Where to begin?
A dream come true.
First sight, deep heave of never-felt wells bursting.
How did this come to be?
The site set, the steps made, the dream never forgotten
even though life kept getting in the way
the camino luminoso (guerrillas, politico-terrorists of Peru, now defeated) —
money (what are these paper and coin things, shells?) —
the body perfect becoming, slowly, less so with each passing decade (knees, breath itself).
Still — my dream never faded, and at last —
here it is!! — la ciudad de Machu Picchu — the Big Mountain (in Quechua)
straddled in between Machu Picchu Montaña (the Big One) and Juana Picchu (the Little Mountain)
and each and every stone, pebble, spec of shiny dust,
every terrace, every temple, every crystalline setting los InKa made of this place
till the last one of the Great InKas, Pachacutec himself, retreated —
abandoing this sacred site to wandering llamas and big chested farmers,
all of it, still sacred.
Built for devotion, InKa-style, temples to all Nature, in the sixteenth century.
Abandoned when the Conquistadores, los Espanoles crept closer
killing, stealing, demanding their God best of all …
The same story throughout the world
wherever religion replaces Spirit.
Machu Picchu though, was never lost.
The radiance of the InKa Sun, worshipped as well as Rain, the Moon, Mama Coca.
Paccha Mama — the
sacred Mother Earth Herself —
never lost to humanity.
Just protect Herself.
SachaRuna, the people who protect Nature — doing their job, keeping Her alive
in their hearts, in their hearths, in art, in truths never dampened.
Throughout times los InKas always farmed your heights, Machu Picchu.
Tending, Caring for its fertile, water-blessed terraces, until the day
an adventurer “Lost” named Bingham, from Yale in America, claimed you, sacred city,
“Lost, now Found.”
Ahhhh, sacred Machu Picchu, no longer do you reside in misty secret from others.
Protected. Waiting. Keeping the Mystery Sacred within your stones and soil.
Now all the world adores you, too.
And so we should!
Everything, life, the world, the cosmos — is sacred.
Nothing is lost.
Everything — sacred.
A dream, mine and yours, never lost.
Everything — alive and coming to be, in its own time.
Believe, the close-as-breath set stones sigh,
undisturbed by centuries of neglect,
that erosion or forgetfulness could never hide.
Believe, as we do, that once set tightly
whether in a human heart or on an Andean cliff-side —
Dreams come true as surely as the stones sing Inca truth.
Dreams live as you hold them true
I bow to you, sacred site of the ancient Inca.
I bow to my dream held true.
I bow to each and everyone one of us on this whirling blue ball in space.
Madness, this world? Ahh, some claim so. But for me, for the stones, for the sun, wind and rain
blowing through mountains, seas, deserts and cities —
Sacred, all of IT.
Humanity breath-wind, sacred, too.
note: my next posts will be devoted to my experience traveling to Peru, visiting Machu Picchu and surrounding sights in el Valle Sagrado (the Sacred Valley). Many people are curious about how to get to MP, as it is indeed a challenge. And for those of you who don’t want to join a ready-made, easy-does-it group, I can offer suggestions as to how, when and where that you never hear on the net or in the travel books. Check back to LordFlea for more of my thoughts, too, about how visiting a lifelong-held dream place, such as Machu Picchu is for me, has affected me.
With love, your pal LordFlea aka teZa
an item of interest for those who’ve made it this far in my post: I was the artist of this botanical illustration for Harvard U’s study of coca and how it affects humanity (1972). I will talk more about chewing coca, its benefits, and how its part of the indigenous people’s culture of high andean places.