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Excerpt 

Rafael followed Market Street, turning north on Castro.  I people-watched along the ride, joggers, couples walking hand in hand, shoppers with bundles heading down Market Street.  People leading their very normal lives.  Not haunted by an imaginary shaman controlled by a mythical Maya god of the dead.  We reached Geary and turned west before I asked, “Where are we going?”  

He smiled.  “Marin County.  To a cave on Mount Tam.”  

“Really?”  Mount Tamalpais is probably the last place I’d choose to visit at night.  Tamalpais, the Miwok Indian name for a coastal mountain, is a dark foreboding place between the town of Mill Valley and the Pacific Ocean.  In the summer, musicals are held in an amphitheater, while Girl Scouts and Y kids attend summer camps.  But Mount Tam has a dark history of ghost stories, like the Indian lovers from warring tribes who were poisoned, one buried at Mount Tam, the other at Mount Diablo, kept separate even in death.  The mountain is infamous for being the stomping grounds of the Trailside Killer in the 1970’s and 80’s, his victims strewn along the hiking trails.  To this day, the killer still cools his heels in San Quentin in spite of his death penalty conviction.  

“Does that frighten you?”  

“Uh . . . yeah . . . a little.  The road up to the top has always been scary.  It’s very dark and twisting even on a sunny day.”  

“You’ll be safe with me and the others.”  

We entered the tunnel from Park Presidio leading to the approach to the Golden Gate Bridge.  “How did you come to be invited?”  

“Through Manuela and her connections in the community.  I find these religious rituals and myths fascinating.”  He laughed, “You can see why some people in the academic community regard me as a crack pot.”  I raised my eyebrows but kept my mouth shut.  Traffic was light on the bridge as we sped over the Golden Gate straits.  A thick blanket of fog surrounded us, with just enough visibility to follow the taillights of the car in front.  The foghorns were in full voice.  “The creation myth, or I should say, the collection of myths of the Maya is known as the Popol Vuh . . .”  

“I remember reading about that.  Isn’t it also called The Light that Came from Beside the Sea?”  

Rafael nodded, “Yes, that’s one of its many names.  The religion of the Maya is still practiced today in Central America, but also here, although it’s largely kept under wraps from the greater society.  It’s amazing how these ancient rituals have survived all these centuries.  The people pray for health and wealth of course, just as many others do and it’s evolved into an interesting blend of the Pre-Columbian and the Christian.  

I lowered my window a little as we followed the twisting road to the top of the mountain, breathing in the fragrance of eucalyptus and wild fennel from the hillside.  “Why a cave for the ceremony?”  

“Caves have always been very important to the Maya.  They’re believed to be portals to the other world, as are holes in the ground.  Cenotes, they’re called.  They’re dark, secretive places with strange geological formations and the realm of deities and demons.  Unlike in ancient times, women are allowed inside the caves now.  Candles and incense are burned for protection and for safe passage through the cave.”  He hesitated, “Julia, some of this may be unlike anything you’ve ever seen.  I just want you to be prepared.”  

“This should be very interesting, Rafael.  I just hope whatever I see, others see too.”  

Rafael continued, “Mountains are also very important in their belief system, mountain passes, things like that.  That’s where spirit activity takes place.  Shamans are very important persons.  They’re usually village leaders and healers,” Rafael stole at glance at me.  “Just keep this in mind, Julia.  Healing is the main job of the shaman.  Perhaps your shaman is here to heal.”  I only hoped he was correct, that my shaman was here to heal, not to murder.  The narrow road continued to wind upward.  I felt as if we had driven for a very long time.  “Have you ever been here before?”  

“No,” he shook his head.  “But I do have directions.  The sign should be coming up soon.”  He peered ahead at the road.  “There it is.”  I looked to see what he had spotted but couldn’t see any indication.  

“You didn’t notice but there was a cluster of feathers on that tree trunk.”  He slowed and turned left on to a fire road between the trees.  We traveled another thirty yards perhaps and came to a clearing where several cars and vans were parked.  Rafael pulled to the side near the trees and cut the engine.  He turned to me, “We must be very quiet.  There are some private homes on the other side of the mountain and we wouldn’t want anyone calling the authorities.  We can’t light any fires in the woods, that would be very dangerous, but inside the cave it’s safe.”  

We climbed out of the car as silently as possible.  On the other side of the clearing a dark hole in the side of a rocky cliff loomed.  Rafael took my hand and we walked toward the cave opening.  Several groups of people in ordinary street clothes milled about just inside the mouth of the cave.  A fire burned in the distant interior sending flickering shadows against the stone walls.  The aroma of incense and pine needles was very strong.  My cell phone began to ring.  Rafael looked at me.  “Sorry,” I swiped the screen to answer.  It was Maggie.  “I can’t talk right now,” I whispered.  “Can I call you later?”  She answered, “Yes.  Call me later.”  I ended the call and turned off the phone.  

We walked deeper into the cave where many people stood silently and respectfully as a man tended the central fire that rested on a heap of stones and logs.  One woman stood to the side against a wall and handed each of us a small candle as we passed.  Once inside, a steady murmur of sound engulfed us, a mixture of prayer and chanting.  As I watched, the others gathered closer and stood in a large circle around the fire.  The chanting became louder.  A woman next to me held her lit candle up, indicating I should light mine from hers.  In turn I passed the flame to Rafael who did the same.  

As my eyes grew accustomed to the dark, I saw plaster figurines of various saints resting on rocks around the cavern.  One was the figure of a man, perhaps John the Baptist.  The other, the Virgin Mary.  Rafael caught my look.  He leaned over, his mouth next to my ear and whispered very quietly, “In some rituals, Christ is the Sun God and his mother the Moon Goddess.  Fascinating stuff.”  

The gathering in one part of the cave parted.  A man stepped into the center of the circle.  I gasped involuntarily.  His face was painted in a similar fashion as the strange creature I had seen.  Vertical stripes of red and black.  Small white dots along the black stripes.  His eyes were completely encircled in black.  Rafael, sending my shock, squeezed my hand tighter.  After the painted man, another stepped forward, carrying a small cage, a live chicken inside.  

The priest . . . shaman . . . raised his hands above the fire.  Everyone fell silent.  An elderly woman moved forward, walking slowly as though in pain.  Two others urged her on as she approached the fire.  A second woman followed her with a basket of eggs in her hand.  The shaman took an egg and holding it in his hand, traced it along the elderly woman’s body several times.  He prayed out loud in a strange language as he worked.  I watched in fascination as he broke the egg into a bowl and studied the pattern of the yolk.  He moved his hands around and muttered further incantations.  Then he reached inside the small cage and holding the chicken in his hands, broke its neck.  I shuddered and looked away.  Rafael squeezed my hand tighter as a lone coyote howled in the distance.  

There was complete silence after this astonishing performance and finally someone blew a note on a reed instrument, a cue that the ceremony was over.  A woman’s voice sang out, then joined by others, a common Christian hymn I had heard many times, but couldn’t name.  The voices began to swell, filling the cavern and echoing off the stone walls.  When the hymn ended there was complete silence.  One by one and in groups people exited the cave silently.  We followed, Rafael still tightly holding on to my hand as if afraid I’d run shrieking out into the night.  At the mouth of the cave I turned back.  The shaman had disappeared and a lone man was dampening the fire.  

*** Excerpt from The Light Beside the Sea by Connie Di Marco. Copyright 2024 by Connie Di Marco. Reproduced with permission from Connie Di Marco. All rights reserved.