Magnificent Machu Picchu
and the Ring of Fire

by Kathy Doore

© Labyrinthina 1998 - 2007 All Rights Reserved

As the buses approached the Sanctuary, Jaime, my Quechua friend, grimaced. He wanted to know what I thought of the massive amounts of tourists who visited Machu Picchu every year. Without waiting for my answer, he exclaimed that he, and apparently many others, believed that the visitors had stolen all the energy.

"They've stolen it. There's nothing left!"
"Everything has changed," he exclaimed, disquietedly.
"Everything has changed!"

It was true; the atmosphere and environment had been transformed. But it was not due to the tourists, as Jaime believed. It was due to something else.

In the fall of l997, massive forest fires had ignited the old mountain, leaping from peak to peak, encircling the city in a virtual ring of fire.

As the flames licked the Incan walls and terraces that spanned the city, the inferno threatened to consume the very sanctuary itself. The little village at the base of the citadel, Aguas Calientes, was all but evacuated; only a handful of locals remained, maintaining a vigilance of prayer. On the fifth day, when all seemed utterly hopeless, a sudden and unseasonable gathering of storm clouds formed directly over the citadel. Throughout the next two hours, the benevolent villagers of Machu Picchu prayed and held vigil, while the rains poured, unabated. Eventually, the sky parted and, like a giant smudge, a heavy blanket of thick, black smoke hung over the Sanctuary. As the air slowly cleared, it became gloriously apparent that the city had been spared! Villagers rejoiced with sacred offerings of gratitude to the mountain spirits, the Apu, and to the Pachamama, the earth mother.

I peered at Jaime, shaking my head. "You are right, my friend. Something dramatic has changed, but it is not the result of tourists taking all the energy. The deep, guttural resonance we once felt is no more. Sit quietly for a moment. Can you feel this incredible lightness? This is something new--soft, like a whisper. The energy is still here. Can you feel it?" I asked.

As I spoke these words, I realized the enormity of the metamorphosis. "We've been blessed with a new opportunity.” Like the mythical Phoenix, Machu Picchu had risen above the ashes, transmuting her lower astral residue. The slate had been washed clean, and been created fresh and new. “We now have a rare opportunity to gather together our hopes and dreams for the people, our world, and, with loving compassion and respect for the Pachamama, anchor this exquisite dream for humanity.”

Jaime turned to me, smiling, and then waved to a passing tourist.

He had also felt the lightest of whispers, the sweet essence of the Pachamama; together we offered our prayers in supplication.

In the weeks that followed, I continued working with the energetic signature of the Sanctuary, eventually making my way back to the Sacred Valley of the Incas, and the two Classical Labyrinths I had constructed in Urubamba. A divine appointment awaited me, as I and four sisters of spirit united on a day outing to the high-frequency lagoons of Salinas. They must have been midwives for this is where the Goddess Gathering was birthed.









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