Worldviews: Peru + Machu Picchu

For my roots

"In the summer of 2014, I trekked to Machu Picchu through the Salkantay Trail, the highest of the Vilcabamba Mountain range. For days, death was oddly close to me, and despite my bloody feet, it felt awfully comfortable. I thought I’d die during my pilgrimage there on several occasions, but most prominently was my first meeting with the ancient mountain, itself.

By the time I made it, I could barely remember my own name. Not from any type of memory loss or even altitude sickness, but because I knew, I felt, I had been there before. My ancestors before me were indigenous nomadic peoples from the Andes tribes. While it’s unfortunate that colonization destroyed that part if my history, the triumphant part is here today to share this story.

Machu Picchu was an extraordinarily surreal experience for me. While mesmerized by the heavenly sites, the quality of masonry, and the visitation of clouds, the abundance of tourism confused me and disgusted me altogether. It was never meant for tourists, it was meant for its people and its persistent sacrifices.

I asked for the Shaman upon my arrival and was met by a tour guide who had departed and returned with a gorgeous headdress. He could feel my hurt, my sadness, and reassured me that the times have changed, but that they’re, nevertheless, still there. He could feel my ancestors weeping and offered a traditional prayer for me, one that I feel set me free in various ways.

I later sat at the foot of the mountain, hanging my feet at the cliff’s edge, and without a care in the world. I could hear it calling me. Over, and over again. I was still aware enough to fight the hypnosis its beauty was trying so hard to cast on me… but I just thought to myself, how beautiful would it be to free fall off her? To fall into the arms of Father Sky’s embrace, and Pacha Mama’s bosom. I wanted to, and almost had to. For I knew I would never feel so comfortable and at peace with an end in all my days.

For the next few nights after my safe return home, I would dream of her, once again calling my name. I’d watch, as body by body fell from her highest peak, willingly. It’s how they fed her and kept her so beautiful.