This will be a bit of departure from the usual blog because Machu Picchu is not a usual place and rather than give you facts and figures I will let you peek in on my private journal notes in hopes that my readers can experience Machu Picchu rather than read about it. This was our second day on the mountain and we were unescorted. The following is unedited.
I breathe her in deep and soft from a perch above. Her stillness fills me. I have climbed the worn stone someone else has placed here to a quiet place and sit in the grass among the sky. That’s what it feels like- sitting in the sky. I can taste the clouds as they knit a cloak around me and the stone buildings just below, then dissipate as if breath on a cold northern morning. They mist the ruins, then leave. Lavender-grey. Wet. A kiss from an ancient time. The air is oddly different up here. It is alive with something unfamiliar to me. The mountain is alive. What was once here lives on this peak of green and lavender still... a place so carefully chosen by the Inca king many hundreds of years ago.
Was it here before the Inca king? Did he chose this place because of it or is this palatable Spirit born of the Inca king’s vision and obsession? I think it here before.
It is amazingly quiet. Most of the thousands of people here at midday feel something; for they speak in hushed tones, reverence for the Mountain herself and for those that still occupy her. Even if they are not aware of why respect is required, they are respectful.
I breathe in. I breathe out. From the corner of my eye I see, for a brief moment, a procession of brightly colored ancient ones. Then they are gone as is the chanting that accompanied them. Drifted away in the endless mist of cloud and time.
Who once lived here, lives here still.