Towards my destiny on the wings of a condor
I was 35 and had two teenage children when I got divorced. A beautiful woman with a pouty mouth and an effervescent personality, there was never a shortage of men who showed interest in me. At that time, my life was full of promise: free from my father's eternal yoke and my husband's destructive criticism, I could finally show the world all the facets of my being and find a tailor-made partner. I lived, traveled, dated, experienced everything I was entitled to, but life went by and the promised future never arrived. In fact, I discovered that, just as it happened to me, it happens to most people: the future never arrives, you're just satisfied with an unfinished life project, designed for another client and delivered by mistake to your door. No chance of return.
What? You're thinking "Where's that effervescent personality you mentioned?", aren't you? Well, I'll tell you, she's here with me, she's never left me. But who cares about the effervescence of a woman over 60? "Elderly? That's your queue over there" , they will say and you're quickly whisked away, because old age is a contagious disease, nobody wants you around. For my bubbles to start showing, I need someone to look at me closely, you know?
That's how I was, at 66, feeling excluded from life party. I spent my time analyzing the various possibilities that arose and the personality of each person who approached me. I used all the knowledge I had acquired over the years to avoid repeating the same mistakes over and over again on the wheel of life. My day-to-day life had acquired a scientific bias, full of methods and hypotheses. So I decided to go on an adventure before it was too late. On an impulse, I bought an excursion to the Andes. However, my pension as a state school teacher wouldn't be enough to pay for such a luxury. So I decided to sell some family jewelry, and with borrowed trekking clothes and a state-of-the-art telescopic staff, I set off for Bolivia and Peru. My trip included a visit to Machu Pichu. Nothing could be more exciting!
We started our journey in La Paz. Then we went to Sucre, Arica and Arequipa, and finally we arrived in Cusco, Peru. The trip was fantastic. Far from being a beautiful setting, all designed to please the tourist, as European and American capitals are, the cities we visited were the product of a very unique and ancient culture, and had grown in a disorderly fashion. They displayed a real beauty. My fellow travelers, all from Rio Grande do Sul and around the same age, had many stories in common. Talking to them was addictive. Dinners with Paceña and Cristal beer were endless. I made good friends in that group.
One day our guide, a long-time acquaintance of mine, asked "Who wants to take part in a shamanic ceremony here in Cusco?". Most of them said "No, thank you". They were afraid of what might happen. They had heard that these ceremonies included the consumption of Ayuhuasca, vomiting and diarrhea. A horror! But I, who was there for whatever came my way, held up my little finger. "I'm not afraid of these things," I said, wiggling in my chair, full of false bravado, like a little chicken.
The next day, after a light supper, we went to the shaman's house on the outskirts of Cusco. His wife opened the door to us very politely and told us to set up in the central part of the house, where all the other rooms converged. It was very simple, but imposing. The walls were covered from ceiling to floor in beautiful paintings of animals. Someone must have been an artist in the family! On the few shelves there were, I noticed many books on shamanism, the power animals, and accounts of the healing effects of this ceremony. There were even some master's theses on the subject. The shaman was a scholar. In a corner, tucked away in a straw basket, was a set of posters with images similar to those painted on the walls that were for sale. Looking closely at the signature of the author of the posters, I discovered that the artist was his son.
The men from the local community who had gathered there when we arrived soon said their ceremonious goodbyes and left. We then sat down on the worn carpet that covered the floorboards and leaned comfortably against the wall. The shaman warned us that "it's best that you don't lie down, as you could end up falling asleep and missing the ceremony". Then he told us about the ritual he was going to perform. He told us that some of us might have unusual experiences, but that we should go through them without fear. Without further details he began the ceremony.
At first the shaman told us to relax and breathe deeply. Next, he asked us to become aware of our whole body, from head to toe, and then to let gravity act on our body, pulling it towards the earth and making our limbs heavy. Finally, he began a chant accompanied by drumbeats to the beat of his heart. This universal rhythm immediately made all of us who were taking part in the ceremony connect as companions on a spiritual journey. Suddenly, all the sounds ceased and our attention turned to a huge feather that he was shaking rapidly, generating a buzzing sound in the air. Zzz Zzz Zzz Zzz. Then my eyes closed under the weight of my eyelids.
When the buzzing finally stopped and my eyes opened again, I was gliding at an altitude of over 4000m! My huge, black wings remained static, without the slightest need to make an effort to maintain their altitude. The wind passing through the grayish feathers on their edges emitted the same hum as before, created by the shaman. A calm, peaceful flight that allowed me to analyze every detail of the terrain before choosing the best route to take. The crystal-clear mountain air allowed me to see for miles. Below me stretched meadows with low bushes and small prey moving here and there. The sun illuminated the feathers on my back, which reflected a metallic sheen. I felt invaded by a pleasant sense of peace and a feeling of protection. I was in my element!
I took a deep breath, filling my whole chest with the cold, pure air of the high altitudes. At that moment, my eyes closed again, and slowly, the buzzing in my feathers ceased, the infinity of sensations that had taken over my senses faded away. The ceremony had come to an end. Gradually, everyone present opened their eyes. Some were visibly stunned. The shaman then began to invite us to tell the others what we had experienced. Most of us didn't have the courage to share our experiences, but those who did told very different stories to the ones I had experienced. I confess that I didn't believe almost anything I heard. When it was my turn, I remained mute. Why share such a beautiful and rewarding experience with people who seemed to have told fanciful stories with the sole aim of impressing the others? That story was mine alone, and no one else's.
As we left, the shaman pulled me aside, his warm, dry hand firmly grasping my arm. With his eyes fixed on mine, he explained that the condor was my power animal, my totem. That it was always by my side, a nature spirit that acted as my personal protector. He also said that this partnership gave me a hidden ferocity that few people could sense. I left there ready to enjoy the protection of my totem and my intuition in choosing the paths I would take in this life. After all, it's never too late to reach your destination.
Voltar