Any remnants of shame and guilt... with their roots sunk deep into my childhood or even past lives... and branches that supported our modern anti-sexual culture. While I had peeled away many layers, tonight I would fervently pray for even more.
On top of my personal issues, I wanted to chant for the healing of our paradigm of separation and domination, the source of so much suffering.
Since realizing the consequences of St. Augustine’s frustrated sexuality, James and I had noted the society-wide effects of the misuse of life energy. As Karl Kraus, early 20th-century satirist quipped, “Sexuality poorly repressed unsettles some families; well repressed, it unsettles the whole world.” Our cultural and religious traditions of “sex as sin” and sensuality as “unnatural perversion” had installed a Gestapo in every person that had a fantasy, touched their genitals, or longed to abandon themselves to sexual ecstasy. The “morality” policeman’s position was so entrenched, it had become largely invisible, so that the anti-pleasure agenda was enforced with brutal efficiency. Hence as the life force (or kundalini) was pushed down, it squirted out in other, insidious ways: as violence, cruelty, hatred, sadism, and masochism. By compartmentalizing our psyches and relegating erotic energy to a repressive Gulag, we came to see each other as separate, thus condemning us to become tense control freaks, projecting our terrors onto others, fighting to feed our compulsive consumerism regardless of the environment, and waging war. It seemed to me that the rapid deterioration of life on Planet Earth was one result of our suppressed sexual natures. It made the evening news on TV a daily theater of the absurd. “Insanity unleashed,” as James aptly called it. Tonight, I brought my distress about my home planet to Shiva. After all, he was well acquainted with the dynamics of destruction.
Chanting began to fill the temple.
Om namah Shivaya... Om namah Shivaya (“I bow to Shiva“)
I joined in, periodically reminding myself to breathe deeply. I wanted to anchor the experience in my body. The group began chanting the 108 names of Shiva.
Aum Shivaya namah (“I bow to the Auspicious One”)
Aum lalatakshaya namah (“I bow to One whose sport is creation”)
Aum Vishnuballabhaya namah
(“I bow to the embodiment of all-pervading Love”)
Aum Shivapriyaya namah (“I bow to the Beloved of Shakti“)
I adjusted my position on the cushion so that my thighs were spread and my pelvic bones rested me squarely on the Earth, breathing in energy through my perineum. This felt so good. I consciously directed the energy up my chakras, as if I were filling a series of ascending pools with warm, swirling water. Shakti flows freely. Shiva gives form through awareness. I let myself flow; I tuned in with my awareness.
Aum ahayebudhnyaya namah
(“I bow to the One who waits for the sleeping kundalini“)
Aum kalakalaya namah
(“I bow to the One who is infinity to infinity itself”)
Aum kathoraya namah (“I bow to the One who causes all growth”)
Aum pashavimocakaya (“I bow to the Releaser of all fetters”)
Feeling my energy flowing, I could not help but smile, and then wondered if anyone would see what I was doing. Some devotees were swaying with the chants, eyes closed. Others mouthed the names fiercely, with devotion. We were now accompanied by music and percussion from a harmonium, vina, drum, and finger cymbals. The room vibrated with sound.
Then three women and a man, all dressed in temple robes, unveiled three Shiva lingas –rounded phallic stones that had been smoothed and polished. The erect statues sat on a low copper table, like a broad, shallow plate, with a spout on one of its edges, and a huge bowl underneath the spout. Also on the table a burnished brass statue of Shiva reclined, looking at the crowd sitting on the floor. Behind the table, on Hanuman’s altar, were lined jars of liquids. One woman lifted a jar. The adoration of the Shiva lingas was about to begin.
The man stood above the table. Then, with care and slow measure, he poured honey over the lingam stone. It became shiny with the honey. We watched and chanted.
When the honey was spent, he began pouring coconut crème over the stone lingam. The women, one on each side of the table, stroked the linga rhythmically.
I thought of James and Daphne. They had a date tonight, and as I settled into my awareness of them, I realized they were in passionate embrace at this moment. (I later verified this to be true). James was Shiva to my Shakti... and to Daphne’s Shakti. Were we all not channels for the flow of Life? Shakti energy flowed through me as a woman, and through all women, and indeed through all beings. Shiva surged through James as a man, and through all men, and indeed through all beings, male and female. When we opened to these energies, we participated in the Dance of Life. We allowed the vitality of the Kosmos to pulse through us, and – depending on its success at overcoming our internal obstacles – to gush out of us, mingling with the life force of others, knowing itself through us, and the connections we made.
The two women brushed their hands along the surface of the broad copper dish, moving the sticky liquids down toward the spout. When the chanting was soft, I could hear splashing in the bowl. The man began pouring milk over the stone lingams. Then, unbidden, all the men I have known – all my lovers – appeared before my mind’s eye, one at a time... as if Venus were savoring again her sweetest fruits. Feeling my long career of love, my body relaxed, bathed in the bliss of sweet memory. Thus Shiva had appeared to me over the course of my life through my men; the Masculine Principle in me had experienced itself through its reflection in others, and vice versa. The One through the Many.
Bolo bolo sabmila bolo om namah Shivaya
(“All together chant, I bow to Shiva“)
Bolo bolo sabmila bolo om namah Shivaya
I turned to imagining James making love to Daphne, to me, to all women. Breathing, I checked into my feelings. Jealousy? No, Daphne was part of the sisterhood of women. Inadequacy? No. I smiled remembering our last lovemaking. Definitely not inadequacy. Insecurity? No, James and I were solid. But a twinge got my attention. My sexual identity, my low libido, the shame I most certainly was taught as a child... I took a deep breath and went deeper. Pain began to bubble up from deep in my gut. Reaching my eyes, it moistened my lashes with tears. The pain I was touching was big; indeed it felt like millions of people carried this same pain – what enormous strength we devoted to holding back the flow of erotic energy, all in the name of... our continued suffering? The anguish that made us lash out at each other and hurt other creatures. A futile anger that gave us a perverse satisfaction in dominating our Earthly habitat, destroying it in the process.
The sword that was thrust into me in some past life still burned inside. I could feel it. I still had more layers of healing to reveal. I did not know then, but in Shiva’s homeland, the archetypal force of destruction and transformation would tear through those layers in me.
On this night of Shiva, I chanted in earnest, praying for deliverance from my pain, from the world’s pain.
Dhun citao namah Shivaya
(“I bow to Shiva who has lit the auspicious fire of knowledge”)
Opening my eyes, I watched the flow of strawberry juice over lingas. Then more coconut crème, which the women stroked into the bowl below.
I reminded myself to breathe, in and out, open and close. Observe my impulses to close in the face of apparent loss, abandonment, need, or jealousy, and then push myself to open to discovery, passion, and more and more love. It was an exercise in holding opposites and expanding past their definitions. Beyond the contradictions lies the jewel of nonduality. Beyond dualities… Oneness.
Breathe in the pain, breathe it out. Breathe in the bliss, breathe it out. Life in its eternal ebb and flow. The intention of Shiva... the joy of Shakti... In doing this dance, I felt myself fully alive. Chi, kundalini, prana, life force – all names of the energy that animates
us. Its movement was Life itself, and tonight I was opening ever more into its delightful flow.
Om jaya Shiva omkara, jaya jaya Shiva omkara
Brahma Vishnu Sadashiva
Brahma Vishnu Sadashiva
Ardhamgi dhara
Om hara hara hara Mahadeva
Shiva!
(“Victory to Shiva! Emanation of Om. Victory, victory to Shiva, emanation of Om. Creator, Nurturer, Eternal Transformer, Creator, Nurturer, Eternal Transformer. Deva, Consort of Shiva. Lord! Lord! Lord! All glory to God!”)
IN THE PALM OF HER HAND
The PeruRail train chugged steadily higher above Cusco, its Spanish colonial plaza sitting already at 3400 meters (11,150 feet) above sea level. Red-tile-roofed houses carpeted the hillsides as the early morning sun chased the mountain chill into the shadows. After negotiating several switchbacks, our Peruvian “little engine that could” rounded the lip of the Cusco Valley and then lurched down into the high Valle Sagrado — the famed Sacred Valley that the Incas called Vilcamayo. Green fields of maize, potatoes, beans, wheat, and quinoa sparkled in the morning sunshine as James and I rode past children herding sheep and llamas, men working in the fields, and women dressed in woven reds and browns carrying bundles on their heads or babies on their backs. Beyond our view lay the ruins of Incan temples, citadels, walls, and palaces.
We had made it. James and I were on our pilgrimage to Pachamama. And like any good pilgrimage, we felt like we were on a trip from the moment we set the intention.
When I first announced my dream of us traveling to South America, James responded with reason. “Isn’t Pachamama Mother Earth? You can make a pilgrimage to Her out in our front yard!”
Looking out the window at the snow-clad yucca cactus and sagebrush, I dove into explanations. “No, James, I mean let’s go find out how the people of the Andes interpreted the Earth Mother archetype... and the Sun Father, too, for that matter. They worshipped Inti, the Sun. There are indigenous people there, with a long tradition of honoring the Earth... and they probably still do. Let’s go see!”
“We don’t have the money,” was James’ retort. Logical.
“Listen, James,” I said, “I have frequent flyer miles, so the airfare will be free… And I’ve put away “$1000 from our settlement.”
“A thousand dollars? That’s not much money! Shouldn’t we save that for the trip to India?”
“James, do you remember the story of my last trip to South America? It was 33 years ago! I was a young hippie. Crossing the border from Bolivia into Perú at Lake Titicaca, I got robbed – passport, money, plane tickets, everything. I was one day away from Cusco and Machu Picchu, and I couldn’t go! They robbed me of that, too. Now maybe with you and Venus and Her Lover, the mountain spirits will let me see Machu Picchu.”
James listened and then spoke. “OK you were robbed of that dream back then – I can see how you feel – but Becca, what does Machu Picchu have to do with Venus and Her Lover? Pachamama is only one piece in our book!”
To his logic and reason, I responded, “We’re in the Americas now, and it turns out that we’re in the Earth element stage of our journey. And who knows that element better than the tribal paradigm? I think Venus and Her Lover should deal with the Indians’ kosmic view – the Native American, the Andean, and the Mayan.”
“Mayan?” he asked. “Aren’t they – ?”
“In Mexico? Yeah. I think we should go to Yucatán, too!”
Our conversation concluded with James recognizing the very strong pull I was feeling. So I set about planning our trip to Perú and México for the spring.
I made plane reservations, but beyond that I did not do much. I thought it would be good to work with an Andean shaman, but all my calls and emails in that direction yielded nothing. Instead, I sat daily at my altar, invoking Pachamama and the spirits of the Andes Mountains and Yucatán Peninsula. I studied their indigenous spiritual traditions and mythologies.
A month before our departure, James announced he did not feel he could make the trip. Between two days each way of grueling airplane travel and high-altitude Cusco’s steep streets, James felt his knees would not hold up.
“This trip is mainly for you anyway,” he said. “Do you feel OK going alone?”
I did, though I much preferred we go together. I did not call the airlines right away, however, and when I did, after a long wrangle trying to make changes on very rigid free tickets, the line was abruptly disconnected before I could tell the reservations agent what to do.
When James came home that night, I told him what had happened. A smile crept across his face. “So you never canceled me when I told you to weeks ago?” I shook my head. He went on. “You know what? I’m going! I feel better now. And you need your charioteer to deliver you safely. Let’s go to Machu Picchu!”
The road up to Machu Picchu winds through jungle. The area is called “the eyebrow of the Amazon basin.” Looking out the bus window, James commented, “Look at those red-colored orchids, and the yellow daisies. Red for Mars, yellow for Venus!”
I grinned at my man. Only he would see it that way... and if he could have reached out the window and plucked me one of those daisies, he would have.
As the bus reached the top, James told me, “I hope you get what you came here for.”
I nodded at him, but then had the alarming thought, I wonder what that is... We’ve traveled all this way, and what if I don’t actually discover anything to write about? What if Pachamama is silent?
The old Inca city, estimated to have had 1000 inhabitants, perches atop a sloping saddle of a mountain, covered with plazas, temples, houses, fountains, and agricultural terraces. Well-planned and exquisitely executed, the city is an everlasting tribute to the intelligence of its builders. James and I marveled at the multiple cuts and angles they made on the stones so they would fit tightly together and be resistant to earth tremors. All the buildings were made of 25-million-year-old grayish-white granite, high in quartz, silica, mica, and feldspar. Some blocks were immense, weighing tons, which to me called into question the theories that had these natives pushing stones on log rollers and carving them with brass or copper tools. No... Instead, my mind wandered to the mythological.
The Creation Myth
When the Incas established their empire, Tahuantinsuyu (“the four united quarters”), they fused the mythologies of the peoples they conquered into one Incan mythology that justified the head Inca ruler as the “son of the Sun (Inti).” This mythology was first written down by conquering Spaniards, who may have infused Christian elements into the stories. According to the creation myth that has been passed down, Viracocha, whose name means “sea foam” (hmmm, just like Aphrodite!), emerged from Lake Titicaca. The spirit of the lake/sea is known as Mamacocha, “the Mother of the Waters.” Viracocha, a male deity, was light-skinned and bearded. This creator god made a race of giants out of stone, but they soon disobeyed him, so he turned them back into stone and sent a flood to wash the Earth clean. Some of these stone giants still stand at Tiwanaku (Tiahuanaco), near Lake Titicaca. Only two humans survived, a man and a woman, who remained at Lake Titicaca. Starting over, Viracocha fashioned the second race of humans out of clay. He painted their clothes on them, each group having its own style, language, customs, songs, and foods. He then stashed the groups of humans into different underground places throughout Tahuantinsuyu.
Looking to the Island of the Sun in Lake Titicaca, he summoned forth the sun (Inti), the moon (Mama Quilla), and the stars, and cast them into the sky, making a particular connection with the Pleiades. Next he created the plants and creatures to populate the Earth. Viracocha then asked his two sons to help him travel the four directions from Lake Titicaca, and wherever they passed, they used their creative powers to beckon the original ancestors out of the caves, springs, and mountains where they had been waiting. With the world properly populated with living beings
, the Viracochas walked out upon the Pacific Ocean where they disappeared.
Inti, the sun god, sent his son Manco Capac to Earth to be king. All subsequent rulers claimed to be Manco Capac’s descendants, and the Incas considered themselves “the children of the Sun.” Gold was artistically worked into masks, jewelry, and wall decoration in adoration of the Sun’s power and connection to the Incan people.
Jessie Ayani, in The Lineage of the Codes of Light, recounts a different creation story. Around 10,000 BCE, the continents of Lemuria and Atlantis were destroyed by cataclysms, and survivors – or perhaps those who saw it coming – escaped to safer ground. Thus the Viracochas arrived at Lake Titicaca; lighter skinned and possessing advanced technological knowledge, they were considered the “Shining Ones” by the darker-skinned natives who lived there. Viracocha and Mamacocha – sister and brother, husband and wife – taught the people the arts of civilization. Viracocha bred the vicuña into the larger alpaca to domesticate. Mamacocha taught women how to spin thread, make cloth, and weave sacred symbols into their clothes and bags. Together they introduced new plants, irrigation, and terracing to establish agriculture. Using the power of sound waves, Viracocha showed how to move huge stones and fit them into strong buildings. The divine pair also established a spiritual practice based on gratitude to the natural elements.
When their work was done, they walked into the lake, where they ascended back to the Pleiades, which they claimed was their original starry home.
Additionally, from the research of Zechariah Sitchen and subsequent investigations, emerges a peculiar yet intriguing storyline about early South America. According to Sitchen’s interpretation of ancient Sumerian tablets, the extraterrestrial Anunnaki had colonized Planet Earth and established mining and agricultural operations in the Middle East and Africa, lording over their human workers. After the Deluge (the Great Flood) and because of infighting among the Anunnaki “gods,” new mining/processing operations for gold, tin, and bronze were opened at Lake Titicaca.
Venus and Her Lover Page 20
