Picture this out: You are on a beautiful beach with white sand spread as far as the eyes can see and nowhere was there spot or blemish or hideous red streak and the ocean’s water was peaceful and calm.
You notice the sun leaving its position and moving before you, and you look upon a form. The form of Viracocha, or whichever god you wish to come face to face with. The Greatest One. You bend your right knee to the sand. From your lips, an affirmation flows that you have done what you are supposed to do and have kept your vow to the best of your ability.
The Greatest One, your Viracocha, creator of the universe and of the elements, asks you to speak of your heart’s desires, and if it is within His power to give, it shall be yours. But you have no further needs because you have been filled by the overflowing love of the Greatest One, your Viracocha, god of the sun and of storms.
Again, your Viracocha, god of time and civilization itself, asks if there’s anything your heart has ever wanted. You see any more than the outline of his face, but you locate those eyes – those compassionate eyes – and in there find kindness and love in a dance. You respond that you could use a hug. Being hugged by the Uncreated Creator is like no other hug has ever been, or can ever be. You have always dreamt of cleansing.
We are brothers in numerous ways. We are brothers not because of an accident of birth but because we wish it. We attach to both vices and virtues. We connect to nature and the cosmic realm. We only have a few things dissimilar in us; that is, we are of different nations.
Even if we are not the same age, with an intergenerational gap to consider, and that we have different skin tones, height measurements, body build, we have discovered that despite these few things that are not the same, we have the same heart within us for we both love good food, good company, the good life.
For males, the sight of a beautiful girl walking by is always met with ardor. For females, the sight of a handsome boy coming one’s way is met with adulation. The sound of birds singing, the smell of petrichor, the music produced by the wind among pine tree needles – and yes, there is a name for that: psithurism – are some of the things that delight us beyond measure.
The reality of a God, the warmth and infallibility of Father Inti, as believed among Incans, for example, raises the level of our spirituality.
We also share a common hate of evil in all its forms; for example, pirates who raided and killed our ancestors and people; deception and treason hewn by colonizers; the abomination of so-called sun priests. We have far more in common than not; and for this reason, we are brothers.
Once one gets to worship Father Inti, obedience in all things becomes second nature. The worshipper dedicates to doing the best to serve Father Inti. It throbs with the zeal to serve the Emperor and his children, both locally and to the far extents of the Emperor’s kingdom, and be allowed to do all that one can to work for the Emperor and all of his children – long and happy lives – as one is able.
The birdman, for example, now understands that the job Inti has made him for entails obeisance to the monarch; the job that makes him the happiest. The birdman can think of no greater reward and he will accept nothing less.
With such commitment and zealousness, the Emperor may react by staring at the birdman for long moments as understanding would come to him. The birdman would lovingly return the gaze and then in an exceedingly graceful flow of motion, the birdman would drop to his knees and then down onto his face. In joyful subordination, the birdman would cradle his monarch’s left foot between his hands and press his cheek against his instep. In Incan sensitivities, this is an ultimate expression of love and devotion. It is expected that the Emperor would look upon his child who is down in deferential respect, and tears would begin to trickle down his, perhaps, already weathered cheeks for such display of ardor and allegiance; tears to drop unnoticed onto the back of the birdman’s head.
Every once and a while we are confronted by our purpose, our pivotal role in the grand design of things; in cosmic symphony.
In the Incan perspective, when Father Inti made a person, he must have created one for a special job, and that he gave one the greatest abilities so that one is able to do this job well. One is able to perform his special role in the grand scheme of things and define meaning and purpose to his existence.
Being a birdman, for example, gives the greatest joy of all to one who connects to this purpose. The special job has something to do with flying which literally gets one closer to a heavenly sphere while fulfilling the role of delivering messages from village to village.
If one birdman were to chisel an epitaph for himself, he would have stated that one once held the noblest job in the world: that of being a birdman. It is a job an Incan community held high in respect, although not many parents were quite that enthusiastic in sending their children to birdman training.
A birdman read the winds by the way the clouds floated by. From the looks of a cloud from the northeast blown steady, a birdman determines this is the best wind possible when one wishes to fly south.
Flying to fulfill a job makes one happiest. It is said that a man who is happy in his work has found the job Inti made for him.