Mystic in Mexico Part V: Sirius Wisdom

This is the fifth in a multi-part series. To read from the beginning CLICK HERE.

I stood and gazed at the spinning, vibrating portal beckoning me to leave my Earthly bounds and travel to the mysterious world beyond. I felt light, as though my feet were barely touching the ground and I knew all I had to do was relax and accept the invitation and I would be whisked away. But to where? And who would be on the other side? My mind raced with questions as I was gripped by the fear that entering the portal would be the end of me, I’d be atomized, and cease to exist in my present form, maybe in any form. I pictured my body vaporizing and my life being over. No soul remaining, no new life, just complete nothingness. It struck me then that the invitation to pass through to the other side may have come from a dark force. I shuddered. No, I would not go. I shut my eyes and mentally declined the invitation. When I opened my eyes again a second later, the vision of the perfect wave was gone.

In its place was the scenery as it should be – a gentle bay headed by a line of dark bedrock jutting from the sea’s glassy surface, small waves breaking in the rock-strewn near shore, the sandy, rolling landscape dotted with cacti. Everything was normal, except for the colors. They were still psychedelic. The sea had turned golden like the sky had been in my vision moments before and now the sky was cotton-candy pink. At its center, the sun continued to rise, continued spinning wildly clockwise, and still looked like the portal vibrating in and out. I couldn’t take my eyes from it and felt its vibration in every cell of my body, which hummed, I thought, at the same frequency. That’s when I noticed five objects or symbols at the center of the portal. They were light grey, but blurred. I could not make out what they were, but I sensed that they held meaning if only I could discern what shape they had. The sun, I realized, was only visible as the outside edge of the orb I was looking at, and there was a second circle inside the sun. The planet Sirius. A chill went through me. Sirius? The planet I’d been drawn to my whole life, I now realized, was connected to our Sun by an energetic portal. My mind quickly understood the connections were not physical, but energetic and that Hikuri was allowing me to see the energetic connection between these two heavenly bodies.

I was becoming aware now that knowledge was being imparted to me in a non-verbal manner. I suddenly “knew” things that I previously had no knowledge of. For example, the fact that Sirius is not only the brightest star we can see from Earth and therefore the “sun” of the night sky, but that it is also the giver of energy to our sun and therefore our entire planet. The God Star, as it were.

GOD = DOG

Something I overhead Ayax say to Mio early in the night came flooding back to me. “Oh yes,” he said, nodding and looking over at me, “Dawn is definitely a Sirian.” I didn’t know what he was talking about then, but now I understood. In my minds’ eye I saw a flash of blue atomic particles and understood them to be a Sirian being. Sirians are not physical beings, but are energetic in nature. Then I saw a cloud of these blue particles entering my soul the day I was born. Within me I carry the energy of a Sirian. Sirians have been sent to Earth to help us. 

This was all a bit much to absorb and as I stood there staring at the sun, trying to comprehend what I was learning, Crystal approached, touched me gently on the shoulder and tilting her head towards the house, softly said, “Come Dawn. We are going to eat something.” I looked towards where she’d gestured and saw Guadalupe standing on the side of the hill that led to Crystal and Fernando’s house. He was looking at me and waiting. Mario was next to him, his back to me, busying himself with something. I felt rooted to the ground and reticent to leave the portal. Crystal encouraged me again to come with her. With great effort I pulled my gaze away from the portal and nodded that yes, I would come. Behind her, I saw Guadalupe turn and continue up the hill towards the house.

I turned to collect my things and as I did recalled that I’d not checked on the moon since seeing the vision of the perfect wave. I looked where it last had been suspended in the sky over the western hills. It was gone.

*****

I sat in the middle of a large table in the small inviting space of the casita that served as Crystal’s kitchen as she prepared coffee, mixed juice-flavored crystals in water and a simple meal of quesadillas. My head was buzzing and felt amorphous, like it was full of air and had no solid boundaries. I declined the coffee Crystal offered me. The idea of eating or drinking anything repulsed me.

I wondered at everyone’s behavior. Was I the only one who felt this way, had seen what I’d seen? Guadalupe and Mario sat a few feet away and to my right at the end of the table. Fernando leaned against the frame of a window behind them, his arms crossed, his usual quiet, introspective self. To my left and several feet away stood Ayax, his hands on the edge of the table and words flooding from his mouth like a plague of locusts. He was talking excitedly about a myriad of topics, but many of them related to visions he’d had on previous peyote journeys. His voice reverberated in my mind and I had trouble following what he said, nor had any desire to.

Slowly my energy shifted and I began to feel more grounded. The chatter, eating and drinking around me seemed to reconnect me to the mundane material world. The coffee smelled good. I pulled myself further out of my trance and asked Crystal if I could have a cup. As she poured my cup, she turned to Guadalupe and asked him how old he was. “Seventy-one,” he said. All of us reacted with surprise. He didn’t look more than 50. Life as a shaman is good, I thought. He looked shy and embarrassed by the attention and Mario, perhaps sensing this, began telling us what it meant to be a shaman’s assistant and how they’d both felt called to come to Los Cabos to bring their ancient wisdom to the people here. He turned to me and said he could use a translator to help him with the English-speaking expats who were interested in their work and I responded as positively as I could. My mind was so consumed with the effects of the peyote that I couldn’t focus enough to have a substantive conversation. Guadalupe sat quietly as the rest of the group conversed. With Ayax’s flurry of chatter on hold between the other discussions, I turned to Guadalupe and told him of my vision of the portal and the perfect wave and of my sense that I would cease to exist were I to heed the call. He and Mario both listened intently and maintained eye contact as I spoke.

“No,” Guadalupe said, shaking his head gently, “You need not be afraid. That is the portal of wisdom. You will learn much if you cross over to the other side.” He said no more.

A conversation ensued between Mario and Ayax about the portal and what it meant, but I was lost in my own thoughts about what I might have learned had I not been afraid to accept the invitation. To lessen the sting of disappointment, I rationalized that it was not meant to be. Not yet anyway.

Ayax had moved to a vacant chair on my right, chattering away. Each of his words was an irritating poke in my brain. Just as I felt myself getting tense, Crystal appeared at my right elbow again.

“Let’s go outside Dawn,” she said.

As we passed from the dimly lit kitchen to the bright exterior I felt my irritation drop away.

“I couldn’t stand to listen to him for a moment more,” said Crystal, reflecting my own feelings. “I need to be somewhere quiet right now. Don’t you agree?”

I nodded my ascent and she showed me to a little building containing a bedroom and a small bathroom. Crystal suggested I lie down on one of the two twin beds. “The boys are going to the beach. You’ll be left in peace here and can relax.”

At first I resisted the idea of lying down in a strange space, but then I realized she was right. I needed to lie down, close my eyes, and “be” with whatever it was that was happening to me.

I lay on my back and relaxed into the softness of the bed.

“Take as much time as you need,” said Crystal as she left the room. I heard her outside ordering her sons to go to the beach and leave me alone.

I took a deep breath and sank further into the sensation of comfort surrounding me. The room was brightly lit, the sun coming in through two large windows on the south side and two doorways located at the east and west ends of the room. I wanted to be in darkness, to have no external stimuli to distract me. I just wanted to “be.”

I gently pressed the heels of both hands on my eyes to block out the sun. However, the blackness I sought was punctuated with fine iridescent green lights resembling early computer screen displays. The lights were fine, long dashes on a black background, intersected by red and blue iridescent lines.

I thought it was a digital representation of peyote and for some reason that thought was comforting. The vision made me a bit uncomfortable though and I decided I needed to get further centered. So I began doing a chakra cleanse.

As I checked in with my first and second chakras, I realized that I was unusually and acutely aware of the status of my energetic body. My root and sacral chakras were fine. But, as I worked my way up, I realized that my third chakra, the solar plexus chakra, was not.

A voice in my head said, Your solar plexus chakra is blocked. You must open this energy channel if you want your heart to open. I was aware of an “other” quality to the voice. It was not my usual inner voice. No, this was a voice of authority and wisdom. I returned my attention to the chakras and saw two helical energy channels running up and down my body in a figure-eight pattern connecting the solar plexus and heart chakras. The energy coming from both chakras was weak and fuzzy, instead of dense and concentrated like the first two chakras.

The voice continued, Your solar plexus chakra is weak because of the emotional pain you experienced as a small child. You must heal the child in order to heal your energy center. You must forgive your mother for not giving you the love and affection you craved. You, adult Dawn, must give that inner child the love she needs.

As the words passed through my head I felt the pain and loneliness of the child I had once been rise in my chest, saw myself looking to my parents for something they were incapable of giving me. Mentally, I embraced the child, pulled her onto my lap and soothed her. As I did so, I was overwhelmed with emotion and began to cry. I kept my hands pressed to my eyes feeling the tears come slowly at first, but soon I was sobbing and the tears ran so that they collected in pools in the wells of my ears.

I don’t know how long I lay there sobbing, but when I was done, I felt a calmness descend that I’d never felt before. I knew I’d released a significant amount of the negative energy I’d been carrying around with me all my life. The voice now told me that my heart would open when my solar plexus chakra was healed. It went on, Surfing is a good way for you to work with your solar plexus chakra. When you lie on your board to paddle, it is your solar plexus that comes in contact with the board. Your new yellow board is good, yellow is the color for this chakra. Put the solar plexus symbol on your boards, especially those that are not yellow. Riding larger waves is good for you. Facing your fears will help open this chakra as fear is an emotion governed by this chakra.

Any voice that told me to keep surfing, to challenge myself in the surf, was a voice I was willing to heed.

In Part VI of Mystic in Mexico, Hikuri imparts knowledge about Dawn’s past lives and the workings of the Universe.

Mystic in Mexico Part IV: The Portal

The following post is the fourth in a series. To read from the beginning click here for Part I.

As the night progressed, one by one, people laid down to sleep, but Crystal, Fernando and I remained awake. I sat upright, avoiding the temptation to lie down, knowing it would induce sleep. Each time I felt sleep descending over me, I’d eat another wedge of peyote and the sleepiness would lift. I did not experience the nausea some people describe, but I also did not experience any far out visions beyond that first subtle one of the Blue Deer. I’d forgotten my watch at home, but the constellations, as they rose and gradually made their way across the sky accompanied by the bright moon, served as a timepiece. Gradually Orion appeared, followed by Sirius, the Dog Star, the brightest star in the night sky.

I have a particular affinity for Orion and Sirius, hailing from when on still winter nights in my youth I often lay in the deep snow blanketing our yard to gaze at the night sky. Aside from the Big and Little Dipper, the only constellation I knew was Orion. We’d learned a song in school about Orion and it played over and over in my mind’s soundtrack as I looked skyward. What other thoughts I had lying out there wrapped in my snowsuit, I don’t recall, but even then I believed there was much more to the Universe than my young mind could possibly comprehend.

As the night of the peyote ceremony progressed, I grew impatient for sunrise, feeling the night would never end. The moon had arced its way across the sky and sat above the hills behind me, shining down upon us like a huge flashlight. Orion tilted towards the hills laying on his side just above the moon, while faithful Sirius remained, as always, left of and below his foot. I turned my gaze back to the fire and tried to concentrate on Guadalupe’s chanting. Something told me that sunrise would be a significant time in the ceremony. I bided the time.

After what seemed like another hour, I looked again over my shoulder to check the progress of Orion, Sirius, and the moon in their descent toward the hill. What I saw left me befuddled. Orion and Sirius had disappeared below the hill, but the moon remained in the position I’d last seen it. How could that be? I looked back at the fire, thinking it must be a trick of my vision and Orion and Sirius must still be there. I turned again to check and saw that indeed they were not. I nudged Crystal who sat quietly next to me.

“Did you notice the moon,” I said, gesturing with my head. She shook her head no, so I asked, “Look at where it is now. Please take note and then let’s look again in a while.” She agreed, noted the moon’s position, and we turned our attention back to the fire and Guadalupe’s chanting.

A while later, Crystal got up and left. When she returned, I thought it was a good time to check on the moon, time having been tangibly marked by her departure. I couldn’t believe my eyes! There it sat, in exactly the same place, a short distance from the top of the hills! When I pointed it out to Crystal, she smiled the same mischievous grin that Ayax had exhibited when I mentioned seeing the blue deer.

Finally, the sky began to brighten. As dawn approached, Mario instructed us that we should take our last piece of hikuri. Once again I chewed the strange cactus up into a mash. Having swallowed it, I prepared myself mentally for what I thought would be a sunrise ceremony, but rather than gathering into a circle and chanting as I’d expected, everyone began gathering their things while they chewed their last piece of peyote. Convinced that I needed to see the sun rise, I stubbornly ignored the others and sat cross-legged on my blanket watching the eastern horizon. Every few minutes I looked over my right shoulder to check on the moon, which remained hanging above the hill. I now knew for certain that it hadn’t moved for hours.

As I sat and waited, I remembered that people report seeing a green flash at the instant the sun breaks the horizon, so I focused my attention on the brightest spot, only breaking my glance briefly to check on the moon. The activity of the others around me was getting boisterous – they were talking, gathering their belongings, walking between me and the sun. I wondered why they would ignore the most important moment of a new day and tried to stifle my annoyance. Eventually, I felt I had to stand up, or I might be swept up in their activity. So I stood, continuing to stare at the horizon. When the sky got so bright that it became clear dawn was imminent, I decided to ignore the moon and kept my eyes focused eastward.

In a flash of whitish yellow light, the sun suddenly appeared above the sea and the sky filled with an intensity that contrasted sharply with the many hours of darkness I’d just experienced. As it rapidly rose, I began to feel the pull again of the moon and turned my whole body to face it, half expecting it to be gone. But no, there she was hovering in exactly the same position. I turned to look at the sun, then turned to look at the moon again. Back and forth I went, conflicted about which body I needed to gaze at. I wanted to combine their energy somehow and felt as though I was a link between the two. After several minutes of trying to look at them both, the sun morphed into a strange rotating silver disk, so I focused my attention on it. Then I realized it was not a disk at all, but a hole, a portal of some sort. Beyond the portal the sky turned golden, the sea became lavender and a perfect right-hand wave broke continuously. Behind the wave rose a steep volcanic mountain covered in lush vegetation. I realized I was being beckoned to pass through the portal to visit the idyllic scene.

Despite feeling incredibly drawn to go ride that perfect wave, a wave of fear rolled through me instead. What would happen on the other side? Where would I go? Was this some cosmic trick? Find out in Part V of Mystic in Mexico: Sirius Wisdom.

Mystic in Mexico Part III: The Blue Deer

This is the third in a multi-part series. Here is where you’ll find Part I and Part II.

We were then instructed to stand before Guadalupe so that we could be blessed. The sky was dark now, but a soft orange light glowed on the eastern horizon. As Guadalupe blessed the other participants, I kept my eyes on the horizon as the light grew stronger until finally the moon crested. Gradually, it rose to cast a long shaft of soft orange and then yellow light across the sea’s smooth surface. It appeared enormous so close to the horizon, powerful, and surely blessed the occasion with its presence. The full moon happened to be in my astrological sign, Gemini, that night. I watched it rise to the sound of Guadalupe’s soft chanting behind me. Crystal called me when it was my turn and I stood quiet and still in front of Guadalupe as he moved the feathered wand first to my left, then to my right, placed it between my hands as he brought them to my heart. Finally he held it to my forehead. I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer for guidance.

Now that we had been blessed, we were permitted to eat our first piece of peyote. Mario had carefully cut a golf ball-sized button into wedges. He showed us how to pick the small prickly hairs off the outside skin before eating it and explained that they made the cactus taste bitter. I imagined they also didn’t feel very good stuck in the roof of your mouth and tongue! I cleaned my piece thoroughly and put it in my mouth. I’d heard that peyote can be so bitter as to make you want to vomit and that some people do indeed. Mario instructed us to chew it down to a pulp before swallowing it. As I did so, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that it tasted much better than I’d expected. It was not bitter at all and had a texture and taste a bit like a cucumber, but with fibrous strings mixed into the soft meat. Next I noticed it also had tiny hard pieces in it, like sand particles.  When I’d chewed it down into the texture of baby pablum, I swallowed the pulpy mass down.

It was time to enter the temescal. Crystal invited me to enter first. I removed all my clothing except for my bathing suit and a light cotton sun dress I wore over it. The night air was fresh and humid, the sand soft and cool on my bare feet. The sweat lodge is a low structure constructed of boughs from a local shrub called Palo de Arco (literally “bowed branch” because, like willow, it is easily bent and shaped into bows) and PVC tubing. The PVC might seem incongruous, but it is practical. The dome-shaped skeleton of soft branches and plastic tubing is covered with many blankets and tarps all the way to the ground.  The result is a pitch black cocoon-like space that retains the heat and steam of the hot rocks. There is a hole at the center of the tented space that is about three feet by two feet wide and almost three feet deep. This is where the hot rocks are placed. I squatted down low and, duck-like, entered the lodge where the tarps and blankets were thrown back to create a low doorway.

One by one, my fellow travelers joined me inside, gradually forming a circle around the hole at the center. Once we were all inside, Crystal asked each of us to say our name and tell the spirit of Hikuri what our intention was for being there that night. One of the participants asked to be helped in his quest to quit drinking. As the other participants spoke in turn, I turned inside to see what intention I carried in my heart. When it was my turn, I shared what I’d found there: “I seek knowledge of the spirit world and to open my heart.”

Fernando began to bring in the now white-hot rocks one at a time. As each rock was dropped into the pit, we would all chime, “Bienvenida abuelita!” (welcome little grandmother) As the rocks were placed, I could feel their heat snaking up out of the hole and across my legs. After seven had been delivered, Fernando came back into the lodge with a bucket of water and the door was closed tightly behind him. Crystal took the bucket and after chanting something I didn’t understand, poured the water onto the rocks in a constant slow stream. A strong blast of steam rose from the pit to envelope us all. Outside, Guadalupe continued to chant his mysterious prayer songs.

The first thing I noticed was that the steam did not burn the inside of my nose when I breathed like it had the first time I participated in the temescal. Others were breathing quickly, as though under stress, but I settled in and felt the heat enter the cells of my body. Crystal began to sing a spiritual song. I closed my eyes and began to move slowly side to side in time to the beat.

Once the steam dissipated, Fernando left the lodge again to move more hot rocks from the fire into the pit. Again, we sang out , “Bienvenida abuelita!” as he dropped the rocks from his shovel blade, one by one into the pit.  This time he brought 13 rocks in total and I felt the energy in the small space rise as we all anticipated the stronger heat they would create. Another bucket of water was brought and once the door was sealed, poured over the rocks. The intensity of the steam was acute, yet I felt remarkably comfortable and hummed along as Crystal sang. Someone began to chant Om and I joined in. Mystified at how comfortable I was, thinking I had not even broken a sweat, I reached up to feel my face only to discover that I was, in fact, sweating profusely.

I guess this is an effect of the peyote, I thought and was grateful that I was more comfortable in the sweat lodge this time around. I closed my eyes and appreciated the feeling of the humid, heavy heat.

At one point I opened my eyes and saw an oblong blue light above the circle. There were two dark spots at the top of the shape, where it was widest and a dark line running vertically down the lower three quarters. I knew it hadn’t been there earlier, but guessed one of the blankets on top of the lodge must have blown back to allow the light of the moon to glow through a blue tarp. But when I listened for the wind, I heard nothing.

When the sweat lodge ceremony was over, we crawled out of the small sandy space one at a time. I removed my dress and, as instructed, poured cool fresh water from a 50 gallon barrel over my head and body to cleanse myself of the toxins I’d just sweated out. The water was quite cool, but I enjoyed the sensation of it washing over my body.

I dried off and put on warm clothes. One by one, we gathered around the fire while Fernando busied himself adding fuel.  Blankets were laid out around the fire to sit or lie on. I joined Crystal on one and wrapped myself in a heavy blanket I’d brought to guard against getting chilled. The heat from the fire felt good and I turned slowly in a circle so it would warm my whole body and help dry my hair.

Guadalupe and Mario sat on the white plastic chairs on the South side of the fire pit where they’d been when we entered the lodge. Guadalupe continued to chant quietly and I wondered if he would do it the entire night. We chatted amicably amongst ourselves until I heard Mario telling Mauricio, “Yes, you may take more Hikuri.” I looked to Crystal for guidance. She nodded and said, “Yes, you may take Hikuri as often as you want. Let your intuition guide you.”

Mario added, “It will help you if you find yourself getting tired.”

I took another wedge, cleaned it, and chewed it to a pulp.

Guadalupe paused from his chanting, got up and stretched then. He looked around and asked no one in particular, “How was the temescal?”

Ayax, the cardiologist, replied, “We were visited by the venado azul.” (the blue deer)

I looked at him in surprise. “Blue deer?” I asked.

Guadalupe looked at him intently and replied, “That is an auspicious sign.”

Ayax continued, “Part way through the second round, I saw a line of small blue deer prancing around above the heads of the people across from me.” As he spoke he pointed away from himself and motioned with his hand up and down. “A line of four small deer trotting around the circle.”

Guadalupe said quietly, “El Venado Azul is the messenger. It is a good sign.”

I turned to Ayax and asked, “So it was not the moon shining through one of the tarps that I saw?”

He smiled mischievously at me and asked, “What did you see?”

I described the blue light I’d seen and turned to Crystal to ask her if the moon had shone through the roof of the lodge, but even before she answered, I suddenly realized I’d had a vision of the head of a blue deer.

The Venado Azul is the guide, messenger, and guardian of the sacred land the Huichol call Wirikuta, where the peyote cactus is collected. This spirit deer also symbolizes peyote and their names are sometimes used interchangeably. The Huichol refer to “hunting the blue deer” when they go on pilgrimage to Wirikuta to collect peyote.

I sat and questioned what I’d seen. My mind, the product of years of scientific and western dogma struggled to accept what I knew on a more visceral level to be true. Ayax’s vision was so similar. I felt a wave of understanding pass through me and acceptance of their explanation seemed to make me feel lighter. I felt my chest open and expand as I decided that the vision of the blue deer was a sign that my quest to know Hikuri was not misguided.

In Part IV: The Portal Hikuri extends an invitation to travel to another world. Will I go?

The Greatest Surfing Story Ever Told: A Movie Review

I often feel like I need to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming – my life is that good. And were it not just a metaphor, I’d have pinched myself black and blue last week when I was suddenly hopping a plane to L.A. to attend the premier of Jack McCoy’s 25th movie, A Deeper Shade of Blue, the most comprehensive movie on surf history, culture, and the evolution of surfboard design produced to date. The promotional materials cheekily assert that “this is not a surf movie.” However, it is that and yet so much more. It is an homage to the surfers who changed the way we surf, to the Hawaiian spirit of aloha, and to innovations in surfboard design that support the pursuit’s continued evolution.

hom·age |ˈ(h)ämij|
noun
special honor or respect shown publicly

The point is, however, that you don’t need to be a surfer to enjoy this movie. Watching it is the kind of experience during which you become part of the incredible vistas captured, giving even the most ocean-reticent land lubber a chance to experience what it feels like to be in, on, and under the water. Scenes like the massive waves at Teahupo’o breaking seemingly over the viewer’s head got my heart racing and made my breath catch in my throat. By combining cutting edge filming techniques with the skill of a true waterman, McCoy puts the viewer right there in the heart of the action.

McCoy is at heart an artist and this is his magnum opus. The soundtrack selections for each scene compliment the visuals so well that in several instances the melding of beauty pushed my emotional buttons to the point of eliciting serious eye misting. The underwater footage shot in crystal clear waters depicting surfboards slicing through waves rolling overhead, the reef below, and ocean life dancing in unseen currents was awe-inducing.

It contains little known historical facts, like that of the Hawaiian who dared defy the missionaries’ law forbidding surfing. I’m thinking you’ll be as surprised as I was to learn who induced Hawaiians territory-wide to return en mass to the waves. You’ll see mind-blowing footage of surfers doing what surfers do, but using radically different surfboards that seem the stuff of science fiction. Aussie Derek Hynd free-friction surfing to the sound of The BPA’s He’s Frank (featuring Iggy Pop) is inspiring, breath-catching stuff for sure. Yes, what would have happened in the evolution of surfing if the fin had never been invented? You may remember Derek from my blog post “Crossing Paths: Surf Legend Derek Hynd.”

The visuals, the story, and the way in which the director’s love for the subject matter and the community of surfers with whom he worked to produce this epic movie created an unparalleled surf movie experience for this viewer. It’s showing in theaters all over the U.S. this Thursday, March 28^th for one night only. But don’t take my word for it. In one of those serendipitous events, much like those that brought me to the movie premier, Sir Paul McCartney was introduced to Jack’s work by a mutual acquaintance and the two ended up working on a video clip together called Blue Sway that includes additional footage taken for the movie and a previously unreleased song by Sir Paul. McCartney has said of Jack’s work:

I was blown away by the stunning spectacle of Jack’s work. Now that I’ve gotten to know him, I enjoy what he does even more and value greatly his contribution to the world of surfing.

You can buy your tickets by following this link. Better do it quick before they sell out!!

Mystic in Mexico Part II: Meeting Hikuri

The following is the second in a series of blogs. To read Part I, go HERE.

Last November, I was on the beach packing up to leave after a surf, when my friend Crystal happened by. We chatted briefly, and then, out of the blue, she invited me to participate in a temescal. A temescal is a ceremony that takes place in a small enclosed space with a hole in the center into which burning hot stones are placed. Water is then poured over the white hot stones to create lung-searing steam, which causes sweat to pour from every pore in your body such that you are transformed into something resembling a fountain. It’s supposed to purifying your body, and spirit. I imagine if you’re impure enough, you might vaporize entirely, leaving behind just a shell of skin in a pile on the dirt floor.

I’d participated in a temescal with Crystal a couple of years ago and found the intense heat overwhelming, the result more exhausting than invigorating. I’d barely managed to remain in the little enclosure and, desperate to get some cool air into my lungs, had to lie with the side of my face in the dirt near a flap of the tarp covering the lodge’s frame. This time though I was three days into a juice cleanse and thought her invitation rather serendipitous. All that sweating would help me take the cleanse to another level, if I could only withstand the claustrophobia and lung-searing heat. As I ruminated over whether to accept her invitation, Crystal mentioned that a couple of Huichol Indians would be joining us and one was a shaman. “Padre!” I exclaimed, barely able to contain my excitement. I would be there with bells on.

The day of the temescal I arrived at Crystal’s house as the sun was setting behind the hills west of her house.  It was a beautiful evening, the water calm, the sky turning soft pink and lavender. She and her boyfriend, Fernando, live on a knoll overlooking the sea, backed by sienna-colored hills. Their three skinny dogs announced my arrival as I pulled up on my ATV and Crystal emerged from one of several small buildings on the property to call them off. The atmosphere was positive and inviting. We embraced in greeting and chatted briefly when a car pulled up the driveway. Four people emerged, two men dressed in the characteristic garb of the Huichol, a third man and a woman, both dressed in modern western clothing. Like the man from the gallery, the Huichol wore loose white, cotton shirts and pants with brightly colored embroidery around the bottom of the pants, across the chest and around the wrists. On their feet they wore huaraches woven from narrow strips of leather. The younger Huichol had a rectangular, red bag embroidered with deep purple flowers slung diagonally across his shoulder. He would keep the bag slung there throughout our time together. We made our introductions and I hugged each of them in turn. The shaman, his Spanish name was Guadalupe, hugged me stiffly and kept his left hand clenched at his heart. To guard it, I thought and wondered if perhaps hugging a shaman was inappropriate. I turned to Mio and we chatted while the others got organized. She was an attractive woman with fair skin and brown eyes. I noticed immediately a gentle, loving energy about her. The man, Ajax, with whom she’d come was of small stature with a short, manicured black beard. He quickly disappeared after we’d been introduced, helping with the preparations. I was the only non-Mexican taking part.

As the sky began to darken, we built a pyre of wood and stones from a large pile of driftwood that Fernando and Crystal’s sons, Mauricio and Tonatui, gathered earlier that day. The stones, about the size of a large grapefruit or pomelo were full of small round holes like lava. As we worked, Guadalupe began chanting a blessing over the wood and stones. When the pyre was several feet high and the stones, twelve in total, were carefully nestled within, Fernando lit the fire. We all took several steps back as it grew and the heat intensified.

Mario, Guadalupe’s assistant, laid out a small altar, low to the ground between the fire and the white plastic chairs he and Guadalupe would sit on throughout the ceremony. A burgundy cloth was laid over a platform only a few inches high onto which sacred objects were placed as Guadalupe prayed over them in a low rhythmic chant. I could not understand the words as he spoke in Wixárika (pronounced wee-rá-reeka), the Huichol language. He held a stick with large feathers tied to it, waving it up and down, back and forth, gesturing to the four compass headings as he prayed quietly. Crystal had instructed me to bring two candles and ribbon with me. I placed these on the altar alongside the others with a small box of sandalwood incense. (In the days that followed, as I studied the events that occurred that night, I would learn that candles represent the illumination of the human spirit and hold that sacred gift from the sun and fire gods. Along with the ribbon tied around it, the candle served as my offering and payment to the deities for the opportunity to be there that night. As fortune would have it, both the candle and ribbon were green, symbolizing the Earth, Heaven, healing, the heart, and growth in Huichol mythology.)

Crystal’s older son, Mauricio, asked Mario about something on the alter. It seemed understood that Guadalupe shouldn’t be disturbed as he went about his incantations.

I listened as Mario gestured at several small, round, grayish green cactus buds and explained, “Before eating, first you must remove the small hairs from the skin of Hikuri. This is where some of the bitterness comes from. Then chew it well before swallowing.” He turned to me and gnashed his teeth together to demonstrate, not realizing I understood Spanish.

“We will eat the cactus?” I inquired of Mario.

“Yes, if you want to,” he confirmed.

I looked at the pile of small buds Mario had removed from the red bag he carried over his shoulder and placed on the altar. I felt my pulse quicken. This was completely unexpected. Should I eat it? Was I in the right frame of mind and spirit? But what an opportunity to eat peyote under the supervision of a Huichol shaman!

Looking for clarity, I asked Crystal and she explained that yes, we could eat the peyote if we chose to. No one was required to do anything they did not want to. She explained now why she’d asked us all to bring blankets and dress warmly.

“We will stay up all night, if we can, and watch the fire. It is part of the ceremony. Guadalupe and Mario will stay until after sunrise.”

All night! I felt my excitement mount along with a hint of trepidation. Where would this adventure lead?

Mystic in Mexico Part I: Connection

Many years ago – in 2001 to be precise – I visited Mexico for the first time. This was the trip that led me to decide to move to Baja California Sur. But before I arrived in Baja, I flew into Puerta Vallarta, on the other side of the Sea of Cortez, and traveled North to San Blas in the state of Nayarit, to a hotel claiming to operate one of Corky Carroll’s surf schools (another misadventure that is included in my memoir). Exploring the area around a tiny village called San Francisquito one day, I stumbled across a small art gallery filled with brightly colored tapestries made of yarn and objects covered in brightly colored beads depicting different animals, suns and moons, plant life and a symbol I was not familiar with that appeared in most, if not every piece. It looked like a flower, with tear-drop shaped petals, but it’s coloring was always green and I sensed that while it may have been a plant, it was not a flower.

As I stood looking at the artwork, a gentleman working in the gallery approached me. He was dressed in loosely-fitted white cotton clothing with a brightly-colored woven belt around his waist made of the same material used in some of the tapestries displayed on the gallery’s wall.  He had a friendly, round face, dark skin and even darker, deeply-set eyes. He struck up a conversation with me in Spanish and, although my knowledge of the language was very rudimentary, I discovered that we were able to make ourselves understood quite well. He explained that he was a member of a tribe of native Mexican Indians, the Huichol (‘wee-choll’), who made the unique art we were surrounded by, depicting a culture of nature worship. He patiently explained what each of the symbols meant – that the Sun is father and master of the heavens, and the Eagle, Werika, is his wife, mother of the sky and goddess of life; that the deer, Kauyumari, is a spirit guide who leads the shamans on their visionary pathways. The strange symbol that I thought was a plant he explained was peyote, or Hikuri. My ears pricked up – I’d always been curious about this plant – it’s reputation as a hallucinogen and spiritual teacher. I harkened back to a period of intense spiritual development I experienced shortly before leaving Canada for Mexico during which I read Carlos Castaneda’s The Teachings of Don Juan.

He said, “Peyote is powerful medicine. Peyote is a gift to the Huichol from the gods. It shares wisdom and is a way to connect to the gods.”

As he spoke I felt a slight shiver run through my body. With this we began discussing religion and things of a spiritual nature in general. It was an intense conversation in which I felt a strong level of understanding and connection to the man. I left the gallery feeling energized, buoyed up. I’d had my first spiritual conversation in Spanish! A little later the same day I was struck by the realization that I didn’t speak Spanish well enough to have the kind of conversation we’d engaged in and again, a shiver ran through me as I wondered if perhaps there hadn’t been some magic involved.

One of the pieces I bought.

The next day I returned to the gallery to buy a couple of pieces of Huichol art. The man greeted me warmly. He went into the back room of the gallery and returned with something in his hand. He said, “I want you to have this. My wife made it for you last night.”

He placed a round shell, a little larger than a silver dollar, in my hand onto which the peyote symbol was carefully laid out in tiny beads.

“It is hikuri,” he explained, “peyote.”

I looked down at the tiny symbol. “I remember,” I said. I felt my heart swell in my chest.

I’m a plant biologist. At one time, I wanted to be an anthropological botanist – that’s a scientist who studies the plants used by indigenous cultures for curing illnesses, imbalances and for spiritual purposes – like the character Sean Connery played in the 90s movie, Medicine Man. That was, I wanted to until I realized that almost every indigenous culture in the world is patriarchal and their shamans don’t share their knowledge with white chicks like me. When I discovered that the entire Huichol spiritual doctrine is centered around a plant, I felt connected to them somehow. There seemed to be some kind of grace or Devine connection inherent in this moment, like I was being contacted on some level, told that I was on the right path. Having just made some huge changes in my life (divorce and the decision to quit my job and move to the tropics to learn to surf), I needed reassurance periodically that I wasn’t acting rashly. To top it off, ever since reading Castaneda I was extremely curious about plant-derived psychotropic compounds as a means of evolving spiritually. This despite the fact that I’ve never been much of one to engage in recreational drug use. When I was in my early 20s and discussing LSD and its effects with a more experienced friend, he confidently pronounced, “Dawn, based on what I know about you, you should probably never drop acid.” I wasn’t sure what he was implying exactly, but I did heed his warning. Nevertheless, to my way of thinking, peyote, taken in its natural, unadulterated form seems much safer than a street drug, to which any number of toxic compounds can be added. For these reasons and my sense that the Huichol were incredibly experienced in its use in spiritual quests, I certainly wanted to know more about both the plant and the people. I’ve been drawn to them ever since.

After that first meeting, though, I’ve had few opportunities to interact with them. Once in a very little while I have run into someone working in a gallery much like on that first occasion, but my interactions with them have not led to the same level of connection.

Early last November, however, that all changed.

Find out what happens when I meet a Huichol shaman and his apprentice in Part II: Meeting Hikuri.

Crossing Paths: Surf Legend Derek Hynd

photo by Dane Peterson

Between holiday travel and the cold I inevitably pick up during said travel, I’m way behind on my writing. As promised I’m working on a story about a recent experience I had with peyote and a couple of Huichol Indians, but in the meantime, here’s a quickie about meeting a surf legend on my trip to Central California last November.

I returned to Hollister Ranch this past November with hopes of getting a little surf on this time around. My wonderful hostess Nancie, her brother Dana, and I headed down to a spot called Lefts and Rights to see if the surf was up and were treated to a vision of clean, solid four foot peelers. Considering the exclusive nature of the spot, I was surprised by the size of the crowd. Then I remembered it was a Saturday. Everyone and their dog were at the beach.

I’d flown a nice quad to San Francisco from Maui enroute to Baja, but decided to leave it in the Bay, wrapped in its protective coating of pipe insulation and cardboard. It had taken two of us enough duct tape to seal the joints in the Space Shuttle to wrap it up, and I’d never get it back together by myself for the trip to Mexico. Instead, from a collection of boards stacked in the shed attached to Nancie’s house, I borrowed an aged and dusty 6’10” egg that reminded me of my favorite Eclipse board waiting for me back in Mexico. Nancie pointed out that the board was shaped by Renny Yater’s son Lauren, another in her long list of surf industry friends.

At the break, I stood and studied the wave for several minutes before dawning my 4mm wet suit and heading out. The first thing I noticed was the amount of seaweed I had to cut through to get to the lineup. It tangled around my leash, creating enough drag that I had to stop and pull it off in big long clumps. It reminded me of pulling long hair from around the drive shaft of a vacuum cleaner.

In the lineup, I took my time and watched as others caught one wave after another. The crowd was mostly friendly, but I sensed the tingle of territoriality hanging in the air. Wiry teenagers ripped on boards the size of potato chips, balding guys sporting spare tires around the midriff hung out on longboards waiting for their wave, and one woman, of about my age paddled by on a log. Despite the number of people in the water, it was easy to keep track of Dana in his bright blue wet suit, a thick yellow stripe running lengthwise down each side. He had an easy riding style and sat outside picking off the larger set waves on his longboard. I tried to stick fairly close without crowding him like a frightened child holding to her father’s shirt tails, despite feeling that way. Of course I wasn’t going to let anyone actually see that I was nervous. I knew I just needed to catch a few waves to stoke my confidence.

Every wave is different and every break offers the opportunity to learn something new about the sport of surfing. These waves break faster than the ones I am used to and I was glad I’d chosen the shorter Yater board over the longboards that were on offer. The wave, like a piece of music, dictates the rhythm of the dance one must employ to surf it. It took me several waves to begin to feel the beat.

Dana hollered, “Watch out!” good-naturedly as he took off on a wave I was paddling for, prompting a couple of chuckles by the men around me concerning the death of chivalry. The mood was improving and so were the waves.

Dana paddled back out followed by a curious-looking man with an Australian accent. He was skinny and had an odd look in his eyes. As he paddled past, we exchanged pleasantries and he commented on the conditions and how fortunate we all were. His expression of gratitude surprised me based on the general vibe in the water. I liked him instantly. He took off on one of the next waves and I looked on in amazement at what was the strangest surfing style I’d ever seen: he remained very low with his knees up by his chest, his feet lined up together like he was on a ski jump, not a wave. Nevertheless, he moved gracefully up and down the wave and even pulled a beautiful 360 that caught me completely by surprise.

Later, I watched from the beach briefly and wondered how he pulled off those spins, watched as he slid down the face sideways and pulled other strange maneuvers I can’t even begin to describe. When he came in, I noticed that the board he’d been riding was unlike anything I’d seen before. A series of channels ran along each side of the underside of the tail section where the fins ought to be. No fins? The tail was asymmetrical and made the board look, to this uninitiated kook, unrideable or at least like something an amateur had shaped. I was starting to think this guy might be the nutty professor of surfing when Dana introduced us.

The nutty surf professor and his ingenious friction-free board.

“This is Derek Hynd,” he said gesturing towards the nutty professor.

Confession time. I’d heard of Derek Hynd, but didn’t know much about him, just that he was a big name in the industry and had surfed in the pro circuit long ago. I struck up a conversation with him and quickly got the sense that, like his board, his thinking was very non-linear. It was at times difficult to follow what he was saying, as it seemed completely out of context. I realized quickly that I was missing significant background information or perhaps even the language being spoken. At one point he said something about the womb and feminist theory as it relates to surfing and I felt a sensation like whiplash jerk through my brain. To top it off, every time I tried to ask him anything about himself, he turned it around and asked me more about myself. I liked his vibe though and sensed I was the presence of a fully self-realized human being. I was hoping we’d be able to hang out with him for a while. Maybe try out that crazy surfboard myself (although I admit I probably wouldn’t do it any justice).

While we stood on the beach chatting, the surf built to well over six foot faces and everyone was saying how it would only get better as the day progressed. But Dana and Nancie had things to do and, as per the rules of The Ranch, I couldn’t surf without my host present. I reluctantly bid Derek and his friends adieu with the hope of one day getting to pick his interesting brain.

Back at home, I discovered that while there isn’t a Wikipedia entry for this enigmatic man, there are several articles written by and about him and plenty of video footage that provide a further glimpse into the mind of the legendary friction free surfer Derek Hynd.

Below I’ve shared some of the more interesting tidbits I found along with video footage of Derek on a board very similar to the one he rode that day at The Ranch. The waves we surfed were, shall we say, considerably smaller, but his style and approach to the wave are the same.

This video illustrates why Steve Pezman called him the “greatest surfer in history.”

For more on Derek’s wild Far Field Friction Free ride, check out The Surfer’s Journal POV videos. In Part I he shapes the ride from an existing fish and in Part II he rides that same board.