(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