Love & The Goddess (22 page)

“Poor you! Obviously the grief hardened him. But what happened anyway?” Ella asked.

“After the mass we thanked everyone for their support. In many ways the whole event passed as a cynical exercise since I had given up on God. I saw him as the cruel authoritarian figure of
the Bible, whose rules I had obeyed as a good little Catholic since the day I made my first holy communion, but who had punished me by taking my most precious son away.”

Ella patted my back as she tut-tutted. “It was so tough for you. Did you both not get proper counselling at the time?”

“We saw the most moronic psychologist. An eejit if ever there was one, full of grandiosity. Lots of chat and back slapping about golf went on as the pompous fool sat back, him smoking
Hamlet cigars while he dribbled compliments all over Trevor. He never once suggested we could do with working a grief recovery programme or talk openly about our feelings over David’s death.
‘You’ll both be fine, you’re two intelligent people who will cope in whatever way you see fit,’ he said, placing an arm around Trevor’s shoulder, before we left him
after our final session.”

“That’s disgraceful. What has IQ ever had to do with emotional intelligence? You know I’m not as into all this as you are, Kate, but I was grateful to find a good therapist to
help me through my divorce. I’ve heard some terrible stories of shrinks trained at every level, from having done only a three-month course right up to senior psychiatrists, some of them
should simply not be practicing. If you attend one, he or she has to be able to help you work though your emotional stuff.”

“Looking back, I don’t believe we were ever fine together afterwards,” I sighed. “Trevor never wanted to talk about David. He told me: ‘I can’t revisit the
whole thing. It just makes me feel too sad and I can’t cope with falling to bits like that.’ Crying and feeling vulnerable made Trevor feel like he could be losing his sanity. He liked
everything to be neat and tidy in his life and that included packaging up emotions in little boxes. It wasn’t until I started having more persistent anxiety three years ago that I became
aware of really needing proper therapy for unresolved issues. That’s when I began attending Aidan Whyte on and off whenever issues arose.”

“I’ve heard from different people that he’s good.”

“Yes, he challenged me to peel back my protective outer coating like the layer of an onion; told me that I had shut down emotionally as a result of David’s death. That it was made
worse by taking Prozac and sleepers over many years. In fact, he said it wasn’t much different to having had a pre-frontal lobotomy, I’d become so adrift from my feelings.”

“I’ll tell you now as your friend, Kate, I didn’t recognise you for years. You tried to become a Stepford wife to please Trevor.” I must have looked horrified because she
laughed good humouredly, hugging me as she continued. “Ah, but you could never put a good thing down for too long and now I can see the old Kate coming back stronger than ever.” Taking
my arm she raised it and punched the air saying, “Watch out world, here we come!”

“Agreed. Pity we’re on herbs. It seems like an occasion for a celebratory drink.”

“Are you excited about your trip to Peru?”

“Really looking forward to it and meeting up with James again. The shaman is quite renowned … supposedly very gifted.”

“How did you hear about him? What kind of special powers is he supposed to have?” Ella examined an angry looking insect bite on her arm, then rummaged in her bag for a tube of
anti-histamine cream.

“James had the contacts through a UK-based tour operator. Our shaman is featured on several websites. Even some movie stars have gone to meet him. A shaman is the South America equivalent
of a guru. They supposedly contact spirits so I presume the Healer we just left is also a shaman of sorts.” Ella was now rubbing cream into her arm. I thought I heard my plane being announced
for boarding but kept talking. “Anyway they believe sickness of the body or mind really starts with a spiritual sickness and our loss of connection to nature. They use various tricks to
challenge you to think differently and help you reconnect with nature and honour a deeper part of yourself. Some even say our DNA can re-arrange itself but that sounds farfetched to me. Anyway,
shamanism is a method of integrative or energy medicine.”

“Well, I’m glad you’ll be with James because I’d worry about you going there to meet up with a strange shaman. They sound a bit like witch doctors.”

This time I was sure it was my gate being called for boarding. Standing up, I slung my satchel over my shoulder. We hugged and Ella rubbed my back before I ran towards gate number seven.
“Mind yourself, lovey,” she called after me.

W
ispy cirrus clouds floated past like shredded cotton wool in a clear blue sky, too small in number to obscure the view below. Matchbox
houses littered the valley and trucks crawled like caterpillars through mountain passes, cars moving like tiny ants. Normally I hated flying and securing a window seat never held much charm for me,
but on this occasion my heart fluttered in excitement to be finally looking at the snow-capped Andes, land of the Incas and older long-lost civilizations. Like a child, spellbound for a full hour
by the most spectacular view in the world, I recalled the stories my father had told me of noble Incan warriors many years ago. I was excited and felt liberated to finally arrive in Cusco after
connecting from Lima. My first time travelling alone in almost twenty-four years, and I’d arrived without a kerfuffle.

After disembarking, I went to collect my baggage. A curious tingling had begun in my legs and I tripped over my feet as I pulled my bag from the carousel. Feeling drunk, I wondered was this a
side effect of high altitude or the pills I’d taken to combat it. I knew Cusco was ten thousand feet above sea level and James’s email had warned that it took some adjusting.

As I hauled my bag towards the door of the tiny rural airport, my phone beeped to tell me I had a message. I presumed it would be from James. Instead it was a text from Ella: “Arr in Rio.
Eat yr heart out. Fab place & gorgeous men. Enjoy Peru. Ella x”

In vain, I scanned the small terminal for James. Everyone had cautioned me about Peru being dangerous and I didn’t fancy the prospect of going it alone here. I was suddenly worried and my
heart began a loud thudding as I started to sweat profusely. Feeling a tap on my shoulder, I swung around to see a smiling James panting slightly. “Oh thank heavens you’re here, James.
I was just beginning to get worried – I didn’t get a text from you. I thought you’d forgotten about me.” It was so great to see him, I felt a rush of emotion – I had
so much to tell him about Brazil and the trip so far. I’d missed being able to chat to him since he’d been away. No matter how many emails we sent, it was never the same as talking face
to face

Now he placed one arm round my back and kissed my cheek. “Sorry Kate, arrived in Cusco yesterday but only just got here and my message sending failed three times. You look great! How are
you?” He took my large wheelie bag and pulled it behind him as we exited the terminal in the direction of the car park.

“I’m good. I feel healthy and strong.”

“Great, because you need to be fit for hiking. Are you up to a short trek today for our initiation ceremony, up to visit a power place?”

“I think so. My energy levels have soared after Brazil. How was Mexico?” I pulled my sunglasses over my eyes to deflect the glare of the midday sun.

“Loved it. Club Med was a great experience. There were a good few Asian chefs there, so I have an amazing selection of recipes. Took photographs of all the dishes and food displays for you
too. They should blow your mind.” He stopped before a big black van, a cross between a people wagon and a minibus. “This is it. Maria can’t wait to meet you.” James gestured
for me to climb on board. The vehicle gleamed in the sunlight, polished to salon perfection with three rows of seats and loads of space to stretch out. There was no sign of a driver and the bus was
empty save for a pretty blond woman in her early forties. “Meet my cousin Maria,” James called, while depositing my bag in the boot.

I slid onto the seat in the second row, and turned to Maria in the seat behind. She offered me her delicate hand as we exchanged pleasantries. I noted a slight resemblance to James in the shape
of her oval face and regular features, except her eyes were grey blue under arched brows on either side of a straight slim nose. Petite and small-boned, she had a neat blond bob and an ample
figure. The overall effect was of a plain prim woman, much as I’d expected from our telephone conversations, when I found her English accent soft yet precise in tone. However, as she smiled
her face lit up with a pretty femininity. “How did you get on with the Brazilian healer, Kate?”

“It was great. He’s quite special isn’t he? And the atmosphere among the people there is something else. Everyone goes around smiling. We had a lovely time. Thanks for all the
information you sent me.”

“There’s a great mix of people there, definitely an advert for meditation. Some of them look fifteen years younger than their age.”

“Absolutely, a great side effect of de-stressing. But tell me, you’ve been on the spiritual path for some time, haven’t you?”

To my surprise Maria threw her head back, laughing. “James calls me a spiritual junkie, I’ve been on so many spiritual trips and travelled to listen to tons of gurus speak. My brush
with cancer started it, but it’s definitely become a passion.” She sighed as she flicked a strand of pale blonde hair from the side of her mouth. “But to be honest with you, Kate,
the real challenge lies in keeping a balance from day to day with the stresses and strain of everyday living.”

“Absolutely,” James and I chimed in unison.

“You are like other shamanic tourists who come here. You all have such stress back home because you have forgotten what is important.”

I turned to see who had spoken.

“Kate, yes?” A man with hawk-like features and a Mohican hairstyle addressed me.

“Yes, I’m Kate and you must be..?” I offered the new arrival my hand and took in his appearance. He was tall, taller than average for a Peruvian man, his muscular frame
well-dressed in co-ordinating cream shirt over smart khaki utility trousers. In my skinny black jeans, t-shirt layers and a black goretex jacket, I felt grubby in comparison. His bone-crushing
handshake was so firm I had to shake my hand afterwards.

“I am Hakalan, your tour guide and shaman,” he announced in heavily accented yet clear English, handing each of us a bottle of cool water before sitting into the driver’s seat
and starting up the van.

As the van pulled smoothly away, I turned to James. “In your emails you referred to visiting the famous Mayan sites. How was that?”

“Fantastic. I only had one day off per week but I managed to pack a lot in. Eco Coba, Ek Balam, Tulum and of course Chichen Itza.”

“I’ve seen pictures of them and Chichen Itza has some special significance, hasn’t it. Something to do with the Mayan calendar?”

“Yes, the Mayan calendar is incorporated into the design of the pyramid. It has ninety-one steps on each of the four sides which adds up to three hundred and sixty-four Also, on the spring
and autumn equinoxes, and the summer and winter solstices, the edge of the shadow from the sun falls exactly on the corner of the pyramid, leaving one side in total sunlight and the other in total
shadow. Quite amazing. Ouch!” James winced as we hit a huge bump in the road and grabbed the hand grip above his window. I grabbed the grip on my side in order to steady myself.

“Tell Kate about the trick with sound in the pyramid, James,” Maria said.

“If you stand in a specific area in front of the pyramid and clap, your clap will be converted to a chirp, resembling the call of the Quetzal bird closely followed by the faint tinkle of a
rattle snake. It’s very realistic and comes from some echo. Both the bird and the snake were sacred to the Mayan people.”

“Wow.” For a moment I was speechless, wondering how an ancient civilization had managed such a feat. But I had something else I wanted to ask. “What really was the significance
of the Mayans finishing their calendar on the twenty-first of December 2012?”

“Nobody can say for sure, but the general consensus is that it signified the ending of one era and the gradual beginning of another. That we’re moving into the possibility of a more
spiritual era where everyone will have an opportunity to attain enlightenment.”

“I don’t know if that could ever happen! It’s fine when you’re on a spiritual journey, but as Maria said the real challenge is when we’re under pressure coping with
everyday life.” I looked at Maria, and she nodded quietly in agreement.

“I will be talking to you about all of this during your trip.” Hakalan had obviously been listening to our conversation and joined in from the front seat. I nudged James. I was
suddenly sure this trip had been the right decision.

The views out of my window were captivating. Nature became art; the ravines, valleys and passes exploded with colour, from the steel grey of mountain rock to the purples and corn gold of crops
covering the land. I envied James snapping happily away with his professional Nikon. Neither my camera nor iPhone were up to the job of capturing such beauty, but I knew James would share his
pictures when we got home.