The Sacred Valley gets its name from the river that runs through it called the Sacred River. The Incas said the river was a mirror of the heavens. Water was also holy and respected. It could bring life and take life and all the land and peoples were connected to the Sacred River, as well as the mountains, the sun, and the moon. Today, driving or hiking through the Sacred Valley, the Sacred River runs brown, no longer reflecting the heavens but rather the dirt of erosion and pollution.
This culture and people that had so much respect for the earth and recognized their connection to it, was conquered, raped, and massacred right along with the earth for which they cared. This is the European history from which I come. This is the Catholic history from which I come. The Spanish Church and Pope with gold in their eyes and greed in their hearts eagerly approved and consecrated as a holy mission from God the genocide of an entire people; people who were able to use the rich natural resources around them for all they needed, who were able to create accurate calendars and markers of time and seasons, who built palaces and temples with minimal resources, and who celebrated and honored the divine presence in the world around them. But they were barbarians, heathens, devil worshipers ... at least according to the Church. Why? Because they recognized and revered the power of nature instead of claiming false power to control and dominate in the name of God Almighty. One of my tour guides at Machu Picchu said, "Men think they are the owners (dueños) of the earth, but they aren't the owners of anything. We are here for but a short time; from the earth we come and to the earth we will return. The Incas recognized this; the Spanish did not." From womb to tomb mother earth births us into life and receives us back in death.
And I found myself wondering where is God in all of this? God isn't in the giant churches and cathedrals built on top of ancient Incan temples and buildings. God isn't the giant White Jesus statue high on a hill with arms outstretched looming down at the city below, offering constant reminder to the symbol of Catholicism used to dominate and destroy. But God is present here and always has been. She is in the mountains, the soil, the trees, the crashing river, the rocks. Sophia still speaks to those who listen; ancient wisdom of unity, reverence, and care. She whispered to me in silent meditation on top of WaynaPicchu sweet melodies of love, joy, and deep sorrow. Remember we are One.