing aids and reported having very interesting (one would guess almost psychedelic) experiences. We were asked to close our eyes at some point and the sound was an earthy, heavenly chorus—no mamby pamby sweet angelic sounds, but the kind of powerful summoning that said, through music and deep, throaty voicings, the equivalent of, “Pachamama, Virachoca, Mother/Father God, we have heard you calling to us, the Children of the Sun, and we are here to answer that call.” It was transcendent, moving us from whatever dimension we thought we were in to having at least one foot in some parallel dimension that was primal and in which our hearts were cracked open. I was a different person when I opened my eyes and as I looked around, I could tell that others were too. 

It was good preparation for what was to come. We were all given three coca leaves, with which we were to make k’intus, little fan shaped arrangements of the leaves to use in ceremony. When the invocation was over, we filed outside to begin the fire ceremony. Young Peruvian women, dressed as Inca maidens or priestesses formed lines to the right and left of the path, and we stepped along as if passing through an energetic portal that blurred any sense of time. We might as easily have been those who came to Lake Titicaca five hundred years earlier, bearing the solar disc. My sense of it was that at least some of us actually were those people, returning now, as planned. 

 

Women Lining Path at Fire Ceremony

A local shaman instructed us to breathe into our k’intus the intent to release whatever we felt we needed to release to the fire. We did so and tossed our k’intus into the fire. There were many of us and it was done prayerfully. It probably took a long time, but it’s hard to say. We were in a state outside of time. 

Then much hugging and singing and dancing. Shamans passed through the crowd offering personal blessings. I turned to find a shaman with a powerful, sweet force field right in front of me. He blessed me and I found myself dizzy for a moment. I heard someone refer to him as don Jesus and soon discovered that he was a shaman of the Amazon. He blessed my friend Lisa, too, and I joked that we had just been blessed by Jesus.

Amazon Shamans (don Jesus in the Middle)

One by one, those of us who desired it smudged ourselves in the smoke from the burning wood. I felt as if the best part of me had surfaced and that part of me was being hermetically sealed, right there on the top of the skin, not hidden deeply within where one would have to dig to find it.  

Back inside, we feasted. I had surrendered to sound and fire, had been purified by both, and was drifting between dimensions. I felt ready for whatever would come next. 

Copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall 

Sillustani

Personal experience is just that: personal. Of course, any one personal experience is colored by all of our experiences that have gone before it and our worldview. Because of that, an archeologist might view Sillustani differently than a casual tourist, who might view it differently than a shaman.

Chullpa at Sillustani

I am told that archeologists view Sillustani as an ancient burial site and view the chullpas there as simply tombs. From my personal experience, that point of view is like saying that homo sapiens is simply a species of mammal and this species tends to live in small groups. It isn’t wrong, but it is so incomplete that most of what is important is left out.

Sillustani, which sits at about 13, 500 feet, is a peninsula on the shores of Lake Umayo, not far from Puno, Peru. On this peninsula can be found chullpas, ancient towers—some circular and others rectangular in shape—that do seem to have been used as tombs, but were also used as temples. Just as the remains of popes and saints are buried at the Vatican, the remains of what can only be assumed were important people were buried at Sillustani. It is believed that the site was used by both Incan and pre-Incan peoples.

Whatever the site was once used for, a few things are certain to me from an experiential standpoint: Sillustani is a power place; time and space seem to waver there, neither holding firm nor completely being lost; there is the feel of the sacred to the chullpas and to the land around them, and; the place feels as if it has been used to connect with the divine—and the star brothers—for eons.

It may have been that my group had not been long in Peru and this was our first site visited as a group, but I’m inclined to think that it was the place itself that caused the group to move through the site in a hushed, reverent way. I believe that most people can tell, energetically, when they are in sacred space—even if they have little conscious access to the energy they are feeling. And when we are in sacred space, something in us gets very quiet, as if we instinctively know that we might hear the whisperings of God (Wiracocha). Sillustani is such a place.

Island in Lake Umayo

There is an island in the middle of Lake Umayo that is flat on the top and looks, for all the world, like a UFO landing site. In fact, many people have reported UFO sightings there. Jorge Luis had camped out on this island with others and assured us that there was magic to the place. Were the chullpas built on Sillustani because of Sillustani’s proximity to the island? Was the island a UFO magnet because of its proximity to Sillustani? Who knows? But I am certain that the relationship between island and chullpas is not simply coincidence.

Sillustani set a certain tone for the work to come. We were on sacred ground and about to do sacred work. I could feel the support of the grandmothers and grandfathers. And I could feel that angels were lining up to help us.

Copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall

Meeting the Lake, the Land, the People, and Myself

Once I had arrived in Peru, my first priority was to introduce myself to the land and to Lake Titicaca. The morning after our arrival, I breathed in the sweet smell of Peru and took my time, as one would do with a new lover. I took coca leaves with me down to a grandfather tree at the edge of the gardens, made a k’intu, a little fan-shaped arrangement of three coca leaves, and entered a prayerful state of consciousness. In that state, I introduced myself to the land and to the lake, spoke of my purpose for being in Peru, and offered my respect. Then I gently breathed blessing into the coca leaves, raised them to the sun, and let the wind take them.

Afterwards, I walked down to the lake and began to get a feel for her. Lake Titicaca is considered to be the epicenter of feminine energy on planet Earth and I immediately felt her tug at my quosqo (the energy center around the navel). I felt connected to her—even felt that I was at her service.

Later I walked the labyrinth on the property, enjoyed the gardens, and helped some groundskeepers clean the stones in one of the pools. I had come to Peru on a service trip, to help Jorge Luis and the shamans and elders gathering at the lake activate the Solar Disc. It seemed to me that anything I could do on behalf of this important cause was a worthy thing to do. The hotel belonged to Jorge, the pool was a part of the hotel, and everyone involved in the Solar Disc activation was gathering at the hotel. If stones needed to be washed, then I would wash stones.

I climbed into the empty pool, looked at the rather startled men scrubbing away at the stones, picked up a brush, and joined in. They seemed amused by the crazy lady scrubbing slime off the stones and made an attempt to communicate. Even though I knew almost no words in the local language and they knew no English, before long, we were laughing and interacting as we meticulously washed the stones. I had made some friends.

Melanie the Rock Scrubber

And Her New Friends

But it wasn’t quite all bliss.

Because of the nature of the trip and the work to be done, I knew that my time in Peru could, and probably would, surface my “stuff”—my internal detritus. Lisa (my longtime friend and the ringleader of the Denver contingent) and I had discussed it numerous times and had done plenty of internal clearing in preparation for the trip. Still, I knew that whatever needed to come up for review was likely to. And it did, my second morning there.

No warning. Like a sniper attack in the well-intentioned jihad for my spiritual sanity, ordered by kindly helping spirits—but painful, just the same—I found myself knocked off center and feeling vulnerable during a conversation with Jorge Luis, himself. I saw it for what it was: my stuff coming up. Once the conversation was over, I felt my feelings, explored my thoughts, meditated, and shed a few tears. And I breathed a few prayers of gratitude for all the hucha clearing I’d done before coming to Peru. Then I did a little more hucha clearing.

And then I went exploring again. I’d heard that there was a temple in Chucuito and I set off on foot to find it. It had been referred to both as a sun temple and as a fertility temple by some fellow travelers, but a merchant in town frowned at the notion that it might be considered a sun temple and insisted that it was only a fertility temple. The merchant pointed me in a direction.

Still, I wasn’t quite sure where it was and stopped, past the plaza and church, at an area that was walled off. An old Peruvian man stood at the locked gate awaiting entrance and a young man—very blonde and very white—came to let him in.

I approached and said, “What is this place.”

The young man, clearly an American, told me that it was a retirement home for the very elderly and that the people staying there were very poor. I asked what had brought him to this small retirement home in this small town in Peru and he told me that he had just completed college and was there doing service work—repairing, building, and fixing things up. He would be leaving in a few days to work elsewhere. We chatted about his work, our homes in America, and the fact that many shamans from around Peru and around the world would be congregating very close to where he was in just a couple of days. He was startled by the news . . . but no more startled than I had been to find him in Chucuito.

He pointed to the temple (Inca Uyo), which I had just passed. I backtracked, paid my two dollars to get in, and was promptly taken in hand by a young girl who looked no more than seven or eight. She was quickly joined by a slightly older boy and the two of them chaperoned me. The phallic looking statues peppering the grounds suggested that it was, indeed, a fertility temple.

Fertility Temple

The tour was quick. Within a couple of minutes, the girl began calling out what sounded like, “Finis! Finis!” and kept repeating a word I did not understand. (Of course, “finis” is Latin for “finished.” She certainly was not speaking Spanish and I had no sense of whether she could have been speaking in Aymara, the local language.) But I wasn’t finished experiencing the site and the boy was more accommodating. He pointed out several things of interest, the girl continuing to call out quite insistently and becoming more and more agitated the longer the tour took.

When she rubbed her thumb against her index and middle fingers and looked at me with disdain, I finally understood that she was not only insisting that the tour was over, but that she wanted money for the quick spin around the grounds. I had been at the temple but a few minutes. The two had chastised me when I suggested I just wander the grounds on my own. My head was spinning from the brush-off. I gave her a dollar. The boy demanded one too, but I’d had enough of the merchant urchins by then and simply turned and walked away.

The fellow travelers who had been to the temple before me had been enchanted by the delightful, loving children who had given them a tour. Their guides were clearly quite poor and equally sweet. But the boy and girl who ushered me were wearing designer duds and seemed to have affection only for making a buck. The boy at least had basic manners, but the girl was both disrespectful and pushy.

Yes, it can be said that the majority of Peruvians are not particularly well off, a condition that has spawned many little entrepreneurs. And, no doubt, some tourists are less than respectful of the Peruvian culture, people, and land. But the chasm between my friends’ experience and mine was a vivid and pointed message that Peruvian children, like people everywhere, are not generalizable.

Days unfold and reveal themselves to us regardless of where we are, but sometimes we are more cognizant of it, on alert for what might transpire. This day had more to reveal. We were taking a side trip to Sillustani—a place known for its UFO activity. The day was already revealing itself as being just a little disconcerting and odd. I wondered what was next. 

Sillustani

Copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall

Arrival

Timing is everything (at least sometimes) and while it might be argued that we arrived in Peru at an unfortunate time, right on the heels of the worst flooding in a dozen years or more, it could also be argued that we arrived precisely at the best of moments. It was, after all, the first part of February. 

What was significant about the timing? Among other things, it was significant because Peruvians celebrate the Fiesta de la Virgen de la Candelaria during the first two weeks of February. And nowhere in Peru is this festival a bigger deal than in Puno. And we would be passing through Puno on our way to Chucuito, where we would be staying at the Taypikala Hotel. 

You see, the Virgin de la Candelaria is the patron saint of Puno and Puno is the folkoloric center of Peru. In other words, if one wanted a quick emersion (akin to jumping into the Boulder Reservoir on January 1) into Peruvian culture, being dropped into the center of Puno during the first part of February would do it. 

And that is exactly what happened. We were collected at the Juliaca Airport by one of Jorge Luis Delgado’s guides, who decided it would be a great thing for us to experience the festival first-hand. Forget jet lag, long layovers, and sleep deprivation. How could we forego such an opportunity? In fact, none of us wanted to forego it. We really had no idea what we were signing up for, but our guide promised to get Jorge Luis’ permission to make an unscheduled stop in Puno to see the parade. One cell phone call later, permission had been granted and another cell phone call forged the plan. 

We were cautioned to be careful. Pickpockets abounded during the festival and foreigners were easy prey. Our guide had spoken to a friend of his who just happened to live in Puno on the parade route. So the plan was for us to leave the bus under the care of our driver and go as a group to the home of our patron. Once there, we would pass through his house, entering through a back door and exiting through a front door—and right out onto the street where the parade was already in full swing. 

But what in the world was this festival about? The festival is a lovely melding of native and Catholic tradition, honoring both Mary and Pachamama. It is held during the first two weeks of February and there are celebrations on a daily basis during this time. The festival includes religious ceremonies, dancing contests, parades, and feasts. 

There are at least a couple of legends that place the Virgin on the shores of Lake Titicaca. She is known as the Virgin of Candelaria or Mamacha Candelaria and became the patroness of Puno where, historically, it is said that she saved the city when it was under siege by Tupac Amaru II in 1781. Puno was controlled by the Spanish at the time. The people of Puno decided to take a statue of the Virgin Mary (the Spanish had brought their religion with them) on a procession through the city’s streets, complete with candles and musicians, probably as a way of beseeching her for help in the matter.Tupac’s warriors left and the reason for their leaving is a bit obscure. The Virgin may have done the job for the people of Puno. In any event, the city seems to have been celebrating on a yearly basis ever since. 

Thousands of dancers and musicians parade through the city during this celebration and we were to be witnesses to it. Once in Puno, we filed down the street like a group of kindergarteners on a field trip. We were greeted by our host at his door and led through the house. And when we passed through the front door . . . we entered another world. 

The street was packed with people, some sitting in lawn chairs, others standing hunched together, and still others just sitting on the pavement. We had been told we could wander down the street for a block or so if we wanted, but most of us were too stunned by the spectacle to do anything other than stay pretty much where we were. Anyone armed with a camera pulled it out and began snapping pictures with approximately the same glee as the dancers and musicians in the procession were displaying. 

And there was plenty to photograph. My own camera was in my carry-on, buried under other luggage on the bus. I knew I’d never get to it, so I resigned myself to seeing the procession without photographing it. It might have been the better way to go because it was in-your-face palpably present. Mardi Gras in the US has nothing on Candelaria! The dancers and musicians had vibrantly colored costumes that in any other context would be thought of as garish. 

The older women—the grandmothers—danced through the procession with grace and enough vigor to tip us all off to the fact that this is not a country of slackers. These people are fit—even those who are carrying both age and pounds. They swung their skirts back and forth as they moved in a display that was both feminine enticement and feminine power. They swung their colorful fringed shawls along with their skirts and somehow managed to keep their traditional bowler hats on their heads. The young women wore mini-dresses and boots with thick platform soles that were reminiscent of the 1970s (or Adam Lambert). The musicians were a riot of color and sound. Among the dancers were those in Diablada (devil) costumes and they were gruesomely riveting. These were offset by dancers in stylized armor, the two groups symbolizing the battle between the Archangel Michael and the devil’s army. 

It is customary for the dancers to have buckets of water thrown at them (ostensibly to cool them off) and the old custom has been enhanced or added to with the practice of foam fights. That is, some parade watchers lurk with cans of foam and splash parade participants and other observers alike in good natured play. 

We had but thirty minutes to enjoy the festivities. It was enough. The parade had been in full swing by the time we arrived and was winding down by the time thirty minutes had passed.  We piled back onto the bus, made our way through the Puno revelers, and drove for a time along the shores of Lake Titicaca. It was dark by then, so the lake was but a dark presence. 

Once at the hotel, we received our room assignments and dragged our weary bodies to them. I was surprised when I opened the door to my room. While I’d had no expectation about the accommodations, I suppose I had been thinking along the lines of a budget motel in the U.S., which is how rooms outside the U.S. often struck me. Instead, I found a room that was beautifully appointed. I walked over to the window, looked out, and gasped, “Holy >#*!!” I was looking down onto a beautiful garden courtyard, well lit by soft lights. There were flowers everywhere, a foot bridge, wrought iron tables and chairs . . . and the roof of the wing across from me was planted as a flower garden. Beyond that, I could just make out the lake. 

View from my window at the Taypikala Hotel in Chucuito

I hadn’t just come home—I was in heaven.

copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall

Liftoff

Sometimes things change in an instant. My trip to Peru didn’t exactly change in an instant, but it changed almost overnight. In late January, 2010, flooding and mudslides in Peru made Machu Picchu inaccessible. People lost their homes. Some died. Tourists had to be rescued by helicopter. Fortunately, Machu Picchu itself was not lost, but it would be lost to tourism for weeks or months to come. In fact, the entire Sacred Valley had endured flooding and some areas near Lake Titicaca had been flooded, too

My side trip to Machu Picchu was washed away in the floods. Visiting the Sacred Valley was in question. For a few days I was not sure that the trip would happen at all. Fortunately, while the trip schedule had to morph a bit, the trip was still on. Instead of visiting Machu Picchu, we would be going to what many believed to be the most important archeological site in the Americas: Tiwanaku, in Bolivia.

Now this was truly interesting. A couple of years earlier, I had been sitting meditation one morning when I received the very clear message that I would be going to Bolivia one day. I wasn’t even quite sure where in South America Bolivia was. I was skeptical. (Yes, I admit it. I sometimes question what comes in meditation, even though it is right on, more often than not.) Bolivia? What in the world would bring me to Bolivia? And now, two years later, it seemed I would be going to Bolivia on a side trip.

Part of the Denver contingent gathered at DIA on February 7. The first leg of the trip for us was Denver to Miami. Then Miami to Lima and Lima to Juliaca. From Juliaca, we would take a bus to Puno and on to Jorge’s hotel, the Taypikala Hotel, which was on the shores of Lake Titicaca, in the little village of Chucuito.

I suspected that my flight from Denver to Miami was going to be a good one when the man already seated next to my assigned seat on the airplane greeted me even before I sat down and offered to help me stash my carryon. He had a huge smile and emanated peace. I quickly learned that his name was Shane Senevirante, he had been born in Sri Lanka, and he was the owner of an open wheel (Indie style) race car team called Team Stargate Worlds. Yep, the same folks connected with the television series and movie sponsored his team. He was heading to Miami to meet up with one of his drivers, Simone De Silvestro.

Shane and I chatted the entire flight. We talked about open wheel car racing, shamanism, family, Peru, Sri Lanka, and leadership. That conversation with Shane gave me hope. Here was a young team owner in the highly competitive field of car racing speaking about the importance of maintaining harmony within his team. He genuinely cared about his team members and their overall well being. He had a firm grasp on business necessity, but he also had a firm understanding of the importance of maintaining internal peace. And he cared deeply about his family.

If someone had suggested that enlightened leadership could be found in the race car industry, I would have seriously doubted the veracity of the comment and the sanity of the speaker. Yet there I was, impressed by the wisdom and commitment to principles coming from a young race team owner. I had dropped out of corporate America more than a decade earlier because of unenlightened leadership and greed. This young man was making me rethink my position on business. I planned to keep an eye on him and his team.

The layover in Miami was many hours. It might have been exhausting, but wasn’t because our group bonded during those hours. We had come together for a purpose: to join with others to activate the Solar Disc. It was a service trip for all of us and joining together in service, in and of itself, helped forge that bond. But we also had so much time to wait at the less than inspiring Miami International Airport that we were able to share stories about ourselves and our lives, buy a group gift for Jorge and another for one of his guides, and otherwise gel as team. The layover was enlivening instead of exhausting.

The layover in Lima was also long and we were just a little rumpled around the edges at that point. But the flight to Juliaca was awe inspiring. The Peruvian Andes were blanketed in green—and not just any shade of green, but a vibrant mixture of forest green, Kelly green, and spring green that was surely the essence of what God meant by the word “life,” and could easily be the pictorial stand-in for the word.

The Juliaca airport was a diminutive tarmac break among all that green, like a nest tucked into the terraced hills. I found myself grateful for the pilot who had managed the landing. At the luggage carousel—and there was only one, so it was easy to find—a smiling little band of locals greeted us with pan flutes and guitars. Their cheerful traditional Peruvian music created an immediate sense of celebration, but my reaction was that of having all the wind sucked right out of me. Tears sprang to my eyes.

I felt as if I had come home . . . after a long absence.  

Copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall

The Preparations

What requires serious preparation but no expectations? It could be a kōan, couldn’t it? Once I had accepted the invitation to take part in the Solar Disc activation ceremony at Lake Titicaca in Peru, I knew that I would need to prepare for the trip and I also knew that it was foolish to have expectations about what would happen on the trip. 

How did I plan to prepare? There would be physical preparations. We would be staying near Puno, Peru at an elevation of close to 12,500 ft. and would be a thousand feet higher than that when we activated the Solar Disc on Amantani Island. I lived in Colorado and had climbed fourteeners—what we Coloradans affectionately call our fourteen thousand foot mountains. I had serious respect for elevation. I knew I needed to be in shape for the trip. Fortunately, I already did a bit of cardio and lifted weights at the gym. I was clear that I needed to continue that regimen. 

Near the Aramu Muru Doorway

As important, there would be mental, emotional, and spiritual preparations. I knew, instinctively, that anyone called to participate in this important ceremony would likely have the challenge of their unintegrated “stuff” coming up while at the gathering. I would be no exception. Had I done shadow work? Had I explored my weaknesses and what pushed my buttons? Had I worked on my interior landscape and exterior expression? Yes. Repeatedly. In fact, as an ongoing part of my life for many years. But I wasn’t foolish enough to think that I had no toxins eating away at my internal environment and I continued to be as tenacious as Erin Brockovich on PG&E when it came to my own internal clearing. Well, okay, maybe I cut myself a little more slack that Erin did PG&E. But I still tripped on my own ego often enough to know that I could use a little more grace and balance on the inside. 

In short, not only was I no Ascended Master (the obvious proof being that I was enfleshed in a human body), but any poll of my friends would reveal remarkably consistent reports of my displaying at least half of the Seven Deadly Sins over the course of our relationship. If I was to stay in service and not spiral down into my own undigested stuff, I needed to attend to my mental, emotional, and spiritual health over the next six months or so. 

Yes, I committed to the trip more than six months before the event. I was that sure I needed to be there. And I was grateful to have the time to prepare. So I continued my cardio and weight resistance training, got enough sleep, mostly ate well, meditated, did various forms of clearing (including hucha clearing), challenged my thinking, and caught myself when my emotions were dredging up something important from the past. Lest you envision me living the life of a monk or, worse, being in some New Age, self-deluded fantasy that I was on the fast track to nirvana, I assure you neither was the case. I meditated except when I didn’t and when I did meditate, it was for thirty minutes if I was lucky, not three hours. When I caught myself spiraling down into dysfunctional thinking or emotions, it was, as often as not, after I had already been rolling around in that muck for at least a little while or, worse, after I’d already made an ass out of myself. I was just a pilgrim going down the road. 

But I was a pilgrim going down the road (still am) and was (am) nothing if not persistent. So I stuck with it. 

In early January, I was pulled, as if by the force of gravity, to work with the Weather Spirits. I didn’t just commune with the essences of Cold, Rain, and Wind, I communed with the Grandfather Cold who was wrapping my own home in sub-zero temperatures right then, the Brother Rain impacting parts of the country as I connected with him in meditation, and the Grandmother Wind who rattled my windows or ripped apart some distant landscape in that moment. Communing with the Weather Spirits was as natural for me as having a heartfelt discussion with anyone in human form.

And why not? I had been fascinated with the weather my entire life. Perhaps it was because my mother had grown up on a farm. Farmers study the weather like stockbrokers study tickertape. Perhaps it was also because the natural world had been, for my father, the equivalent of a cathedral. An appreciation for the weather was in my DNA. And I grew to understand the Weather Spirits profoundly during these meditations with them. I came to understand that while it is foolhardy to think we can control or manipulate the weather (either through scientific means or metaphysical ones), it is wise to approach the Weather Spirits with respect and a genuine desire for understanding. I came to love them all.    

I was not only drawn to the weather, I was pulled to the Forces of Nature, in general. I spoke with Pachamama. I met with the Apu of Longs Peak (who came to me in a beautiful feminine form), and I sought to understand the primal power of Earthquake. I had no idea why I was suddenly compelled to commune with the Weather Spirits and Forces of Nature, but when the Haiti earthquake hit in January, followed by the catastrophic flooding of Peru, my work with nature seemed to make sense as just part of my preparation for the trip. 

We had been scheduled to make a side trip to Machu Picchu and the Sacred Valley. Those plans were washed away in the floods. I was happy to have harbored no real expectations about the trip. And I continued to prepare.

Copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall

The Invitation

When the invitation came to participate in the Solar Disc activation, I felt an immediate pull to accepting it. I had no idea where the money to go to Peru would come from, how I could manage to leave a husband undergoing cancer treatment, or why I would even consider leaving my business for a couple of weeks. But I knew I needed to go, whether or not I could make sense out of it in any rational way. 

My friend Lisa had met Jorge Luis Delgado in Peru three years earlier and the invitation had come to her, along with permission to invite like minded others. It was to be a service trip—a trip in which a reduced rate for room, board, and services would be offered in exchange for the active participation in the process of activating the Solar Disc, believed to be in Lake Titicaca. This would involve several days of ceremony, culminating in the Solar Disc activation ceremony and a ceremony to unite the divine masculine and divine feminine. 

Despacho ceremony in Peru. Jorge on the right.

This was to be an important event. The timing of it had been considered with great care. It would be a gathering of shamans, elders, and others, all lending energy to the Solar Disc activation. The optimal time to do this had been determined to be February 14, 2010—which was also Valentine’s Day, Chinese New Year, and the day of the new moon (as calculated by Universal Time).

In Incan cosmology, we were in the process of completing five hundred years of “dark” cycle and were about to enter a new cycle of five hundred years of “light,” which would be fully ushered in December of 2012. We were at that powerful moment before the sun rose—a moment when our combined focused intent could move to do good in the world.

From Jorge Luis’ perspective, we were at the threshold of the New Pachacuti, the return of the light. A new vibratory frequency was infusing the planet, carrying with it the opportunity to expand consciousness, reawaken our spiritual nature within, and reconnect with Mother Earth. But we would all need help in integrating this energy. The reactivation of the Solar Disc would help the planet and all of her inhabitants.

But what exactly was the Solar Disc? I was being pulled, as if by gravity, to participate in its reactivation without knowing what it was.  

In my research, I learned that there are numerous versions of the Solar Disc legend. Many believe that the Solar Disc was brought to the Incans by the Lemurians. Some say that the disc was not made of ordinary gold, but of a special “transmuted” gold that was almost translucent. Historians believe that what is referred to as the Solar Disc hung in the Temple of the Sun (Coricancha) in Cusco and that it was removed from there and brought to Lake Titicaca to protect it when the conquistadors invaded Peru. Lord Aramu Muru (one of the Masters of the Brotherhood of the Seven Rays) had been linked to the Solar Disc and more than one version of the legend suggests that it was he who brought it to Cusco and then to Lake Titicaca.

The Solar Disc had been referred to as a healing instrument and a cosmic computer. It was  thought to have the power to open the human heart–to activate the internal sun–and it was this purpose that seemed to me to be connected to the gathering being called at Lake Titicaca. 

I found myself having images of being at Lake Titicaca five hundred years earlier, being among those who had accompanied the Solar Disc to the lake and, as odd as I knew it would seem to others, I felt that what I was seeing were images of myself at another time, in another life. I believed that I had made an agreement, with many others, to return at some future appointed hour to reactivate the Solar Disc.

And this was the time. And Lake Titicaca was the place. And Jorge Luis Delgado was the shaman calling us home.

I accepted the invitation.

Copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall

Sami and the Expansion of Consciousness

“If we do not awaken love, we are losing time.” 

That simple but powerful statement from Peruvian chacaruna Jorge Luis Delgado says everything that needs to be said. During this powerful period of time during which we are at the cusp of transition from the dark cycle to the light cycle, nothing is more practical or useful than awakening and expanding love. 

Of course, for us ordinary mortals who have forgotten our ultimate immortality, that may be easier said than done in any way that is more than superficial or simply sentimental. So how do we lighten our energy bodies? How do we invite in more love and expand consciousness? How do we ordinary mortals become extraordinary? 

“We become extraordinary through practicing love (munay), service (llancay) and wisdom (yachay),” says Jorge Luis. “We expand in this way and the expansion is limitless.” Lest we think this is difficult to do, don Jorge also points out that, “It is easier to love and expand than to resist it and suffer.” 

But most of us have a great deal to forgive and heal within ourselves and no small part of that healing needs to be the healing of the internal masculine and feminine. As expressions of the love between father (literal, as well as Father Sun) and mother (again, literal, as well as Mother Earth), Jorge suggests that we are here to expand that expression of love. 

In the Jungian language of alchemy, the marriage of the divine masculine and divine feminine within is referred to as coniunctio. It represents the reconciliation and unification of opposites. It is the joining of heaven and earth, the connection between yin and yang, the transmutation of base metal (which might be thought of as human with hucha) to gold (human as pure Inner Sun) into the Philosopher’s Stone. Most of us will admit that we have a great way to go before we are there. 

Jorge suggests that one place to begin is to look at how we talk to ourselves. Most of us have created stories to punish ourselves and cause ourselves suffering. We do not simply choose to punish ourselves, but life in human form can be difficult and no one I know could be said to have had an easy childhood. We all have internal debris. This is the stuff of the ego that we push down into our shadow selves, the base metal created from childhood on that is eating our energy for lunch. 

As I spoke of in my book, Living the Dream—A Guidebook for Job Seekers and Career Explorers, it serves us well to catch ourselves in the act of talking trash to ourselves internally. “I’m fat.” “I’ll never get anywhere in life.” “I’m really not as smart as those people.” Much of this internal self-abuse goes unnoticed because it is like background noise. But you are talking trash to yourself whenever you criticize yourself for mistakes you made long ago but that are still haunting you, every time you harangue yourself for not being perfect, ever time you question your essential worthiness; and every time you even hint to yourself that your essential nature is not one of pure love. 

I suggest catching yourself in the act of talking trash to yourself and make a new choice about what you are going to say. Keep making that new choice every time you catch yourself in the act. 

As a part of this process of healing ourselves, Jorge recommends changing our attitude about life by connecting with our Inner Sun, the sacred place within. Most of us spend a lot of time in our heads and Jorge suggests going to the solar plexus for answers. (Here I believe he is referring to the puka chunpi, one of the four belts of energy that wrap around our body. This belt of energy is said to be around the area of the sacrum and solar plexus. Its “eye” is the qosqo, located just below the navel, which is considered to be the primary energy center. It seems to be roughly equivalent to what others refer to as the dan tien or chi.) He also suggests that we use our bodies to sense the energy of places, including portals, vortices, and ley lines.

As a shaman, I see this as very sound advice. Expanding consciousness has to do with being in touch with the interconnectedness of everything around us, which, when experienced, brings us to a profound sense of gratitude and love. And being in touch with the interconnectedness of everything around us does not happen by being stuck in our heads. Connecting with your body and your own field of energy, then reaching out to sense the energy of the world around you, is a good place to start.

Copyright 2010 by Melanie Mulhall

Hucha Clearing

The response (both on and off this site) to the simple clearing technique provided in my last post has prompted me to offer a couple of other hucha clearing techniques for those who would like them. 

Regular readers of this blog might recall that I offered a centering and grounding technique in a January, 2009 post. I suggest that you revisit that post and follow the centering/grounding steps before you try these techniques. You really need to be centered and grounded to do them. 

Both of the techniques I’m presenting are adapted from (not precisely the same as) those discussed by Joan Parisi Wilcox in her magnificent book, Masters of the Living Energy. 

Releasing Hucha, Practice 1 

• Get centered and grounded.
• Turn your attention to your energy body, the bubble of energy that both surrounds and is a part of your physical body, called the poq’po (POKE-po) in Quechua.
• Notice any areas of heavy energy. These may seem dark, heavy, muddy, or otherwise less than light and clear.
• Imagine your accumulated hucha traveling downward through your energy body and out, through either your feet or your root chakra, and into Mother Earth (Pachamama), knowing that she can use this heavy energy as “food” and will transmute it into light energy (sami).
• As you release hucha to Pachamama, open your crown chakra and allow a beautiful flow of sami to flow into you from Source.
• Thank Mother Earth and Source for their assistance and return to your centering/grounding awareness when you are ready to end the session. Then gently return your awareness to your everyday life. 

Releasing Hucha, Practice 2 

Note: You may find this second practice to be noticeably more profound than the first one.

• Get centered and grounded.
• Turn your attention to your energy body, the bubble of energy that both surrounds and is a part of your physical body, called the poq’po (POKE-po) in Quechua. As before, notice any areas of heavy energy.
• This time, send the heavy energy to the area of your energy body that is roughly two inches below your navel, sometimes referred to as the dan tien or chi in Eastern practices and referred to as the qosqo (KOS-ko) in Quechua. The qosqo is considered the primary energy center of the body by many energy workers.
• Ask your qosqo to “digest” the heavy energy (hucha), extracting sami from it as it does so, sending the hucha down to Mother Earth and sending the sami up through your energy body to your crown chakra.
• Notice the double flow of energy—hucha traveling down and out; sami traveling up through the body—both flows happening simultaneously.
• Thank Mother Earth and Source for their assistance and return to your centering/grounding awareness when you are ready to end the session. Then gently return your awareness to your everyday life. 

These are powerful clearing techniques that will help you clear hucha and enhance the flow of sami on an ongoing basis. I have been practicing and teaching techniques very similar to these for many years, but without the framework of Incan cosmology. It is always fascinating to me to note just how similar practices around the world are. Shamans (and others) throughout the world seem to tap into the same stream of higher understanding.

 As promised, I will talk more about sami in my next post.

 I would love to hear your experiences as you practices these techniques.

©2010 by Melanie Mulhall