The dance of the Eagle and the Condor

By Robert (Bob) James Millar

Have you ever wondered what needs to change to achieve a thriving world that is more compassionate, caring and inclusive? A world that works for everyone, not just the elite 1%? After all, what's the definition of madness - to keep doing the same thing and expect different results?

This novel is the story of a woman o

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lennox Millar & Associates Pty Ltd
• Release date: Apr 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645151367

Book preview

Angélica watched wistfully as lovers embraced in the Parque del Amor – the Lovers’ Park overlooking the ocean in Lima’s upscale Miraflores district. It was Valentine’s Day, and scores of young couples had flocked to the park on a warm summer’s evening. To her right, several couples snuggled side by side on the long curving benches decorated in bold mosaics. To her left, a tall man dressed in a stylish blue suit knelt beneath Delfin’s famous El Beso (The Kiss) statue, and proposed gallantly to his girlfriend, a short, attractive woman with olive skin, black hair, and the distinctive features of her Inca heritage. She evidently said yes, because he slipped a ring onto her finger, presented her with a red rose, and they proceeded to kiss passionately, to the accompaniment of a cheering crowd of onlookers.

Angélica suddenly felt dreadful pangs of sadness. She had come to the park alone, hoping that a flood of love and optimism would wash over her, and lift her spirits. Unfortunately, the woman proposed to looked much like Angélica, and the man proposing looked so much like Hugo, the boyfriend Angélica had split up with during an anguished Christmas period only a few weeks earlier. Instead of finding solace, all she had achieved was to painfully reopen tender wounds.

Hugo and Angélica had met as undergraduates at university in Miraflores, where he studied law, and she studied economics. Two years older than Angélica, Hugo was tall and athletic, a good student with a social conscience, he came from a wealthy family who lived only a five-minute walk from the university. Despite his family’s wealth, Hugo lacked the arrogance and misogynism that Angélica frequently encountered, and he shared her concerns for the poor. Indeed, on many occasions they had ventured from leafy Miraflores to the wrong side of the tracks - across the parched Rimac River to the dusty shantytown slums of Villa El Salvador. They assisted at a women’s cooperative, combining their developing knowledge and skills to assist residents with settling endless disputes about debts and rents, helping with job applications, filling out government forms for illiterate residents - although Angélica had sometimes feared that Hugo’s enthusiasm for the task was due to the presence of Estela, a tall striking young blonde who worked at the centre.

Angélica’s family lived in Cusco, the former Inca city located high in the Andes, where her father was a banker. Her family could trace their Inca ancestors in the Cusco region back to before the conquistadors – which was a confronting task given the extent to which the brutal butchery of the Spanish had decimated them. She had moved to Lima three years earlier to attend university and lived with an aunt in a small apartment in suburban Surco. Hugo and Angélica’s two-year relationship had developed to the point that they had made tentative plans for both sets of parents to meet in Lima in early January, coinciding with Angélica’s twenty first birthday. Those plans were abruptly aborted whilst Angélica was spending Christmas with her parents when Hugo phoned and announced that he was splitting up with her. Didn’t even have the courage or courtesy to tell her to her face, she noted bitterly, and didn’t offer any reasons that rang true.

Finding the lovers’ park too distressing, Angélica walked briskly back towards the university, unsure exactly where she was headed, just knowing she had to keep moving. Walking usually calmed her, allowing her to process her thoughts, often she sub-consciously reached solutions and new resolve. Nearing the university, she avoided the ubiquitous Starbucks, and instead veered across to the imposing Catholic church behind John F Kennedy Park. Her family had never been especially religious, although they did attend church on most of the significant dates in the Catholic calendar. She felt that for her family, attendance was more out of cultural and social obligation rather than any deep religious conviction, and was primarily encouraged by her father to foster his business networks. Her mother had a far deeper spiritual connection to her Inca roots and had taken Angélica and her siblings to many Inca ceremonies during their childhood. Angélica preferred to attend church when no one else was present, using it as a refuge that facilitated quiet reflection and meditation. She certainly did not miss the dour sermons and turgid admonishments from the pulpit.

She entered the church and walked to a bench near the altar, lit a candle, settled herself on an adjacent pew, and closed her eyes. She was looking for answers, a new direction, and quietly asked the universe for guidance. She had one year left to complete her undergraduate course and supposed she would stick it out now she had come so far. Until recently, her expectation had been to move in with Hugo, and that they would live and work in Lima after graduating. She had loosely imagined their life together would evolve into a comfortable, responsible, socially conscious, professional middle-class existence – and cringed when she registered that to do so would be to closely mirror her parents’ lives.

Now that her relationship with Hugo had soured, she felt unmoored, that she was drifting, looking for something solid to cling to. She was disillusioned – with men, with the vacuousness of social media, with the stranglehold of the 1% on politics and policy, and with the renewed influence of the United States on South America after a decade of growing independence. She enjoyed her work at the women’s cooperative in Villa El Salvador – it kept her grounded and grateful, and gave her a satisfying sense of contributing to the greater good. Despite that, she sensed that her work with the poor was a band-aid solution and had vague thoughts about somehow leveraging larger scale measures that addressed some of the fundamental flaws in the way economic and social policy was conducted.

After a few minutes she opened her eyes and gradually adjusted to the light, bringing her awareness back to the room. Although no particular answers had emerged during her meditation, she did feel calmer and more relaxed. As she stood to leave, she saw a woman walking towards her, wearing the distinctive traditional dress of an Inca woman – a high, wide brimmed hat, a flowing skirt and embroidered jacket in bold colours, with her black hair pulled back tightly. Whilst it was common to see women dressed this way in Cusco, it was a much rarer sight in Lima.

"Hola Señorita, my name is Camila. I have a message for you," the woman said.

"Hola señora, my name is Angélica. Are you sure the message is for me? I think I do not know you."

Our paths have crossed before, Camila stated. You must go to your sacred place in Saqsayhuaman, and when you are there, a wise woman dressed in white will be there to meet you. She will give you the answer you are looking for.

Angélica was stunned.

Saqsayhuaman is an area just a few kilometres above Cusco and it was sacred to the Inca. It contains long sections of massive interlocking granite stone walls characteristic of Inca craftsmanship, with several altars and other structures that were particularly important sites. Angélica had roamed the hills frequently during her childhood, breathing in the fresh air and drinking the cold refreshing water, feeling the subtle energies of the plants and the rocks and the apus – the mountain spirits. Her favourite place was the Caverna de la Luna – the Moon Cave, a small cave with a carved stone altar in the middle, and a small opening in the roof of the cave through which moonlight can penetrate – casting light on the altar, and giving rise to the cave’s name. The entrance to the cave comprises rock formations that look like a vagina, and the interior of the cave is considered by the Inca to be the womb of Pachamama – Mother Earth. To the Inca and to Angélica, the cave had a distinct feminine energy. Carved into the rock outside the entrance are the shapes of a condor, a puma and a serpent, the Inca symbols for the spiritual world, the earthly world and the underworld respectively.

Whilst Angélica was gathering her thoughts, Camila started to leave, and Angélica scurried after her.

"Gracias señora, gracias," Angélica called out.

Camila stopped briefly, Angélica hugged her warmly, and then she was gone.

Angélica was desperate to get back to Cusco as soon as possible, but it was to be a frustrating two months before she was finally able to take the LATAM Airlines flight from Lima. Filing into the throng of people in the arrivals hall, she looked around hopefully for her parents.

"Hola Angélica," a familiar woman’s voice called out excitedly from the crowd.

Most of the people were obviously tourists, but Angélica suddenly spotted her parents, rushed towards them, gathering them up in a heartfelt embrace.

How are you? How was your flight? her mother asked anxiously.

Angélica’s mother María, a stylish, short, trim fifty-year-old wearing a black dress with maroon shoes and handbag, looked like the accomplished executive assistant she had once been. Her life these days was filled with socialising and charity work. Angélica mocked her as a woman who lunches, although she was aware that her mother also did many deeds of kindness quietly and often anonymously.

I’m okay, said Angélica, trying not to sound impatient. Having finally made it to Cusco for the mid-semester break, she was keen to get to Saqsayhuaman, but knew she would have to spend a day or two with family before she could do so.

We’ve been worried about you, said Juan, her father.

Juan was almost a decade older than his wife, and had the distinguished look of a successful professional, short silver-grey hair, a well-cut suit, an amiable smile, an air of competence and confidence about him.

I’ve kept busy, Angélica replied. Hanging in there on my studies, but spending more time helping out at the women’s cooperative, stepping up my Pilates, taking long walks along the Costa Verde. And living at your sister Ramona’s apartment has been a great help papá, she has been very kind and supportive, even when I’ve wanted to chat at midnight.

It’s noisy and crowded in here. Let’s head to the carousel to collect your bag, said Juan as he shepherded his wife and daughter away from the arrivals gate. Your sisters are cooking dinner, but your brother won’t be able to join us. He’s gone to Lima for a second interview with some contractor. If he gets the job he’ll be based in Lima, and you will be able to see him often.

Monday eventually arrived, and Angélica was finally free to head up to Saqsayhuaman. Over the weekend, her mood swung between periods of expectant jubilation to sobering fears that her quest would prove a complete non-event. She took a cab to a point near the Christo Blanco, the large white statue of Christ that overlooks Cusco – the local equivalent of Rio’s famous landmark. She could have asked the driver to drop her off closer to the cave, but she wanted to walk for a few minutes before arriving at her destination, to feel the earth and the rocks, to breathe the mountain fresh air, and listen to the trees. After hiking for about fifteen minutes, the rocky outcrop that contained the cave came into view. She sped up, full of anticipation.

Reaching the entrance to the cave, it appeared at first that she was alone, until she heard the faint sounds of singing coming from inside. Walking in tentatively as she adjusted to the semi darkness, she was overjoyed to find an older woman with grey hair dressed in a white shawl and loose white cotton trousers seated on the stone altar, totally absorbed in singing in high-pitched tones, almost as if in a trance. She did not react to Angélica’s presence and kept singing. Angélica gently placed her backpack on the ground, and stood silently with head bowed, closing her eyes. Focussing on the notes, Angélica was conscious of a continuous gentle tingling sensation washing through her body in soft waves. She had a sense that the frequencies of the resonant tones were somehow healing her, recalibrating her.

A short time later, the music stopped. It might have been five minutes later, maybe half an hour – Angélica’s normal sense of time seemed to have been suspended and made irrelevant.

"Hola, my name is Adriana. I’ve been expecting you."

"Hola. I am Angélica…"

Angélica didn’t know what else to say, where to start. Adriana singing so magically and speaking with such quiet authority, combined with the relief at having been so strangely led to this place at this time, Angélica was overwhelmed.

I see you have heaviness in your heart, Adriana continued. Can I hug you to help dissolve the heaviness?

Yes please, Angélica responded, without hesitation.

Adriana proceeded to face Angélica and hold her in a firm bear hug for what was probably a few seconds, but seemed like minutes, her hands pressing a flat stone into Angélica’s back at a point close to her heart.

Once Adriana released her, Angélica explained how she was approached randomly by an Inca woman in Lima, who told her to come to this cave at the right time. It had taken more than two months before she had the opportunity, and yet incredibly, Adriana was here to meet with her, right on cue. She outlined the anguish that she had been through following her break-up with Hugo. How she was trying to understand her purpose, and what direction her life should take.

I have many things to tell you, but let’s start with Hugo. There is a Chinese fable of an old farmer who had worked his crops for many years, Adriana continued. "One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his neighbours came to visit. ‘Such bad luck,’ they said sympathetically. ‘May be,’ the farmer replied.

The next morning the horse returned, bringing with it three other wild horses. ‘How wonderful,’ the neighbours exclaimed. ‘May be,’ replied the old man.

The following day, his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke his leg. The neighbours again came to offer their sympathy on his misfortune. ‘May be,’ answered the farmer.

The day after, military officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing that the son’s leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbours congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. ‘May be,’ said the farmer."

That’s fine, but breaking up with Hugo was heart-breaking, Angélica replied. I still feel hurt…. betrayed…. embarrassed…. confused…. lonely…

That is natural, and you should grieve and reflect and reset. But do not think that breaking up with Hugo was necessarily a bad thing, Adriana said. I know that it was painful, and you are still feeling hurt and betrayed, but it was necessary for you to fulfil your purpose. Please do not be so quick to label good and bad.

In a few minutes we will walk over to the Labyrinth Cave, and learn your purpose, but before we do, we need to sit together on this altar and I will lead you through a special initiation meditation for a few minutes - a cleansing ritual that will help to heal your journey in this lifetime from conception to the present. When we hear voices to indicate that someone else is approaching the cave, it will be the sign for us to complete the meditation and move on to the next cave.

"Gracias señora, gracias" said Angélica, as she sat herself next to Adriana on the stone altar, trying to still her thoughts.

During the meditation Angélica managed to temper her excitement and to focus on her breathing, gradually becoming aware of feeling more and more energised and lighter. Eventually she heard voices of several people approaching the cave, and slowly opened her eyes, gently bringing herself back into awareness of her physical surroundings. Adriana was doing the same. They both stood, hugged each other warmly for several seconds, then gathered their bags. They spoke briefly with the arriving group, before heading off on the twenty minute hike to the next cave.

Angélica was familiar with the Labyrinth, a rocky hill with numerous caves and crevices. Just as the Moon Cave was considered to be the womb of Pachamama, the Inca term for Mother Earth, the Labyrinth was considered to be her heart. Near the highest point was a cave that contained elaborate stonework, altars and niches, indicating that it was a particularly sacred place for the Inca. Adriana explained that this cave was where many people, herself included, came to contemplate the important decisions in their life, seeking guidance on what to do next, and what path to take.

Finally reaching the cave entrance, Adriana proceeded to sprinkle some coca leaves inside the cave, paying respects to Pachamama and to the apus, the mountain gods. She directed Angélica to stand facing a stone door that was carved into the rock at about head height, and to ask the universe for guidance.

As the minutes passed, Angélica was starting to despair that no obvious answers had come to her, when Adriana took her aside.

I have been given a message for you, Adriana said. I am told to tell you the story of the Eagle and the Condor. It’s an Amazonian prophecy dating back maybe two thousand years, maybe much longer, and it gradually spread north over the centuries, reaching the Mayans, the Aztecs, the Navajo and the Hopi.

The Eagle comes from the north, and represents masculine energy, the mind, the rational. It emphasises the individual. The Condor comes from the south, and it represents the feminine, the heart, intuition. It emphasises nurturing and community. The prophecy says that when the Eagle of the North flies with the Condor of the South, the spirit of the earth will re-awaken. The story predicted that there would be a five-hundred-year period commencing with the fourth Pachakuti – which corresponds to the 1490’s - when the Eagle would dominate, almost driving the Condor out of existence. This is evident in the conquest of the Americas, and the killing and suppression of indigenous peoples, initially by the conquistadors, followed by waves of settlers from elsewhere in Europe.

The prophecy went on to say that during the next five hundred year period, commencing in the 1990’s, the potential would arise for the Eagle and the Condor to dance together, to fly in the same sky, and to create a new level of consciousness for humanity. However, this is only a potential. It is up to humans today to make this happen. Your purpose is to be one of the people leading this. You need to gain deeper insights into the way of the Eagle – so that you can use this knowledge and your links to indigenous culture to help the Eagle and the Condor to dance together.

Angélica didn’t know what to say. The messages felt genuine and sincere, and resonated intuitively with her. At the same time, her head was saying that she was just a girl from Cusco who could do good in her community, but surely not on the world stage?

Adriana seemed to read Angélica’s thoughts.

Take this stone with you wherever you go. It will ground you and connect you to the energy of this place. You will be guided in what to do. All you need to do is have the discipline and courage to take on the task, Adriana said.

A year later, Angélica again found herself at the Christo Blanco statue, and looked towards the distant blue mountains that surrounded her in all directions, slowly tracing their familiar outlines as they cascaded down to the bare brownish hills surrounding Cusco. She loved the panorama, but more so the immenseness, the timelessness, the vast sky and shifting clouds, the pure fresh moistness of the air. She paused to consciously feel the subtle energies pulsing through her, and sensed the wisdom of the apus, whom she trusted to guide her. She knew she would miss this place desperately, despite knowing that she had to leave, at least for a time. After a few more moments of quiet contemplation and slow deep breaths, her anxiety subsided. Her focus turned to the people around her as she began to wander down the steep steps towards the town centre below.

She glimpsed men, women and children of all colours and sizes - tourists from all corners of the planet - mingling with the mostly short, stoic, dark haired, ruddy-faced locals wearing their bright fabrics, traditional hats, and broad smiles. More than two million tourists a year came here now, using Cusco as a base from which to explore the surrounding Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu. Angélica felt that most of them did so to tick it off their bucket list. Yes, they saw mountains, Inca ruins, historic churches, and peasant farmers; they ate fried guinea pig spiced with rosemary; bought their knitted alpaca fleece caps with distinctive patterns and ear flaps. But it seemed to her that in most cases the tourists were detached observers, as if watching movies. She wondered how many of them felt the essence of the place, beyond the selfie photo highlights. Did they truly experience the mountains, the earth, the energies; sense the hidden mysteries waiting to be revealed? How often did they truly seek to listen and learn from the locals – hear their stories, learn of their customs, allow their own worldview to be challenged?

Angélica contemplated her own imminent journey, and wondered whether she would allow herself to be open to new worldviews. She momentarily noted a touch of hypocrisy as she doubted that she would ever find other paradigms that were better, then quickly promised herself she would always keep an open mind. She chuckled as she recalled a large painting of The Last Supper on display in Cusco. She hadn’t thought the plates of guinea pig and potato on the table before Christ and the disciples were at all out of place, until a tourist commented that he wasn’t aware that potatoes and guinea pigs were available on the menu in Jerusalem two thousand years ago.

Angélica herself was dressed like most of the tourists, western jeans, a green The North Face sweater, white runners, a red backpack draped across one shoulder, cell phone in hand. She made her way past numerous Spanish style buildings, their white walls and orange terracotta roofs still dominating the city. They radiated out for many blocks from the pretty central square of Plaza de Armas. The square itself was still dominated by the Basilica - the Cathedral Basilica of the Assumption of the Virgin - which served more as a rich, exotic and barbaric museum these days, than a place of worship. Most people who went to the Cathedral were paying tourists who saw the elaborate gold and silver altars as fantastic, exquisite artefacts commemorating conquest and pillage and ego, rather than as sacred objects designed to bring them closer to God.

Those who did enter the Cathedral to pray, or to seek a few minutes of peaceful reflection, seemed mostly willing and able to do so without the desire to bring the Catholic Church or the Pope into it, although they were happy to volunteer a small donation in gratitude for the church maintaining the building and making the opportunity available.

Twenty-four hours later, and the huge A380 aircraft glided past the countless skyscrapers of Manhattan, before touching down at JFK Airport. Angélica felt excited, anxious, apprehensive. She was conscious again of the butterflies in her stomach, but the offer of a Masters’ scholarship at Cortes University was too good an opportunity to pass up, so she was determined to push through the doubts and fears. The scholarship was funded through the International Monetary Fund, and whilst she had scored good grades in her undergraduate degree, she suspected that her father’s banking and political connections, modest as he professed them to be, had played a part in her selection.

Passport

Stand here while we scan your eyes

Fingers and thumbs here. Both hands

What brings you to America?

The migration officials continued their blunt, aggressive routine. Angélica was suddenly confused and offended, which she was sure must have made her look even more suspicious. The level of bluntness and aggression was a shock to her, being her first trip to the United States. The authorities took an especially hard line, because this was a flight from South America. She was profiled as a young backpacker travelling alone, so in their eyes it was odds on she was trafficking. The IMF letter she produced didn’t save her from an invasive frisking, although they did stop short of a full strip search, or worse.

Welcome to America she grimaced, once she cleared Customs, the queasiness in her stomach gradually subsiding.

It was early evening, but the sun was shining, and she felt the warmth and staleness of the late summer air, as the driver sped the van across the East River. The skyscrapers looked even more impressive from this vantage point. Soon they gave way to the massive expanse of lush trees and shaded paths of Central Park. Her spirits rose at the prospect of feeling the earth and the trees and the wind here, and she hoped that her campus might be within an easy walking distance.

Over the next few days, she settled into the tiny studio apartment provided for her adjacent to the campus, and began to get her bearings, to find useful little shops, a laundrette, a drugstore, and the way to Central Park. One day she took a bus all the way down Broadway to Battery Park, before walking around Wall St and the financial district, just to get a sense of the place. She innocently tried to take a photo of the Federal Reserve building, before being directed by a security guard to stop. There was a feeling of aggressive masculinity about this precinct, thrusting skyscrapers, glass canyons, people and traffic pushy, urgent, rude. She had been to big cities before – Lima had a similar population to New York – but outside the lush enclaves of Miraflores and the city centre, Lima was dry, languid and tired. Maybe New York had sucked some of the life out of places like Lima, to boost its own strength. At least on the upper west side towards the university, the streets were broader, the buildings more modest and gentler, except of course for the in-your-face Riverside Towers along the Hudson.

A month later, William asked her out via Facebook. Angélica liked him, and despite doubts about dating another member of the same class, she quickly agreed. It seemed to her that William was the opposite of her in so many ways, and maybe that was why she felt attracted to him. At six foot, he was almost a foot taller than her, short blonde hair, blue eyes, a round face and a cute smile. He was far more extrovert than her, although that seemed to be true of