Martin told us that in the Mayan Culture, entering a sacred cenote was considered the same as dying. As you submerge, you give your spirit to the realm of the underworld. Upon exiting, your spirit is cleansed, and you are reborn. The Mayan Baptism. It was important to Martin that we all dip our heads completely under the water when we first entered, as to make sure the journey is complete. (If one only dove in halfway, would their spirit linger in some half-reborn state of limbo?) Regardless, we all made sure to completely submerge ourselves. The water was chilly, caused by the lack of exposure to the blazing Mexican sun. As we swam, Martin explained how the cenotes came to be through a mixture of acidic rainfall and rising and falling sea levels over the ages. Alex, Lance, and I longed to dive below the surface and explore the caverns beneath us, but out of respect for Martin’s culture and the sanctity of it all, we refrained. Towards the end of the journey, we came to collapsed whole in the cavern ceiling that allowed the sunlight to spill through. The light had given rise to a mass of trees and vines in the center of the cavern, a beacon of growth and life surrounded by the cold waters of the Underworld. There was some sort of strong imagery or life lesson there, but I didn't think of it at the time. Maybe some example of the balance between light and darkness? Who knows.
We exited the cenote through a gaping opening in the cavern that lead up to a ruined Mayan building. Most of us didn't want to leave, and wished to continue to explore any other mysteries and sights that Sac Actun still might hold. But Martin had spoken of a “blessing” he was to perform at the conclusion of our journey, and so he gathered us all in a circle on the decrepit, wooden floor of the ruins. He unsheathed his backpack, and took from it a bag of different seeds that he poured into our hands. We took them into our palms thankfully, although we weren't quite sure what they meant. Martin then knelt down and pulled out what looked like a stone mortar, added some of the dried leaves scattered around us, and began trying to light it with some matches. It took awhile, and we sat and watched each-other awkwardly. He had no lighter. Finally, an ember caught, he laid the burning tinder on the floor beside him, and sat among us. He asked us to close our eyes, and in his slightly broken English, he spoke his prayer of the Maya: it boiled down to letting go of the past, and always trying to be a better version of yourself than the one who were the day before. “When are you a better you, you help your family: mother, father, sister, brother. You can help the world. But you must be you, first.” Through all of the things we had experienced that summer, the message struck the perfect chord. Finally, he told us to go out into the jungle (although not too far because of the jaguars) and plant what he had given us (the seeds) to give back to Mother Earth, because we take so much from it.
We each found our own spot in the dirt; I chose a location just outside the opening of the cenote. In the dirt, I planted the gift of life that Martin had given me. Maybe one day another one of those mystical trees like the one inside the cenote would grow here as well? I hope to travel back and check, one day. We all returned to the Mayan ruin, and with a final blessing from Martin, we thanked him gratefully and began making our way back to the entrance. As we walked, I stayed back to further soak in the spirit of the whole experience. Something had happened here, within each and every one of us, but I had shared the whole experience with others, and needed a moment to feel it for myself. My friend asked if I was okay, and I explained that I just needed a minute. She caught up with the group down the twisting sand pathway, and then, I was alone in the midday Yucutan jungle. I walked barefoot, and as I stepped, the warmth of the sand was oddly soothing on my skin. I trudged through it as if it were mud, refusing to lift my feet. It was a strange and soothing sensation, and rather un-explainable. Before I knew it, I had fallen to my hands and knees, and began letting the sand fall through my fingertips. Martin had explained that the sand in the jungle had come from the cenote itself, through what I’m guessing was water-erosion of the limestone over the years.Then, all at once, it hit me, and tears streamed from my eyes.
All of the things I had experienced, the responsibilities I had endured, the choices I had made. And not just the ones over the summer. All of them throughout my life, flooded back to me, as real as the sun on my back. I must have looked ridiculous, crying my all fours in the middle of the jungle, but I did not care. It was a beautiful moment for me. A moment of awakening. I gathered myself, and eventually continued down the sand-pathway to meet up with my group. But not before glancing back at the cenote and Mayan ruin behind me. We left a river of troubles and regrets of the past behind us, and in turn, planted our hopes and dreams for the future. In the frigid waters of the Sacred Sac Actun and under the eyes of the Mayan Gods, we were reborn.
