SACRED JOURNEY TIWANUKU
Bolivia New Year 5509, June 21st, 2001 
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My wife Fern and I stood looking up into the clear. black, midnight, sky studded with millions of stars that sparkled like diamonds. We were in the village of Tiwanaku in the Plaza of August. This Sacred City is located on the high plateau of Bolivia, near fourteen thousand feet, perched in the heavenly sky of Bolivia.

We had been told that Tiwanaku was at one time the sacred city of the great and only empire that existed on earth, that of the original Mayans. They built this city on the highest plateau they could find, which brought them nearer to their beloved stars. Our guide informed us that twenty-one thousand years ago, the shaman and priests of the Maya stood where we would stand in "The Gate"  to greet the morning solstice sun.

As we stood, mouths agape at the wonderment of the overhead sky, the sounds of flutes, drums and string instruments filtered into the below zero night air. Groups of dancers and musicians entered the plaza. They whirled and bobbed, playing and dancing.

Their bright red capes and woven wool hats flowed as they danced. Some carried flags. Others carried large drums that boomed loudly. Fern and I were caught up in the crowd, and we danced as best we could in the very thin air.

Pan like flute's of multiple reeds sang cascading notes while four foot long flutes moaned a deeper melody. All the sounds and merriment were mesmerizing. All of us spun and wove, our feet moving to the grand sounds around us. Both Fern and I were having trouble breathing, our nostrils burned from the cold and our lungs ached trying to find air. We soon had to detach ourselves from the group. We made our way to the side lines and watched the Bolivians continue their revelry. We clapped and shuffled our feet while catching our breath.

"You have stepped back in time, Shaman," came a voice in Spanish from behind us. I turned to see, Dr. Jimmy Ramos, one of the other lecturers from the seminar where we had been speaking earlier that night.

"Yes, indeed we have. This is wonderful!" I exclaimed. "Before you are the decedents of the Maya," he explained graciously. "They are called the Aymara. This dancing and playing of music will continue until dawn when we will all go to "The Gate" to watch the sunrise for the New Year."

Our conversation was interrupted by a hand on my shoulder. I turned to look down into the black, smiling eyes of one of the leaders of the dance. By his garb, and the silver wand he carried I knew he was a Shaman and leader of his community. He smiled and spoke in Aymara, while holding out a small flask. I looked to Jimmy.

"He is offering you a drink," Jimmy said. "I must warn you it is a very powerful liquor he makes himself. It is a great honor he is offering."

 I turned back to the shaman. Accepting the offered flask. I raised it to my lips and took a sip. The cold liquid seared my tongue and throat. Its magic radiated through my body, and I was suddenly warm all over. He was smiling from ear to ear.

I reached under my poncho and withdrew a long cigar from my shamans bag, which I broke in two. I took one half and offered him the other, which he took smiling and bowing. My zippo came out and I lit his cigar. He was fascinated by the lighter's click.

Soon we were surrounded by other dancers, all wanting cigars. I shared until the cigars ran out. They all wanted their pictures taken with us; and we, with them A long photo session followed. The night was full of dance, song, music and drink until just before dawn. Then everyone headed for "The Gate."

Our guide was well ahead of us. We didn't move as fast as Marisol, who was about twenty-five years old to our fifty plus years, and she quite use to the high altitude. We did our best to keep up. We did catch up to her at the entrance to the temple. The entire area was surrounded by a tall chain link fence and guards stood at the entrance, screening the people for egress. She was having a heated argument with the two imposing guards. "But they are the shaman from America! They don't need tickets, they are VIP's with our group! They must go in." She exclaimed tears in her eyes. "No one without a ticket who isn't on this list may enter. Go away!" The one guard exclaimed. Marisol turned to me. "Shaman, I must go get you a ticket from that building there." She pointed to a large building thirty or so yards down the road. Just then Marisols mother, called "Panche Mamma", the leader of all the medicine women of Bolivia rushed to the entrance from inside the temple grounds.

"Shaman! Come, quickly!" She shouted as the sky began to lighten in the pre_dawn of morning. She took the burly guard by the shoulder and turned him around. I was surprised at his tolerance of this brash woman. "These are the Shaman from the United States! Look here are their names on my list! You will permit them to enter!" We were pushed forward through the gate by Marisol. The guard reached out grabbing us and propelled us through the crowd into the temple grounds. Panche Mamma lead us quickly through the thousands of worshipers to "The Gate."

Hundreds of people, shaman, and priests crammed in as close to "The Gate", as they could get; but Panche Manna was undaunted. She was a moving presence. The crowd parted for her; and Fern and I found ourselves standing before "The Sacred Gate" of Tiawanacu, moments before the sun broke through the craggy peaks of the Andes Mountains.

Fern and I spread our arms and rotated our palms towards "The Gate." Then, the sun broke the mountains edge, and the first rays of the New Year sun shot through "The Gate" to the blowing of conch horns and waving of flags.

The crowd shouted, clapped and wailed. Fern and I were so moved

emotionally by the ritual, tears streamed down our cheeks. We stood where shaman for twenty-one thousand years stood. We were part of the whole. The spirits of the Ancients moved our souls and spun their magic on our hearts. Panche Mamma watched us as we preformed our sunrise ritual to Hunab Ku, Giver of Movement and Measure, as the Ahau K'in rose before us.

When we finished, she took our hands and led us to a shaman who was conducting "The Condor Ritual." His back was to us, his arms raised, one hand holding a long condor feather.

He sensed our presence and turned to us. It was Jimmy! He chanted in Aymara as he stroked both Fern and I with his condor feather. His other hand held a small brazier with burning copal with which he smudged us. Then he reached into his shaman's bag and held his closed fist out to me. I extended my open hand, and he dropped seven golden kernels of blessed corn into my palm. He repeated this action with Fern.

That morning on the High Plateau, surrounded by the great Andes Mountains, Fern and I were three times blessed  once by Ahau K'in, once by the Shaman, Dr. Jimmy Ramos, and once by our new family: The Aymara. Descendants of the first Great Mayan Empire on this planet.

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