After touring the ancient city of Teotihuacán near Mexico City, my tour guide Alejandro invited us to his house behind the Pyramid of the Moon for an energy meditation. There were 12 of us gathered around drinking Pulque, an ancient drink made with corn and cacao, and talking about the energy of the pyramids when Alejandro made a proposition.
“Would you like to go to a cave for meditation?”
(This is part 2 of a three-part story. Read part one, about the pyramids, and part three, about the shaman here.)
I hesitated before answering. I thought about how safety regulations in Mexico were laxer than in the U.S. and I worried about my claustrophobia. This wouldn’t be a “regulated” or monitored cave. This would be a cave somewhere within walking distance of his house. It had probably never been assessed for safety in any way.
It was like he was reading my mind. As I thought, he talked about the caves in the area, the ancient rituals his Nahuatl family still conducts, that he’d been in the cave many times, and we didn’t have to do it if we weren’t comfortable. Part of me already knew my answer, as much as I dreaded it.
The Flipside of a Pyramid
Teotihuacán is an abandoned Mexican archaeological site of pyramids, including the Temple of Quetzalcoatl, the Pyramid of the Moon, and the famed Pyramid of the Sun.
Alejandro lives behind the main part of the ancient city and we were standing outside in his yard. There were woven baskets filled with large cacao beans for making chocolate, big, golden-black pieces of glasslike obsidian and a large brick Temazcal, like a smoke lodge, for holding steam rituals. I looked to my left and in the distance was the back of the Pyramid of the Moon.
The backs of the pyramid was still mostly covered in earth and grass, making it look more like a tall hill than a pyramid. The government only pays enough to keep the front of the pyramids clear. Still, I knew what it was. I knew that this land was sacred, and I considered going into the ground below.
My cousin, Bryan, who died years ago, used to say, “See ya on the flipside” when saying goodbye. I never knew what it meant exactly, but I heard it in my mind while I considered going into a cave on the “flipside” of a pyramid.
“I want to do it,” I said. Immediately others echoed my sentiment, and it was decided: We’d head for the cave.
Heading Toward the Cave
Now that we agreed, Alejandro moved into action. He collected a small hand drum and a large conch shell. These he handed to others while he carried a chalice of burning copal – a gum-like substance used as incense in ancient Aztec and Mayan ceremonies.
He lit the copal, and we followed him for a short walk, the smoke and pungent odor of the incense leaving a trail behind him, heading toward the cave.
As we walked toward the Pyramid of the Moon, Alejandro explained that the earth covering the pyramids worked as a protective feature. It takes constant work to keep the structures free of grass and plants and, if left to nature, are soon covered. This, he said, is likely why these pyramids survived the Spanish conquest when many others did not. They were already hidden beneath the surface.
We walked past a dense cluster of Prickly Pear Cactus, their top pads chopped in half to keep them short for harvesting. We passed through a short field and a metal fence outside the home of a Shaman woman, though I wouldn’t know that’s what she was until later.
The woman stood on the porch, and from a distance, she appeared short and stout, dark red-skinned with hair more gray than black. She wore a long white dress with colorful embroidered flowers and gave a brief wave as Alejandro ducked into a hole and disappeared.
The Mouth of a Cave
I watched as he climbed down onto the crude, narrow steps leading into the hole without hesitation or explanation and was gone. It didn’t look big enough, but he fit well and moved with agility. Our group stood outside, staring dumbly at each other until I shouted into the hole, “Should we follow you?”
“Si,” his voice echoed back. There, within sight of the Pyramid of the Moon, we entered the sacred earth.
We scrambled through about 50 feet of steep and narrow lava tubes that quickly opened to a chamber where Alejandro waited. Inside, there were statues and symbols of Aztec culture: skulls, snakes, and flowers. In one nook, there were bones.
“We bring these things for offering to our ancestors,” he said, showing us around.
I spied a human jawbone with a few teeth still attached next to other bone fragments.
“Human bones?” I asked.
“No,” he said. But they were. I didn’t press, and when he turned and went further into the cave, I followed.
The tunnel was wide enough for just one person at a time. It formed from reddish-brown lava and was varying heights, so in some spots, I had to crouch or crawl while in others, I could stand.
Extension cords connected to extension cords gave us light from bare bulbs, but there were moments of darkness, and we stumbled over the rocks, whispering curses. Finally, after more than 300 feet, just as I was beginning to worry about how far we would go, we came into the final chamber and stood up.
Inside the Ritual Chamber
The room was big enough for all 13 of us, but no more. Rock ledges provided enough space for us to sit down. The chamber was crude, rough and empty, except for another offering with a skull sculpture and dried flowers.
At first, my fear made it hard for me to breathe, but I took comfort that others were more uncomfortable. One woman from Sweden was near hyperventilating, but she calmed in time.
I overcame my fear with acceptance. The time for fear was when I was deciding whether to enter the cave. Now that I was here, I had to accept my choice. If this was how I died – from a cave collapse in Mexico – then that was my destiny, and at least it was doing something that enriched my life. For me, there is no other way to manage fear.
Once we were settled, Alejandro took his chalice and blew the intense copal smoke into every corner of the cave. It was stifling and my eyes watered while my heart quickened, so I forced myself into mindful breathing.
Then, beginning the ritual and meditation, he blew the conch shell in four directions calling the spirits to us. Then he turned off the only light, leaving us in total darkness.
“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Let your mind go.” Then he started to play his drum.
Aztec Meditation Ritual
He chanted and sang in an ancient Aztec Nahuatl language paying tribute to the spirits, welcoming them in, and honoring them in prayer. I closed my eyes and felt my heartbeat align with the beating of the drum. His song went on and on and we floated on its waves.
I drifted and thought of the spirits connected to this ancient land. So many people had lived, died and been sacrificed here. So many had worshipped, their collective energy permeating the soil. And here we were, calling on them and drawing on that energy.
The song ended after about 20 minutes, and Alejandro led us in healing meditation. He challenged us to think back to childhood and our happiest memories – to channel the spirit of our inner child and remember what our life’s joy was before any hurt or pain settled on us.
Tears flowed freely down my cheeks, in part from the incense and part from relief and release and wonder and memories of the little girl I had been. I was lost in thought for a while, communicating with that girl, remembering.
Conversations went on around me. We talked about the prayers and singing, the land, the cave, and our emotions. Someone sobbed in the darkness. Then it was over.
A Shaman Awaits
We gathered ourselves and made our way out of the cave, free of any heaviness we brought with us, free from fear. We took some things with us too. New beliefs, understanding and a connection to a bigger, more ancient world.
Back at the mouth of the cave, the Shaman awaited.
This is part two of a three-part story. Read part one (at Teotihuacán) and part three (the shaman).
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