The Spirits of Cusco Know.

17 hours ago

5 min read

The mountains felt what came with me long before I was aware.

Cusco sits cradled in their arms. Ancient, towering, alert. A place built on offerings, blood, and breath. They didn't forget. And when you arrive from a 10-hour flight exhausted, starving, and unguarded, you don't always notice what notices you.

The night I landed, something was in the room. I didn’t know that yet. My neck locked first. Then my knees. My head pressed down, as if the mattress had become gravity.

"Get off me!" My voice is muffled.

Nothing moved except my heart, hammering against my ribs. I tried again, "I don't want to play anymore."

Too late.

The Friend

Let's go back in time.

I have always been a nurturer. After my dog died, the silence in my home became unbearable. The love had nowhere to go. So, I poured it all into plants.

One became two.

Two became a room.

Then another room.

Soon, there were fifty living beings breathing beside me.

They are not decorations. I flinch when I see the word "decorations" printed on plant tags. They are companions. Something alive to tend to. My golden pothos, the first plant I bought after my dog passed, lived closest to me. Its vines trailing more than five feet beside my bed. Every night, I sleep facing it. Curled inward, in the fetal position, as if it could keep watch while I lay serene.

Before leaving for my two-week vacation in Peru, there were still a dozen things I hadn’t gotten around to. My sister and I were supposed to get our eyebrows threaded before the trip. I ran out of time. There were shoes to return, dresses to exchange, and a bunch of other small things.

What I did remember, unsurprisingly, was to water every plant carefully. I spoke to them. I was so happy to see the vines of my golden pothos getting so long. "Be well. Mama will be back," I whispered. I carried them in my heart, across continents, quietly, tenderly.

The reality of the trip finally hit me at the airport. I was going to Peru. I was going to climb Machu Picchu. A flight, a train, and a taxi later, I was at the hotel.

The hotel was wrapped in mountains and decorated with gardens. It was dense. The kind of place where everything seemed to hum harmoniously if you stood still long enough. I was enchanted. Until I noticed how quickly the sway of the plants was hypnotizing me.

“Welcome!” The concierge lady said. She greeted me like she was genuinely happy to see me. As she checked me in, we were chatting and I told her how much I wanted to hug the mountains since they look so beautiful and they reminded me of my home country. I didn’t notice how much I miss it.

“Thank you!” she replied. “The mountains here are alive. The Spirits of Cusco communicate with all creatures. Sometimes they even borrow a voice to speak to you.”

“Ha ha,” was my reply.

“Room 103 is yours. Breakfast is included and I hope you get the chance to visit our farm that’s right outside. We grow our own coffee there! Enjoy your stay with us, Miss!” She waved goodbye as Mateo, the luggage personnel, helped me navigate to my room.

The Spirits of Cusco Heard

All I was paying attention to on the way to the room were the gardens.

Gardens undo me. They strip me open. They make me feel clean and free of sin through their sacred energy. As if everything buried inside me could surface without judgement. I swear in my past life, I was a garden. Not a plant or a tree. A whole garden. And growing up, my sister always told me that whenever I feel like that way in a particular garden, call on Jesus’ name. It gives you what you need for that moment. Sure, sis. Whatever you say…

That first evening, something shifted inside me. Call it altitude. Call it exhaustion. Call it intuition. Whatever it was, even the plants outside my window seemed to be waiting for something. The Angel's Trumpets plants with their blush cream blooms nodded in the dark as witnesses.

I slept with the shutters open. Because, why not?

On autopilot, I went through my night routine. Then dropped into the bed like a log, heavy, and spent. I fell asleep, but I wasn't fully gone.

"Hi.” A woman’s voice echoed. Smooth. Playful.

“My name is Lorelai. What's your name?"

I knew immediately that it wasn't human.

From the corner of my eye, I saw something. Not a plant. Not entirely. Something was unfurling, watching me with something ancient.

"You're alive!" I thought. "You can speak?"

I tried to turn toward it; I couldn't move. My body no longer belonged to me.

Wait.

The room shifted.

I was no longer in Cusco.

I was at home, in my bed.

A pothos hovered beside me. I heard the soft sounds of its vines worming their way up the wall. It gave me a strange feeling that it wanted me to follow it.

"Hey. Let's play a game." The voice continued.

Somehow, without opening my mouth, I agreed.

Then the mattress softened beneath me, opening, and pulling. I sank as if into a mouth.

"Why did you leave her?" It asked. But then the voice softened. "I'll hold you down while I shave one of your sister's eyebrows."

My chest tightened. My sister and I were supposed to get our eyebrows done before the trip, but I ran out of time.

"No!" I tried to scream. The sound stayed trapped behind my teeth. Panic exploded. I fought with everything I had. My body was locked.

The vines weren't touching me, yet I felt them across my chest.

Weaving.

Tightening.

Forming a net.

"Let me go!" My scream was muffled. "I don't want to play anymore!"

It was... amused. This was not play.

I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t move.

Then I remembered my sister’s voice: Say Jesus.

I screamed it inside my head.

“Jesus.”

The pressure vanished. I shot upright so fast I nearly launched myself out of bed. I was in Cusco again. Alone. The room was untouched but I was disoriented. I got up to close the shutters and stood there breathing, trying to convince myself I was back in my own body. I made the sign of the cross in one of my native tongues: Au nom du Père, du Fils, et du Saint-Esprit. Deep breaths slowly returned me to myself.

I slept again, but not deeply.

What Was Always Home.

When I got home, I unpacked, decompressed, watered and checked on all the plants. “I missed you all, ladies!” I shouted with joy. By now, I know which plants thrived in my absence and which ones are sensitive. My golden pothos, monstera deliciosa, and orchids were limp, but they always bounce back quick.

Lounging on my chaise, a large smile was painted on my face as I browsed through the amazing pictures I took visiting the salinas, the llamas, and eating authentic food. Lost in those new memories, I thought I heard a faint rustling noise. I looked around.

Nothing.

Then it came again, fainter this time.

Soft and dry. Like leaves brushing against one another.

I stared at the golden pothos.

Wait.

I evicted it from my bedroom. Some things shouldn't watch you sleep. I moved it to the living room.

A week later, one of its vines had stretched across the floor and stopped outside my bedroom door. Why is it growing away from the window?