My dream of E.T. I cannot explain, as I remember none of it. The butterflies and the hummingbird have to be about Machu Picchu.
Valerie in the E.T. dream also has to do with Machu Picchu.
But I cannot interpret the dreams because once again there’s too much missing, to say nothing of the fact that I need to pay more attention when someone or something speaks to me.
Jan. 31, 2000 (NSA journal after adjustment) Today I felt…I am not so afraid to get into that space anymore.
Even if I can only let the pain in a little at a time, I think it is okay; then I can release a little bit of it out also. I no longer feel stupid, crying. I am glad now that it does happen. Tiny, tiny little baby steps.
But I think, now that the clearing is welcomed, I won’t be leaving here feeling so awful.
Feb.2, 2000 (NSA journal after adjustment) Today I felt…And so it continues. Sitting on the edge of the table for the neck adjustment, I find myself in that dark place. I see nothing, but at least now I can let the pain come through. At some time tonight, as I was again face down on the table, Hell put some kind of pressure on my lower back and, as surely as if I had been back there again, I felt a strap lash across my lower back: Whack! Grandfather’s leather strap. I think this is a beginning.
Feb. 7, 2000 (NSA journal after adjustment) Today I felt…Sleepy. Very sleepy. I tried hard not to clutch my stomach when it was hurting. I am getting better at letting the pain through. Head hurts, but in a different way. It feels unreal; very heavy. A real sleepyhead. I know things will keep on processing for a while.
Feb. 9, 2000 (NSA journal after adjustment) Today I felt…I look forward to the adjustments now. I know there is much pain and I don’t mind it anymore. When the adjustment starts, my heart feels strained, but I get used to it. Sitting on the edge of the table for the neck adjustment always brings me back to that
place. Tonight, after lying face down again and more adjustments, it seemed that my right leg was very small, a little girl’s leg. A strange feeling, very uncomfortable. My hip bothers me, and the middle of my back, so I suppose more processing will get done these coming days.
Feb. 11, 2000 (NSA journal after adjustment) Today I felt…My eyes smart. They feel very dry; no moisture in them. Lots of pain. So much of it. Just pain, no images. So much that I think at one time I fainted. That is, I fainted in that place, not here.
Feb. 14, 2000 (NSA journal after adjustment) Today I felt my arm moving, sort of pumping up and down. When I became aware of the movement, it seemed to me that I knew what my arm was recreating, so I stopped it. Also lying on the table again, when pressure was put on my lower back, I could feel pain shoot all the way up to my head. At least, I perceived it as pain.
Hell, will you explain to me what this spitting is about? Am I trying to get rid of something I do not wish to swallow? Or is it a result of some physical stimulation to my saliva glands? Today, my head is on fire and I want to cry a lot, but it seems I can’t.
Feb. 14, 2000 (Computer Journal)
Of holy men and fallen women (Retyped from Machu Picchu) I watched Johanne board the bus. She looked particularly dis-traught and her grey hair was tousled. She must have been very pretty before drug therapy turned her body into the Michelin man. Someone had confided that Johanne had lung cancer and had been told by her doctors that she would not see the coming summer. I admired her courage and thought how terribly difficult this trip must be for her.
The last one to climb aboard, she apologized for being late and holding up the bus this bright and early morning, as we were about to leave for Ollantaytambo and the train station. She then apologized to everyone again for making us late two days earlier, when we’d visited Tambomachay.
Tambomachay had been an extraordinary site. Some of us had climbed all the way to the top to visit the Temple of the Condor, while others remained on the lower level to examine the huge stones that
made up the puzzling constructions on the plaza. Johanne had been too weak to visit the main area and decided to go back to the bus to rest. She hadn’t heard one of our guides tell us the driver would take the bus to the other side of the site and wait for us there, so she’d gone back to where the bus had dropped us off. She sat on the ground, in the hot sun, patiently waiting for us to return, while we, one by one and drifting in from whatever direction our meandering had taken us, made our way to where the bus was actually waiting. Soon we were all there, except for Johanne. Worried, one of the guides went looking for her. We had been waiting nearly an hour when he returned with Johanne and, by the time the bus left the parking lot, the sun had set and it was getting dark.
Anna had decided to take us to a ceremony with a shaman nearby.
The cave was small and narrow, and we huddled in the dark, our eyes smarting from heavy incense. We stood uncomfortably close to each other and listened to the shaman’s muffled prayers. He, of course, spoke in Spanish, so that my mind had drifted into a half trance, transported by the music of pipes and drums played by three young musicians who happened to be camping there that night. I admit I failed to understand what the ceremony was about. There had been no illumination. And for the hundredth time I wondered why I had come to Peru.
Once we emerged, the warmth of the cave was replaced by chill-ing winds, but when we had climbed to a high terrace, the young men made a fire, and we joined hands and danced around it. We felt close to the stars, and in spite of the cold we were enjoying a most beautiful night. Johanne looked dejected and, as the circle broke, I hugged her, then everyone hugged everyone, and we warmed each other.
We finally made our descent, looking forward to the shelter of the bus, while the moon, not yet full, lit our way. Anna had been the only one who carried a flashlight and wore a decent coat to keep her warm.
When we left in the early morning, we hadn’t been told to take along something warm for the evening. So it was, then, that Johanne felt responsible for our being so cold that night.
As Johanne apologized profusely for making us late again, I watched her look around the bus for a seat. She decided to sit next to
me. She apologized once more for the misadventure in Tambomachay, then she said, “You hugged me, that night. Thank you!”
She didn’t know that hugging was rather new for me, and that I was painfully relearning to permit myself enough vulnerability to hug anyone, even my son. I told her a story I’d heard recently, about two holy men.
“There were two holy men travelling in the vast country of India. One day, they came upon a river they would have to cross to continue their journey. Upon its bank stood a beautiful princess.
She wore exquisite shoes and splendid garments woven with gold.
She stood there, unable to cross the river because it was muddy and would surely reach up to her waist, and her beautiful dress would be ruined. She asked if one of the monks would carry her to the other side. Barefooted and in their monk’s robes, the river posed no problem for them, so one of them picked up the princess and carried her across the river. He deposited her on the other side, all nice and dry, and he and his companion continued their journey.
Several hours later, the younger monk turned to the other, very annoyed, and said, “I can’t believe you did that. You know that we are not allowed to touch women.” His teacher looked at him in surprise and replied, “I left her on the shore of the river hours ago; why are you still carrying her?”
Johanne said, “Michelle, I understand. I will not mention or even think about that incident again.”
Johanne soon fell asleep. It was not quite 7:00 a.m. and we were finally on our way to Ollantaytambo and the station there, to catch our train to Machu Picchu. As the driver coaxed the bus into more speed, I watched the Urubamba river wind itself around the red terraces of the valley.
The road was narrow and full of twists and turns, yet the driver manoeuvred the bus with ease. I thought him very clever, as clever as his ancestors had been when they ran surefooted through the mountain passes to bring the King his daily ration of fresh fish from the sea. The bus moved on past the terraces, past the river, past my past.
I thought of Hell back home and silently sent him my thanks. It was in retelling that story to Johanne that I finally understood.
Goodbye, Jos. See the foam on the water? See it crash upon the rocks. See my tears? See them gone forever. I will carry you on my shoulders no more; not your alcoholism, not the choices you forced upon me, and not the guilt that came from them. Why you chose death I will never know, but it does not have to be my choice, no matter how much I love you or miss you. Wherever you are, I will not follow. Do not wait for me; I have embarked on a journey of my own.
Feb. 16, 2000 (NSA journal after adjustment) Today I felt…Tonight, every adjustment to the lower back, no matter how light, was very painful. When it was to the neck, it felt good. When the adjustment was over, the feelings were so intense I felt like bouncing myself off the walls just to get some relief. Now as I write I feel fine, just a bit tired. As usual, my head feels like it is on fire. But I don’t mind it anymore. My ears are hot, too, tonight.
Feb. 21, 2000 (NSA journal after adjustment) Today I felt…It was beautiful. There were birch trees everywhere, all white and green. The sun was shining through the branches, very bright. There was a small creek. I was twirling and twirling, as if drunk from all this beauty. I was looking for Jos.
“Jos., where are you? Why am I looking for you?”
It is fall and everything is gold and white. Jos. is there on the hill.
I call to him, “Come see me.” He’s there. He is wearing blue. “Jos., Jos.,” I cry out. He smiles.
I start yelling in anger. Everything goes dark. All dark. “Jos., Jos., don’t leave.” But he’s gone.
I can’t believe I am still crying over Jos. How much longer?
Feb. 27, 2000 (Computer Journal)
Beliefs