A woman with five heads came to Casa Intihuatana and transformed the air. From a muffled stereo the heartbeat of Latin America resonated through me until it was all I cared to listen to. El Bújo, Weval, Rodrigo Gallardo; My amigo Yani and I accompanied those artists’ magic as it rested on the tip of our quenas, we played with the wind until a storm rolled in. The earth is tender after a recent logging operation, I wonder whether it is a matter of time before a flood comes. Just as the valley is about to burst from the anxiety of the hundred felled eucalyptus, the woman turned one of her five dreadlocked heads toward the remote farming hamlets along the coast of Peru. I hope to meet her again, that girl whose spirit occupied the whole body, not only her mind.
I finally was able to bring together a couple of people to split the taxi up to Kinsa Cocha Laguna, where it rained the entire grey afternoon. The grass of that valley was inundated with a stratum of crawling water, and waterfalls split through the landscape to join the river that traveled in the middle. Shy llamas and sheep grazed on the hidden inclines where the trail often became invisible to us. My comrades were German, often I was left out of their conversation. It gave me time to think about the Portuguese dancer with the five faces, two of which were pierced all over. I wanted to tell her that she was brilliant. We’d spoken about trust that night before the fullest moon, she confided in her need to find a place where her mind could be still and her heart unabated, and I shared how I had found my burning heart in the chest of South America.
By the time we had circled back from Kinsa Cocha to an equally grey Casa Intihuatana, the bright lady was gone. She’d come here to find a witch doctor to retrieve a lost part of her soul, and at the end of a tearful evening, she’d found what was missing on her own.
I’ve moved to a house in the center of Pisac, taking my friend’s lead in searching for a place to focus my soul and open it all the way out. I fear that I’ll repeat old mistakes, become addicted to the work that doesn’t fulfill me but at least keeps me full. I was not well back then: lonely and irritable, out of touch, forgotten how to love myself, no memory of how to love others by extension. I didn’t know how to appreciate what I had, I did not trust myself and now that old habit wants to flower again.
“Mescaline two days ago, ayahuasca tomorrow, but I’m cutting back on the weed, gonna replace that with coca tea.”
“As long as you’re being careful,” my counselor leads. “Though it does appear that you’ve gained some confidence in your abilities. You are capturing the idea that a fulfilling life for a creative type like yourself is one of experimentation.”
“I keep doubting myself.”
“Don’t do it!”
“At the least, I recognize that it is happening. It’s beautiful how the universe builds up pressure and releases our demons with ever more momentum the longer that we resist facing them.”
“You’re talking about the girl from home.” Referring to a friend from Asheville. When I roll the thought around, it does have some symmetry; doubt, ridicule, and misunderstanding masked in the silhouette of a friend but also that of another woman who made deep cuts on my soul long ago. No matter who wields the feminine energy, my demon leaps from one person to the other while mocking my insecurities.
“That’s right, but I think there is wisdom in even nonconstructive feedback. We see ourselves wherever we care to look. I saw all kinds of things through her words. If anything, it gave me permission to be responsible for my own happiness.”
All is the master, Lili whispers from the air. My counselor’s camera glitches, I’m thinking about whether the connection will manage to hold a video conference like this for hours at a time. That’s crucial if I’m going to go back to the old job. My ratings will be eaten alive if I lose connection with a student. And that leads me further down the rabbit hole: “I don’t want to be alone, but I also don’t know if I can succeed in building this future I long for while also building a meaningful relationship.”
My counselor’s dog is barking in the background, the camera glitches again as I fetch a cup of coffee. I’m glad that we are able to continue our sessions together despite the long distance. “I think it is fine to have friends,” He almost winks. “But I think you need more time to get your footing, build some momentum and roll out the foundation for your ideal life to develop. You must consider what you need to do in order to avoid the mistakes of your past, focus on the strengths rather than your fear of potential events. Check your intentions regularly, remember that the end goal is that you will continue to have inspiring experiences that reveal what is most important to you.”
No matter what happens, be honest with yourself, a wandering sage in West Australia suggested. It has been seven years since my friend first wrote that message to me, and now it is spoken again through the counselor’s voice. My time is up and the session ends. I am left standing in the center of my living room, windows stripped of curtains reflecting another February rain. What had suddenly come to mind was my dream from the night before. I had astral projected from a bed that I shared with my demon, afraid to embrace the goddess in that cold and empty room beneath an amphitheater of indigenous peoples. It was also my grandmother’s room, and there on the carpet, I remembered the real face of my demon. I am the one who is being avoidant, and I know what I need to do next.