Diego, my Brasilian Compañero, and I arrived via our hitched ride, to Cochabamba in the evening somewhere around the end of June (june 23rd?). Enchanted by Cochabamba´s vibrant alternative culture, artsy cafes, and live folk music we decided to stay a couple days before I set off to encounter an eco-community I was determined to live in until the end of July. Our weekend unfolded wonderfully, full of the aforementioned cafes and live music, thanks to yet another latino festival, San Jose.
Come Monday morning I packed up and left Cochabama for the eco-community in her outskirts, however, again not alone as Diego decided he had some extra time and would be interested in seeing what this community had to offer. Upon arrival the contrast between the dozen or so gorgeous natural buildings and the sprawling, neglected gardens (if you could even call them gardens) was shocking. We quickly learned that the projects founder and organizer had been away for almost one year promoting an upcoming course to be held at the overgrown site the next month. Coincidentally, in my previous communication with the coordinator, he had mentioned nothing of this break in activity. It was more like an eco-ghost-village than an active project and I immediately knew I couldn´t stay there. Despite its potential, what could I do, alone, with all that land in such a short time. However, during our taxi´s climb up the mountain we noticed another community and decided to check it out.
Immediately upon entering the walled community, Planeta de la Luz (planet of light), we were intrigued. Weaving our way through skillfully maintaned gardens, we first passed the salon, where Reiki (a healing artform) was in action. New age hippies were sprawled on the floor while the smoke of burning incense whisked around them. After being given a tour, introduced to a handful of folks and filled in on the functions of the community, we decided to give it a go.
We began with open minds and hearts...that quickly began to shift into scepticism and endless side conversation about the ludicrousy of the whole scheme. I was subjected to hours of lectures regarding various aspects of the meaning of life by Chamalu, the head master, or guru if you will. Being that the whole shin-dig went down in Spanish, I understood about 20% of his supposedly other-worldly words; my basic lessons in Guadalupe had not prepared me for this kind of language. My linguistic ignorance allowed my mind to wander and focus on other, more apparent things, like how during each session Chamalu was flanked by various women in the community who encouraged his rambling with constant body massage and pillow adjusting. After a couple days it became clear that Chamalu had two favorites, both sharing the ripe old age of 17, who spent their days prancing around the community, dressed in mere shreds of traditional fibers, providing eye candy for anyone with eyes. We took part in daily rituals and activities of varying interest, the highlight being a ceremony in the community´s absolutely gorgeous temple.
Only once annually, in celebration of the winter solstice, the temple´s giant drum beacons all members to enter, one-by-one for this sacred ceremony. When it was my turn to enter, I was promptly sent back to my room to change into a skirt. Women, apparently, are not allowed to enter in pants. This, however, was not the beginning and only served to deepen my feeling like the bad kid, or the spiritual outcast at Planeta de la Luz. Inside, the temple was huge and empty save for an alter blanketed in lit candles and the members of the community perched in meditation, "indian-style" on the floor. After coming to the conclusion that maybe we had simply been summoned there to meditate the action finally began.
We are now all standing in a circle, holding hands, in the middle if the temple. One of Chamalu´s hot-bods, dressed in her regular next-to-nothingness, begins to dance around us with a single burning candle in her hands. She lights an individual candle for each of us, all the while music booming from the temple´s new-age surround sound system is chanting the words "Mira la Luz, Solo la Luz" (look at the light, only the light) again and again and again and again. Just at the point when I think I might be hypnotized forever by this repitituos chanting, Chamalu´s voice brakes the monotony in full amplified echo effect. I´m immediately reminded of one of the final scenes in "The Wizard of Oz"; when the motlé crue is finally standing face to face with the bellowing voice of the wizard, who is really just a man, a fake, behind a curtain. Reassured and excited that I had not, in fact, been hypnotized, I had to hold back my laughter at Chamalu´s voice echoing around me.
Parts of the ceremony certainly held value and deserve significantly more than my ridicule. There was a traditional offering of Coca leaves to Pachamama, or Mother Earth, and some extremely hippie dancing, that I was able to get down with. But when the night finally ended with half the community drenched in their own tears, others collapsed in exhaustion on the floor, and yes, of course, another young lassy in the arms of Chamalu, I was happy for it to be over.
