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MAMACOCA, p. 6
The meaning of the great petroglyph on the bluff of Pisco is now made clear to Charles. So are the lines on the plain of Nazca, the power lines of the world, the dragon paths of ancient China, the holy lines of Stonehenge and Camelot. All over the world the Sun Kings came, following the Power Lines of the World. This was the secret of ancient space travel. They came through not just space and time but across dimensions beyond the human mind, dimensions seen only when the mind is silent - silent as the stones in Machu Picchu. The Mamacoca sits down and shows Charles how by making one's self empty and by focusing one's being only on the power of the sun, one can lift great stones with ease. The mind is capable of neutralizing the forces of gravity. By mastering this power the ancients built the pyramid and the Gate of the Sun. Together in a strange silent ritual master and pupil lift a great stone in the light of the setting sun. With the falling of night Charles is taught the gait of power - how to run in the darkness and how to cancel darkness with the inner light of emptiness. Two glowing shadows in the night. At dawn Lorenzo and Charles are near the eastern slopes where the border of Peru touches between Bolivia and Brazil. From the heights of panorama of the great coca plantation stretches before their eyes. The men continue their run through the rows of coca trees and beyond where the jungle begins. There, at the edge of the jungle, several Indians who seem to have been waiting, rise from their crouching positions and follow Lorenzo and Charles. Here and there more join. Soon a small group is cutting its way through even denser vegetation by swinging machetes. This is the territory of the Chunchas, the "indios silvestros" who still use the blow gun with poison darts and bow and arrows made from the Chonta palm. Charles and the Mamacoca stop by the river to drink and get rid of the garrapatos insects that have buried into their skin. The insects must be burned out with a lit cigarette. It is painful, says the Mamacoca, but pain is the lot of men in this land. Charles grimaces in the pain as he burns out the garrapatos. At last they reach the Chuncha village, just a few huts around a clearing. Behind one of the huts, under a rain roof, is the cocaine kitchen, a large cauldron or "caldero" over a hot fire. A dozen mules are tied nearby. Metal cans of ether under the roof, piled high. Old men, women and children half naked sit seating in the sweltering jungle heat. Charles witnesses the preparation of cocaine. As the fire burns, the old Colono, a mestizo and the hefe of the operation, directs helpers to shovel more coca leaves into the boiling liquid. Charles looks around. More Indians seem to have come from the forest and mountains. A shackled bull is being steered in. There is going to be a feast. The coca leaves have now turned into a foamy paste. The Colono dips a long bamboo stick into the cauldron to test the consistency. The pulp is ready. He signals his helpers to pour in the ether, then spreads a gauze tightly over the top of the cauldron. The ether evaporates, the fire continues to burn, the gauze dries. A beautifully soft, snowy powder materializes - pure cocaine. This is the new god, worth ten times the price of gold, says the Mamacoca. Long ago the White Man came for Inca gold; now he has come for white gold. How sad that the White Man is blind to the thousand other powers contained in the sacred plant. But cocaine will serve our people well to get back some of the wealth that was taken from us long ago by the Spaniards. Look at how they melted down our symbols of knowledge into crude coins of greed. Charles looks with greed at the many pounds of cocaine being scraped from the filter and packed in plastic bags. A million dollars worth of snow is in front of him. More wood is added to the fire, more leaves, more ether, more cocaine. Drums are beating the song of the feast now in full swing. Women dancing at furious speed. Cerrinque, sugar cane liquor, is being passed around. Long haired, angular checkboned faces lit by the fire - eyes wild with liquor - faraway cries of beast in the jungle. There is a sudden downpour of rain, but slaughtering of the bull goes on in spite of the wetness and mud. The meat is cut ceremoniously into pieces and carried, dripping with hot blood, on the men's naked backs. The
rain stops. |
