Peru travel - Robert Scheer's Blog

Pisac, Earth Mother Temple in Peru’s Sacred Valley

I would love to go back to Peru, but on my next trip I wouldn’t necessarily return to Machu Picchu. The places that impressed me more than the “legendary lost city of the Incas” were actually much easier to get to. Ollantaytambo, Qenko and Sacsayhuaman are literally within walking distance of Cusco (although it’s easier to take the bus) and Pisac is less than twenty miles away. Ollantaytambo, Qenko and Sacsayhuaman are profoundly powerful places I hope to tell you about some another time, but Pisac, in the Sacred Valley of the Urubamba, is unquestionably the most moving sacred place I’ve ever experienced.

My wife Mary and I were part of a group of ten touring the “Sacred Mysteries of Peru” for two weeks this past June. On the morning of our fourth day in Peru, as our private bus headed out of Cusco and into the countryside, the Cusqueñian guide pointed out the various crops growing in the fields; qiñoa, barley and several varieties of corn and potatoes. Some people were carrying armloads or bicycle baskets filled with long green leaves. We were told these were to feed the cuy or Peruvian guinea pigs, which many locals keep — not as pets, but to roast and eat on special occasions!

Pisac is the name of both the ancient Inca mountain-top “sky city” and the village below, on the northern bank of the Urubamba river. A market is set up in the village on Tuesday, Thursday and Sunday mornings. When we arrived a little before Noon on a Tuesday, we saw dozens of stalls with merchants selling blankets, ponchos, brass windchimes, ceramic bowls and other souvenirs. Some merchandise was laid out on rough tables, with more under blue plastic tarpaulin canopies. Fruit vendors sold oranges and melons from blankets spread on the ground. Around a corner and up a narrow street I discovered a bakery, a simple open-air space with a wood-fired adobe oven. There was a cuy squeaking cheerfully in a little pen nearby. A smiling woman in her early 30s was selling cheese-and-onion-filled empañadas. I bought four for two soles (less than $1.00), gave away one and felt very comfortably stuffed after wolfing down the other three, still hot from the oven.

I was eager to see Pisac, so the wait for all my travelling companions to come back to the bus was a bit frustrating. To pass the time I bought an ocharina for one sol from a little boy, about ten years old, with jet-black hair and dusty bare feet. The small whistles, made of terra cotta and painted with llama, condor and geometric Inca patterns, are ubiquitous souvenirs in Peru. I put my fingers over the holes, blew, and — to everyone’s amazement including myself — started playing the first several notes of El Condor Pasa! Eventually all ten of us, arms laden with shopping, were back on board, and our little bus began winding its way up the 1,800 foot climb to the other Pisac.

The Inca citadel at Pisac is one of Peru’s most under-rated treasures. Its similarities to Machu Picchu are remarkable. The sanctuary is on top of a high hill, surrounded by even higher ones. A complex series of terraces surround a main temple at the top. Buildings made of large rectangular blocks of stone, which once had thatched roofs, are now open to the sky. During our half-day visit to Pisac we saw few other tourists. We essentially had the place to ourselves.

Connecting With Pachamama

The air was crisp and the sunlight dazzling as we gathered in a courtyard at the entrance to the temple. With Inca stone walls, a thatched roof and a spectacular view across the Urubamba valley, the setting was inspirational for our ceremony. Andrea, our tour leader, held up a large condor feather she was given by a friend who had found it at Machu Picchu. In Inca spirituality there were three realms: the upper world or heaven, symbolized by the condor; the inner world, represented by the serpent; and Earth, the middle world, whose emblem is the puma. With Inti, the sun, warming us in the cool breeze, Andrea reminded us that the Earth Spirit is feminine. We know her as Mother Earth, but in Quechua, the language of the Inca people, she is called Pachamama. Our ceremony would help us connect more fully with her powerful feminine energies.

Mark, Andrea’s partner, said a short prayer, invoking the spirits and asking them to bless our respectful visit to this sacred place. One at a time we stepped into the circle where Andrea whisked the condor feather around our chakras. Then those of us around the perimeter directed our energy toward our brother or sister in the center. When my turn came, I decided to do the “Planetary Acupuncture” technique I had learned from Martin Gray. As I first inhaled, I imagined I was taking in love and energy from the heavens into my heart. Then, as I first exhaled, I sent that love and energy from my heart down into the Earth. With my next breath, I took energy from the Earth into my heart and sent it up to the heavens. My third breath took into my heart the love and energy from both heaven and Earth and sent it out those around me.

Mark had told us that seven was a sacred number, and that many powerful ceremonies involve making seven sounds or breathing in and out seven times. Having done three breaths, I decided I would remain in the circle for four more. As I inhaled I imagined I was receiving the energy from my wife and the eight other friends who surrounded me, taking it into my heart and giving it back as I exhaled. Andrea had suggested we might request a blessing, so I asked the spirits for the ability to see. When I finished my seven breaths and was ready to go back to my place around the circle, I opened my eyes and saw a Peruvian hawk in the sky immediately in front of me. The large black and white bird flew above my head and disappeared in the direction we later would walk, toward the main temple. I wept with joy, knowing this sign was meant for me.

After the ceremony, we walked in silence along a narrow, gently hilly path for ten or fifteen minutes, stopping where Inca stone steps led down the edge of a steep hill. Across the gorge was a honeycomb of tombs, barely visible as shadows on the far hillside. We learned that these tombs had been ransacked long ago. I wondered what secrets were buried with the people who had lived in this amazing place before it was invaded and looted four and a half centuries ago. I took the water bottle out of my daypack, held it up in a toast to the ancient tombs and then poured a drink onto the earth before quenching my own thirst.

The walking became more difficult, but there were spectacular views of terraces used by the Incas to grow crops on the steep hillsides. Andrea told us we would soon be coming to the main portal, a stone doorway beyond which only priests and the Inka royal family were once allowed to pass. She suggested that we should go through thoughtfully, and with deep respect for the sacred space we were entering. When I arrived at the portal, I marveled at how the huge stones were precisely cut and fitted together, especially considering that the Incas didn’t have metal tools. I grasped the huge stones flanking the doorway and silently pledged to be respectful. I felt honored to be able to enter a space once reserved for ancient nobility. Just as I stepped through to the other side, I saw the hawk again in the sky a short distance ahead. The spirits were still with me.

The route we followed was steep and narrow. Far below the Urubamba river cut between tall, brown hills. At one point the stone-lined pathway passed through a tunnel. Finally, at a bend in the trail, I could see the main temple stretching out below. It reminded me very much of pictures I’d seen of Machu Picchu — roofless stone buildings on a triangular, terraced plateau surrounded by mountains. At the highest point of the plateau an outcropping of bedrock was carved into an Intihuatana, a hitching post of the sun.

The afternoon grew even more windy and the shadows of clouds moves almost continuously across the distant hills. As I waited for the rest of the group to assemble, I saw a small carved stone on the ground in front of the Intihuatana. It was an Inca cross, with three steps, barely two feet high. I was drawn to it, fascinated. This tiny, simple sculpture seemed more profound to me than any of the magnificent nearby structures that dwarfed it.

When we were all ready, we wanted to perform our final ceremony around the Intihuatana, but ropes were strung in front of a doorway. We weren’t supposed to go into the room, so we arranged ourselves on top of the walls, as close as we could get to the most sacred stone. Mark showed us how to fold our hands with our thumbs pressed together and, with thumbs pressed to our lips, say “OHHH” into our hands, and then spread our fingers open and raise the pitch of our sound, broadcasting “AHHH” out to the world. We chanted the name of the sun god, Inti, over and over for several minutes. Then we did seven of the “OH-AHs”. Mark unwrapped a crystal bowl and gently, lovingly rang it as we meditated.

As I sat atop the ancient stone wall, in the clear air of the Sacred Valley, I felt surrounded by enormous forces. It was a feeling similar to what I would later experience at Machu Picchu, a sensation of being at the focal point of a profound, unfathomable system. It was no accident that an elaborate structure had been painstakingly created at this particular place. Even if the stones on the hilltop had not been sculpted into arcane shapes, even if no multi-ton blocks of stone had been stacked up to form walls, this place would still be sacred and powerful. The hills across the valley were all focused onto this spot. In the distance, even higher mountains looked down toward us. The Inca name for a mountain spirit is Apu, and at Pisac I learned the power of the Apus. It was like being nestled in the palm of an enormous hand which could easily crush me, but chose instead to nourish, inspire and love me! It was impossible not to feel how special the place was. I could see, even though I could not rationally understand it, that the Truth was here.

A Message From The Kumaras

When our meditation was over, there was another extraordinary event still to happen. Andrea Mikana-Pinkham is not only a tour leader and Reiki Grand Master, she is also a channel. She receives and transmits messages from unseen beings. She led our group across the courtyard and into a small room, to channel for us. We sat on the earth with our backs against huge Inca stones, and Andrea went into a meditative trance. When she raised her head, the voice with which she spoke was not her own. The voice said it was a representative of the Kumaras, ancient masters and teachers of unconditional love, one of whom we know as Jesus Christ. The Kumaras are from somewhere beyond Earth, and they have been guiding humans for thousands of years. We were told that a major upheaval on our planet will occur within five to ten years, but some of the changes leading up to this upheaval will be visible in two years. The voice of the Kumaras told us that were leaders who should set examples for others when we return home. The energy we gained in the Andes would help us and others deal with the changes which will come.

When we were able to ask questions, I asked for information about the Inca cross sculpture that had so attracted me. The Kumaras said it had been a kind of navigation beacon long ago, and I had been involved here, helping to make contact with visitors from Sirius and Venus. I was advised to touch the stone and align my energy with it. From time to time, we were told, when we visit a particular place and experience unexplained tingles or tears, it is the Kumaras speaking to us. The joy we feel is a sign of remembering a past connection.

A few drops of rain were falling as we made the half-hour walk from Pisac to our bus. The route back was not as steep and rugged as the way we came in. With the sun now behind clouds and the wind whipping through the valley, I wished I was wearing more than just a light jacket over a T-shirt. Walking along the trail, Mary opened her back pack and took out a windchime she’d bought at the market. Whenever it rings, we said, we’ll remember the energy of the Apus in the winds of Pisac. I gave her a hug and said, “This has been the happiest day of my life!” Almost instantly, the black and white hawk appeared above the horizon. No sooner had I seen it than it flew away for the last time.

At the edge of the parking area were four souvenir “stands”, nothing more than blankets on the ground with trinkets displayed on them. I bought six miniature ocharinas for five soles, less than nine cents each. One man was selling fruit. He had an orange squeezer, and plastic cups of fresh juice cost one sol. A young bull was wandering freely about. The man said it was two years old, but it was the size of a small horse, and probably weighed half a ton. He was feeding it orange peels. We had a bag with several fresh banana peels, and someone asked the man if it was all right to give them to the bull. He said it was OK, so I tossed banana peels to the young bull, who gobbled them up. Having lived all my life in the city, I was fascinated by the potentially dangerous creature who eagerly ate every banana peel I gave it.

While we were waiting for the last of our group to return, it started to rain heavily — almost like hail — for a minute or two. Suddenly the rain stopped and a double rainbow appeared, glowing brilliantly above the Sacred Valley. Surely this was a day filled with significant signs, if only I were wise enough to see what they meant.

On the drive back to Cusco I noticed something unusual about the houses alongside the road. Most of them were made of adobe, the local mud mixed with straw and formed into bricks. Many of them had thatched roofs, and on most of the roofs were decorations; some houses had crosses, some had a pair of bulls, and some had both crosses and bulls. When I asked our guide, he said that they were for protection or to bring good luck. The crosses, of course, were Christian and the bulls were Pagan symbols. Some families were Christian, some were Pagan and some figured it would be safer to hedge their bets with both!

Was it a coincidence that, on the day designed for us to connect with the Earth Mother spirit, Pachamama, I had a close encounter with the animal that symbolized something as important to the local natives as the cross was to Christians? Perhaps this was what it meant to connect with Nature. To understand the interconnectedness of life. To realize that all of us on Earth must help nourish each another. Perhaps, at Pisac, I was given a greater ability to see.

Photos by Robert Scheer

Aramu Muru’s Portal: Inter-Dimensional Doorway at Lake Titicaca

Aramu Muru Portal

Aramu Muru’s Portal was not on the itinerary of our “Sacred Mysteries of Peru” tour, so visiting it was an unexpected bonus. Most people have never heard of the portal, likely because it has only been known to tourists since 1992. The story of how I was taken to Aramu Muru’s Portal begins with two people, both of whose lives were shaped by the same influential book. The people are Mark Amaru Pinkham and Jorge Luis Delgado. The book is Secret of the Andes by Brother Philip.

First published in 1961, the book tells about the destruction of the great Pacific continent of Mu, which started before 30,000 bce. The last part of Mu to be submerged was Lemuria, lost between 10,000 and 12,000 bce, just before the sinking of Atlantis. One of the great sages or masters to escape from Lemuria was Lord Aramu Muru. He took scrolls containing great scientific and spiritual knowledge to a safe place in South America, where he established a Mystery School, the Monastery of the Seven Rays. He also brought a wonderful Solar Disc, which had been kept in the Temple of Divine Light in Lemuria. This disc, made of translucent, transmuted gold was a scientific instrument that could cause earthquakes or teleport people anywhere in the universe. The disc was first kept in an underground temple, but later it was moved to the Coricancha in Cuzco and used by the Incan High Priests. When Spanish conquerors invaded Peru, the disc was returned to the Monastery near Lake Titicaca.

The Monastery and its disc no longer exist in our dimension, but they “have been raised into the etheric realms. Some day they will be lowered again when man is spiritually ready to receive them,” according to Brother Philip. The author of Secret of the Andes is acknowledged to be George Hunt Williamson. Our research has revealed this was the pen name of Dr. Michael D. M. d’Obrenovic (1926-1986) an Eastern Orthodox bishop, anthropologist, archaeologist explorer and lecturer.

Mark Amaru Pinkham, one of the leaders of our tour, said Secret of the Andes had a very significant impact on his life. Mark’s search for the Monastery of the Seven Rays led him, through a variety of synchronicities, to meet Antón Ponce de León Paiva, a Peruvian who studied under the Andean Elders who maintain ancient secrets passed down from Aramu Muru. Antón is the author of The Wisdom of the Ancient ONE and In Search of the Wise ONE, books that tell how he was taken blindfolded to a hidden village in the Andes and taught the true sacred history of all the Americas. Shirley Maclaine mentioned his encounters with ETs and UFOs in her book, Out on a Limb.

Antón is also an acquaintance of the other man who took me to Aramu Muru’s portal, Jorge Luis Delgado. The General Manager of Kontiki Tours and the owner of the Taypikela Hotel in Chucuito, near Puno, he had read Secret of the Andes and become interested in finding the Monastery of the Seven Rays about 19 years earlier. Jorge Luis told me that, before he found the portal he had been dreaming about pink stones, so he asked a shaman friend about them. Jorge Luis was told that there are many such places, but he should “follow the feeling, follow the energy.” He kept looking, and finally one a place near Lake Titicaca felt familiar to Jorge Luis. It had two stone formations with holes in them, and it was facing the sunrise. He found formations shaped like a snake, a puma and a condor, and they led him to the portal.

“When I took Anton Ponce de Leon Paiva to the Aramu Muru Portal,” Jorge Luis said, “the clouds overhead were beautiful, like rainbows, always changing colors. Anton took very many pictures, and none of them came out.” Jorge Luis shrugged philosophically. When you’re dealing with non-ordinary happenings, you can’t expect them always to show up on film.

I had a similar problem. Both of my cameras had fallen apart at Machu Picchu a few days earlier. Was this a coincidence, the effects of a high-energy environment or a sign that I should spend less time experiencing these places through a viewfinder? The photographs accompanying this article were taken by my wife Mary and two of the others in our group. Fortunately, their cameras survived the trip unscathed.

On the day-long bus trip from Cuzco to Puno, Mark had told us dozens of fascinating stories about Lake Titicaca. It is a powerful inter-dimensional vortex, and UFOs are frequently sighted in the area. Some people believe the Sun Disk of Amaru Muru is at the bottom of the lake, but it may be accessible from the inter-dimensional gateway, Amaru Muru’s Portal.

All over the area are rock formations shaped like various creatures, human and animal. The stones are so weathered it’s hard to tell whether they were carved deliberately or shaped by wind and rain. Jorge Luis believes the area was built by one of the earliest Peruvian civilizations, with the help of extraterrestrials, probably about the same time as Marca Huasi was created, more than 10,000 years ago. Mark Amaru Pinkham also felt that this was the site of an ancient mystery school.

“All the legends have evidence here,” Jorge Luis told our group. He pointed out one rock formation, about twenty feet long, that looked like a caterpillar. He told us that it is a larva, and it illustrates one of the ancient legends: Once there were many larvae living in the underworld. They heard of a place called Ruma, where there was everything you could wish for, including power and wisdom. All the larvae wanted to go to this place, and one of them left the underworld to look for it. When he got outside he found a mountain of dead larvae who had been fighting each other to get to the top. Discouraged, he went back home, only to discover all his friends were gone. He had the feeling someone was watching him. Finally, a butterfly appeared and spoke to him. It was the girlfriend he had left behind, and while he was away she metamorphosed into a butterfly. She told him, “You went to the wrong place to find what you were looking for.” To the west, on a hilltop looking down at the larva, is a rock formation shaped like a butterfly.

We walked for fifteen or twenty minutes, at a relatively slow pace, before we reached Amaru Muru’s portal. Five or six native children had been walking with us. Actually, they were surprisingly annoying. Many of the Peruvian youngsters we encountered asked us for hand-outs or tried to sell us things, but these obnoxious kids wouldn’t stop pestering us. My standard, polite “No, gracias” had turned into a gruff “NO!”, and still they dogged my heels. It wasn’t just me. Even the most generous people in our group, who ordinarily were patient and loving to local children, were getting agitated by the little beggars. It wasn’t until we neared the portal that I suddenly realized the kids were gone.

The area immediately west of the portal is known as the House of the Spirits. “Shamans come here to communicate with the spirits,” Jorge Luis told us. I stood near the edge of a steep drop-off between two rock walls. The sun was going down but a few bright patches of sunlight dotted the valley below. A strong, cold wind blew out from among the strange rock formations. Jorge Luis said there was a very old stone that looked like an old condor, but we did not want to stop and look for it. The sun was sinking and we were eager to get to the doorway. Still, the power of the place was tangible. I had no doubt that shamans did communicate with spirits here.

The doorway is carved into a stone wall that faces east, toward Lake Titicaca, the Island of the Sun and the distant, sacred snow-capped Apus. Flanking the doorway are two vertical channels, about twenty feet tall, carved into the rock. These look very similar to the well-known serpent carving at Sacsayhuaman, where seven scallops cut into a huge stone are the same size and shape as a human spine and head. It is believed that seven crystal spheres, representing the seven chakras, were once set into the rock at Sacsayhuaman. The serpent-shaped channels on either side of Aramu Muru’s Portal are wide enough to accommodate a person easily. I walked up to one, backed in and looked up toward the sky. As the back of my head touched the cold stone I was dazzled by the sight of the first-quarter moon directly over the top of my “tube.” I felt like the power of the moon was channeling right down and into me.

The Portal itself is barely six feet tall. Notches on each side are perfectly aligned rests for your hands whether you choose to sit facing east or kneel toward the west. “The key to the portal is the human body,” Jorge Luis said. “It is more open now and it feels more powerful than in 1992 when we received permission to start taking pilgrims to the gate.” Was it a coincidence that year marked the 500th anniversary of Columbus’ famous voyage?

There were eleven in our group: Mark and his wife Andrea, Jorge Louis, and Mary and me, and six other gringo tourists. We took turns sitting or kneeling in the doorway, standing in the side channels, taking pictures in the fading light or just sitting on the ground dazed and amazed. Mary was surprised to see that we were being watched. She pointed out to me that a group of fifteen or so Quechua adults had gathered about 100 feet away from the doorway where we were. Unlike everywhere else we visited in Peru, they didn’t approach us, nor try to sell us anything nor beg money from us. Instead they watched us in silence, barely even talking among themselves. Maybe they were simply being respectful, as we appeared to be performing serious, religious-type rituals at the doorway. Or maybe they were afraid to come too close to the doorway itself.

None of us succeeded in moving into the other dimension and finding Aramu Muru’s golden solar disk, but each of us agreed that this was the most powerful place of the entire trip. I sat in the doorway and, for the briefest instant, I seemed to “see” a greenish flash that seemed like a tunnel. Nearly all of us had a different experience. Some sensed sounds or colors. One felt a part of something very, very old.

Of all the places I visited in Peru, this is the one I most eagerly want to return to. I especially want to experience it at sunrise, when the sun would rise over Lake Titicaca and the Island of the Sun and fall directly onto the portal.

It was nearly dark by the time we left, and I’m glad we didn’t stay any longer. We were told of several strange occurrences that happened here. A group of musicians who used to live in the region disappeared. It is said they disappeared through the gate, and that sometimes you can hear music coming up through the stone. Local people are afraid to come here at night. They say the doorway calls people and they disappear. We certainly saw that even the boisterous local children seemed to have a healthy respect for the doorway in the daytime!

Our private bus was waiting for us a short distance from the portal, farther south along the highway from where it had dropped us off. As we rode back toward Chucuito, I was amazed at how much graffiti there was. Political slogans were splashed in white paint all over the red rock walls that faced the highway. Obviously there were locals who either didn’t know or didn’t care that they were vandalizing the edges of a powerful, sacred place. Is it their attitude that must change before the blessings of Aramu Muru’s golden disc will once again emerge from its hiding place?

Many times in Peru we were told that a significant change is coming soon. At Machu Picchu the shaman, Kucho, said “big changes will happen to the world in the next few years.” In Pisac Andrea Mikana Pinkham, channeling the Kumaras, revealed that a major upheaval in our planet will occur within five to ten years. One hopes these changes are positive ones, brought about by humans having become spiritually ready to receive the gifts of enlightenment, including the golden Sun Disk of Aramu Muru.

This article was originally published in the February, 1999 issue of Power Trips magazine. The Lake Titicaca region is one of the areas I described as Earth’s Three Most Powerful Places.

Browse Aramu Muru Portal Tours Now Available

Browse Lake Titicaca Tours Now Available

Shamanic Experience at Machu Picchu

Night was falling as we got into the bus to go up to Machu Picchu. Our group of ten, usually talkative and laughing, were hushed. A sliver of a new moon hung like a halo above Apu Putu Cusi, one of the four sacred mountains that surround the Inca sanctuary. Perhaps Kucho’s magic had already started.

Kucho was the Andean shaman who would be conducting our ceremony on top of Machu Picchu. We had heard an amazing story about something that happened during his apprenticeship. Kucho had been staying at Machu Picchu, meditating for six days and nights. On the morning of the sixth day, as he was looking east toward Putu Cusi, he saw a translucent silver sphere rise up out of the Urubamba River and move toward him. It surrounded him and transported him inside Putu Cusi, where he saw an astral crystal city.

Kucho was a soft-spoken man, a Quechuan native, standing about 5’8” and muscularly solid. In his bomber jacket and baseball cap, you might never have guessed he was a shaman unless you caught a flash of the intensity in his eyes, a look that communicated timeless wisdom and passion. If his apprentice, with her long blonde hair, had been carrying a guitar case instead of a lumpy bundle wrapped in a Peruvian blanket, Kucho could easily have been taken for a rock star on his way to a concert.

Machu Picchu Night Admission

Machu Picchu closes at 5:30 p.m. during the winter (our summer) season, but our tour leader had obtained special tickets for night admission. These Ingreso Nocturno tickets must be purchased in advance. Special arrangements had also been made for one of the buses to pick us up in Aguas Calientes at dusk and take us back down at 10:00 p.m.

There seemed to be an unusually lengthy debate and some strange bureaucratic ticket-stamping before we were allowed past the guards at the entrance, and I was glad that Andrea, our tour leader, spoke competent Spanish. Finally we were walking, single file, along the terrace that leads into Machu Picchu. The silver light from the moon and stars was nearly enough to illuminate our way, but we all carried small flashlights and shone them onto the rock-lined pathway. We heard the trickle of water growing louder as we reached the system of fountains that leads up to the Sun Temple. We had been told that this area was called Yakumana, or the Serpent, with the water forming the body of the snake and the Sun Temple is its head. I reached into the water, moistened my fingertips, and touched them to my forehead, wordlessly invoking the blessings of the spirits during this night of magic.

Ceremony in the Sacred Plaza

We silently made our way up past the Sun Temple and then turned right, heading toward the Sacred Plaza, where we waited as Kucho and his apprentice began setting up. During the day, a rope barricade prevents tourists from going inside the temple of the three windows, but tonight the rope was down. This temple was one of the buildings that convinced Hiram Bingham in 1911 that he had discovered the legendary Vilcabamba. The precise masonry indicated this was a place built for rulers and high priests, and the three windows symbolized the three caves from which the Ayar brothers of the Inca creation legend emerged.

Immediately west of the three-window temple, partially separating it from the Sacred Plaza, are a low Inca three-stepped cross and, alongside it, a tall, upright, altar-stone. A few feet west of the altar is the so-called Sacrificial stone, about 12-feet long. It points across the plaza to the small Southern Cross stone. We waited among these monoliths as Kucho completed his preparations. It was growing quite chilly, and I was very glad I wore long-johns and a long-sleeved thermal shirt under my sweater, Levi’s and jacket. At the last minute, I had stopped at a souvenir stand near the bus stop and bought a pair of hand-knit gloves and a Peruvian chollo cap with ear-flaps. Now I was wondering if even these would keep me warm enough. Suddenly a light flashed. A candle was burning behind the altar stone, and its light shone upon a small golden sun disk, Inti, which now hung above the center of the three windows.

The Andean Shaman

The precisely-cut stones of the temple of three windows, weighing up to 50 tons, were fit together without any mortar.

As we moved into the temple, Kucho was lighting a fire in a small, round brazier on the ground in the center of the area. He poured something from a liquor bottle and the flames blazed up high for a moment. Kucho was transformed, a different person from the man we had met 30 minutes earlier. He was every inch an Andean shaman, wearing a poncho and black trousers which reached only to his knees. Despite the cold, his legs and his feet were bare. On his head was a red pointed chollo cap. Supplies which had been wrapped up in a blanket were now arranged on the ground; a conch shell, a bell, a rattle, a small bundle of wood, a glass tumbler and a gallon cooking-oil container. He held the liquor bottle up to the east, north, west and south, softly whispering prayers and pouring liquid onto the ground in each direction. He poured some onto his hands, rubbed them together, and then rubbed his face. Finally he stepped forward, seemingly noticing us for the first time.

One by one, Kucho stood before each of us and poured sweet-smelling liquor into our outstretched hands so we could repeat his actions, cleansing our hands and faces. When we had all been made ready, he told us about San Pedro.

Sacred San Pedro

“For thousands of years,” he said, “my ancestors have been using the sacred plant, San Pedro, as a way into other dimensions.” San Pedro is Peruvian cactus which contains the highest concentration of hallucinogenic mescaline known in any plant. Kucho explained that, although the liquid he makes from San Pedro usually takes seven hours to brew, the batch he brought in the cooking-oil can was prepared on June 21st, the winter solstice and a day of great power, so it was ready in only four hours. Before we could drink, the first glass of San Pedro was sacrificed to the spirits. Kucho poured some onto the ground to the four directions, some out the center window and some into the fire.

The shaman instructed us to exhale forcefully before drinking the San Pedro, and to drink the entire glassful at once. He demonstrated, drinking a glass himself. At last it was our turn. The liquid tasted mildly bitter but not unpleasant. When we had all taken one glass, Kucho asked us, one at a time, to move to the center window, where he performed a ceremony over us. Some of us knelt while others sat in or stood before the sacred window. Although it was now pitch dark, we knew we were facing Putu Cusi, the sacred apu of the east. Behind our backs Kucho rang a small bell seven times, once for each chakra, and then three more times, for the lower, middle and upper worlds. We were then invited to walk about the Sacred Plaza or remain in the temple, whatever we felt moved to do. And there was more San Pedro available whenever we wanted another glass.

The Southern Cross stone points into the sky above Machu Picchu, where its namesake constellation was clearly visible.

Two or three stayed in the circle near the fire, but most of us moved out to be alone with San Pedro. I saw someone sitting, meditating on the Sacrificial rock as I walked across the plaza and stood in front of the Southern Cross rock. This diamond-shaped sculpture pointed up into the sky above Apu Machu Picchu. There were a million stars overhead, with the Milky Way clearly visible. As I stood with my neck tilted back, directly above me was the Southern Cross. Something flashed nearby — a shooting star cut through the sky a few degrees to the left! I gasped in wonder. Even if San Pedro would bring me no visions from the spirit world, I felt that this was the peak experience of my first visit to Peru. Grateful tears ran down my face.

The moon slipped behind Wayna Picchu and more shooting stars flashed across the heavens as time went by. My partner Mary tapped me on the shoulder and led me across the plaza to see a strange sight. Something in the air was shining an eerie green. It was a glow-worm or lightning bug, the first of many she marveled at that night.

From time to time, Kucho moved about us doing what I presumed was energy work. He had several large condor feathers bundled like a wing, and I stood still as he used it to whisk the air around me — above, in front, on either side and behind me his feathers whooshed. A tingle rose from the base of my spine and up my back, not a dramatic Kundalini awakening, but a small energy release nevertheless.

The Ceremony Continues

Kucho kept very busy. He poured a second glass of San Pedro for many of us, and some went back for thirds and more. From time to time, he sprinkled powder (it may have been rosin or amber) onto the fire and then whisked the aromatic smoke around with his feathers. Occasionally he added wood and sprinkled liquor to make the flames shoot high. But his most dramatic actions seemed to involve communicating with the spirits. At various times, Kucho chanted incantations, shook the rattle or blew the conch shell in different places around the three-window temple and across the Sacred Plaza. Several times he spat loudly and made aggressive, guttural “huff-huff” noises that surely kept any malevolent spirits at bay.

Despite my four layers of warm clothing, I began to get colder and colder as time passed. I realized I had been shivering and tense, so I decided I needed to loosen up. I began to dance. My free-form movements became a dance to the stars. I remembered advice some wise person had once told me, that you should always dance as though there’s nobody watching you. I danced my Southern Cross dance and my Milky Way dance, continuing to gasp in wonder each time another shooting star flashed overhead.

Later, inside the temple, I was surprised by a shadow cast by the lone candle onto an ancient stone wall. The shadow was moving as I moved, but it had a pointed head with long ears. Yes, it was my own shadow. I had forgotten I was wearing a chollo cap. At that moment I realized the significance of the peculiar design for this traditional headgear — to emulate the first Incas who, according to legend, had pointed heads and long ears. Some believe the original source of this race was extra-terrestrials who landed at Lake Titicaca more than a million years ago!

By 10:00 p.m., as most of the stars had been obscured by clouds, Kucho drew the ceremony to a close by offering prayers to the four apus: Putu Cusi in the east, Wayna Picchu in the north, Bisca Chani in the west and Machu Picchu in the south, blowing the conch shell after each. His whispers were barely audible, and he spoke in the Quechuan language, reverently and with deepest respect. Finally, Kucho blessed each of us with Lake Titicaca water, anointing our faces, and telling us it will help us keep open to the light during the days to come.

Individual Visions

Of the ten of us who were privileged to be a part of this rare event, each took home something different. One participant saw visions of serpents with rainbow stripes in the colors of the Quechuan flag. Someone else saw animals in the sky. Toward the end of the evening, another member of the group was making shadow animals on an Inca stone wall with his hands.

When it was all over and we were back down in Aguas Calientes, Kucho’s apprentice told us that the shaman wanted to say one final thing to us. She translated his message as he spoke in Spanish: “The San Pedro ceremony you have done tonight will help you to prepare for the big changes which will happen to the world in the next few years.”

Our “Sacred Mysteries of Peru” tour was organized by Body Mind Spirit Journeys.

On the same tour, we also visited Pisac.

Kucho can sometimes be found in a small storefront shop across the railway tracks from the main plaza in Aguas Calientes, Rikuni Tours, at 123 Imperio de los Incas.

Photos by Robert Scheer

This article was originally published in Power Trips magazine