S’alka Wasi translates as "home of the undomesticated Spirit." I guess that translated for me, last night, in the mighty potent (and mighty yummy) dream I had wherein I was completely ravished by the actor Jimmy Smits. I awoke several times during the night. The first time was when I heard Katie getting up to use the toilet, her flashlight blasting a burst of lightning into the pitch black room adjoining ours.

Karen, Jeanett and I share a large space with a door opening to the courtyard

Cindy, her precious twenty one year old daughter, Angie and Grandmother Katie are in the adjoining room.

I did my morning meditation at 5:45am ... busy, busy mind. Rambling thoughts. Crazy thoughts. Disjointed thoughts. Thoughts of home and thoughts of here and thoughts that were indecipherable completely. I’ve been there before. The only difference now is that I don’t fight it much, if at all. The witness in me simply watches all of it, the thoughts ... the thoughts about the thoughts ... and then I go into my body to see what is happening there. Inevitably, when I do that, even if it is for a moment or two, I bring my awareness to the present. This morning, my thoughts just kept coming back in, like a stream of tiny black ants.

The gardens around S’alka Wasi are in deep need of pruning. It is at the end of their dry season; too, so a little water wouldn’t hurt. I decided to walk out into the garden this morning before we met for breakfast to "dead head" the geraniums along the pathways. Now after 7:00am, I am leaning against the giant Grandfather Soldier Eucalyptus tree, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face, already quite high above the mountains to the east.

Peruvian music lightly plays up above me, source unknown, but it sure is a treat. Their music is so joyful, so mystical; the notes played by their sweet flutes send a deep, comforting sound to my heart. As if in direct answer to the music, the birds above me in the tree respond with a happy, chirpy refrain. This is healthy land. It must be breathtaking after the rainy season. I can hear the river rushing below me, feeling its constancy - reminding me of the part of life that doesn’t change - only the surface, the phenomena, changes.

A cup of heavily sweetened Nescafe coffee with condensed milk tastes so good, warming me from the inside. Normally, I don’t drink coffee, but somehow this is exactly what I wanted. I get the feeling there will be many things I will be doing on this journey that are different for me. It’s exciting to consider all the possibilities of where this trip will lead.

Later ... It is siesta time. Such a lovely way to honor the day, by relaxing, reflecting and taking a short nap. But before I drift off ... .It’s a new day. I am open. My heart is open. My eyes are open. My ears are open. My mouth is open to truth. My entire body feels wide open right now. It is luscious.

Siesta Time ... The group of waikis are moving energy, save for one ... who isolates, cries, "wants to go home" ... meaning leaving her earth body. Don Americo asked us at the end of this morning’s session to go to her with our hearts open to bring her love ... which I did, letting her know I wouldn’t leave her no matter what she did - what I would want were I her. I have been there. I know, intimately, that frightening, desperate place both from my own experience and that of my beloved son, Chase. I know I cannot, nor do I desire to, take her pain away. What I can do is love her and that’s what I did. She joined us for lunch with a smile on her face.

During my second meditation of the day, I did as Americo told me; to bring in mountain energy, to open my heart. I focused on Ausungate, a feminine energy mountain, nearly 20,000 feet high that we saw during our drive up here. My in-breath was to "accept" ... my out-breath was to "release."

Accept love. Accept the feminine in me. Accept my feminine power. Accept the cosmos. Accept God. Accept the wind and the sun and the moon. Accept the flow of life and my critical part in it. Accept Love. Accept THE ONE.

Release my thoughts. Release my fears. Release my mind. Release my sadness. Release my separation from THE ONE. Release manipulation. Release lies. Release delusion.

After Dinner ...

Full moon night in the Andes. (Not my photograph ... )

A series of unexpected events happened tonight after the group returned from our hike in the mountains. Americo and I walked back the last bit together, the canyon floor dropping off to the river far below us. He looked at me, his big heart shining through every pore in his body and said I was a warrior ... A warrior, I thought to myself? Me? ... "but with a bit of anger that still needs to be healed," he continued. I had to acknowledge that as a truth. Looking deep into his dark eyes, I saw no judgment, only deep compassion and gentle guidance. We understood each other perfectly. I can feel residual anger rising up in me at the most unexpected moments, like a small Yellowstone geyser. He said he used to have anger like that in him, too. It must go away, he said, looking at me with absolute love. Nodding agreement, we continued to walk down the path toward the courtyard at S'alka Wasi. Once inside the courtyard, I saw the old black dog, still lying on the ground just outside the door to where my roommates and I slept. She had been there, in the exact same place, in the same position on her side, for several hours. Intuitively, I knew she was in trouble. I turned to Americo, telling him the dog was "mucho malo." He said, no, she is just very old. That is true, I said, but I also knew the dog was dying. I lay down next to her, stroking her head lightly, speaking to her softly. She didn’t move, didn’t open her eyes. Her breath was shallow, her tongue protruded from her mouth. I continued to pet her head and her thin, heavily matted body, telling her it was alright to let go. Her eyes opened slightly and she tried to lift her head in response to my touch, but was too weak. It’s alright, I said. You can let go. I doubt the dog had ever been treated with such kindness. With all the love I have witnessed in these village people, how they laugh and care for each other with such tenderness, it is shocking to also see them abuse their animals. When I hear the unmistakably painful sound of foot against fur and hear the dogs yelp out in pain I want to scream out at them to stop! Stop hurting your animals!

I don’t know how long I was there. I was aware of the group filing past me on their way to meet for dinner. All I wanted to do was stay with her, making her last moments or hours loving and kind. Eventually, Americo came out and sat cross-legged on the ground next to us. Again, I said what I felt to be true, that the dog was dying. Saying nothing, Americo laid his hands on her for a few moments, then looked up at me and nodded in agreement. At that moment, I felt a surge of emotion well up inside of me, wanting to break free. My son, Chase ... died, I sobbed ... like I hadn’t sobbed in many years, the tears flowing freely down my face, onto the dog’s black fur. It felt so good to release more of my pain. Americo sat silently, watching me, taking in my deep sadness, letting me cry. When I looked up, he smiled, took a deep breath, and blew hard against my forehead. And it was finished. I felt the dog lift her head to look up at me, sweetly, as if to say, you have to let go first ... then I will be able to let go, too. Americo took me by the hand and said it was okay to leave her now.

When I saw Americo the next day and asked about the dog, he told me she "was gone ... into the cosmos."

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