As a part of the students' program here at the Center for Global Education, they are invited to stay with families in the community of Amatlan, about an hour away from Cuernavaca. The community itself was inspiringly strong, with a strength to fight for their rights to land, culture, and indigenous identity. At a time when globalization and neo-colonialism thrives, it is reassuring to see a community work together to maintain their lifestyle, no matter what government pressure they face.
But without going into detail about how I got this sense of strength for the community, Ill go back to my story of darkness and light. On the second to last day we were invited to partake in a traditional temezcal, a tradition that involves sitting in a very very very tiny adobe hut that is hot as hell. So I imagined a more traditional sauna or a sweat lodge. No big deal. I continued to hear different opinions from the people who surrounded us. My host mother, Dona Maura, said she only does it occassionally and women usually only do it after they give birth. She mentioned, "No me gusta mucho, esta muy caliente adrento de alli." One of the directors, Lisanne, simply said, "Nope, I don't like it.. I just can't." But everyone else we conversed with had such high reviews, claiming it cleaned you of all impurities, bad spirits, and negativities, making you feel clean and relaxed after. So, really I just entered it into it not really knowing what it was going to be like. But one thing was for sure, I wasn't worried.
Shit, was I surprised.
While the group of four women I was with were waiting for our turn in the temezcal, we sat hearing from the other groups how relaxing the temezcal was, "Oh man, I could have stayed in there for more than an hour." If a bunch of white American kids could sit through this no problem, I thought it was going to be a piece of cake for sure. The group before us finished and we drank some traditional tea that was suppose to calm our stomach and our nerves to have free flowing circulation. Cool, all good. In looking at the temezcal, I was surprised about how small it was. I guess the better to get to know people right? So we took off our bathing suit covers and went into the tiny opening that was a door. We had to enter in butt first in almost a fetal position to signify going back into the womb, and when we exited front first, it symbolized being born again. (side note: the temezcal we went to was called little mother in nauatl, pretty fitting). We all sat on the ground. It was already pretty fucking hot before they even put in the hot coals in there. The group sat facing each other, legs in between the other persons legs. There was also Manuel, the man who ran the temezcal and performed the ritual, and Diana, a woman from Los Angeles I had talked to earlier that week who also performed the ceremonies while she learned about traditional medicines. So we all took our spots, and they loaded up the hot coals in the hut and put water on it so it would start steaming. Then they did what made my skin cringe from fear. They closed the opening of the the temezcal with a peice of wood and a blanket. There was no light, no light WHATSOEVER. And immediately was terrrrrified. I shifted in my seat thinking that would help for some reason, I sat up, I lied down. In the first fifteen seconds I was having a nervous breakdown. It felt like this darkness had taken over me. Like it was suffocating me to death. It was a darkness that made me feel like I would reside in it for the rest of my life, like I would never see light again. I had never realized how much I feared darkness. How much it controlled my reason. I KNEW I was here, surrounded by friends. I KNEW I could get out in an hour. I KNEW this fear was unreasonable. But it strangled me in less than a minute, and wouldn't let me go. I had to get out. One of the professors, Hillary, was part of the group and was feeling similarly, I think, because she asked to sit next to the door almost immediately. I took this chance to ask if I could just get out. Diana asked what was wrong.
"Im scared. Not of the heat but of the darkness," I said.
Diana responded instantaneously, "Then you need it more. I'm serious. Especially thinking about the conversation we had earlier."
She was referring to the conversation we had as we hiked in the hills of Amatlan together with the group. We were talking about LA and our driving forces for moving to Mexico. I went into detail about growing up and being ashamed about my culture, the language, and my identity. She said she felt like she was looking into a mirror. Her first visit to Mexico was caused by similar feeling of guilt and regret. Now she comes back to Mexico every few months, and has been for years.
"Just try it," Diana said to me in the temezcal, "just for five minutes. If you need to get out after that than feel free to. But first just try it."
Those words stuck in my head for a few minutes. "You need it more." And with that in mind, I knew she was right. Something in me didn't like the darkness. And it was more than darkness. This temezcal meant something more than just darkness. My body was evading something else. And I wanted to face whatever that was. Or else it would just stay inside me. Something inside me was afraid of this temezcal and I wanted to kill whatever in me was afraid.
So I stayed. After about a minute, I started to quietly, but hysterically, sob. But I no longer felt the suffocating fear I felt to begin with. It was not fear that was causing me to cry. I didn't know what was making me cry so much, but I couldn't control it. I was shaking from the tears and the mysterious emotions. No one could hear, only my co-worker and now good friend, Stephanie, could feel me shaking because I was holding her hand for support. Manuel asked the group, "Please move your good energy toward Amaris so that she can find the strength to go through this sacred ritual." He asked us to think about our struggles, what we wish to accomplish, our families. He said, "imagine your grandmother here, holding your hand, enveloping you with her warmth. We must remember all of the grandparents, for they give us the strength to carry on." Through each one of these expressions of comfort and revelations, I continued to cry. I never once, through the whole hour, stopped from crying, even though I felt no sadness nor any fear. The most peculiar feeling occurred at the end. When the temezcal was over, Diana asked anyone to leave that was ready to. Immediately, I was afraid to go back to the light. You would think that, logically, I would run out of that place in a second. But no, I sat paralyzed with a fear of facing the light. I was afraid to enter into the light because I was afraid I would immediately begin sobbing hysterically, more than I have in my life. I was too afraid to let my peers see the internal battle that was tearing inside of me. So I tried to compose myself. I exited face first out into the world, reborn again. And I just lied outside of the door and wrapped myself in a blanket while I watch the leaves of the trees move in the wind from below. I felt like I didn't know the world anymore. I didn't know how to interact with anyone, what I was doing in in Amatlan, or really who I was.
After sitting in silence for a while, I thanked Diana for helping me through the ritual. I described my fear and she said something to me that resonates with me everyday now. She said, "You need a balance of darkness and light to gain equilibrium in life. You need just as much darkness as you do light."
After thinking for a week about what happened in the temezcal, I still have no idea what happened in there. All that I can feel in my gut is that I needed to shed some negative spirits, some fears, and weakness. I think my body and spirit needed more time in there to be honest. Although I have no possible interpretation of all those emotions and physical reactions, but all I do know is that I faced my fears and proved that I am strong. I have so many fears in life, especially fears about being here in Mexico. A fear of being alone, a fear of not fitting in, a fear of being too American, a fear of not being loved. But after the temezcal, I know I am strong enough to overcome all that.
