Wanderings: My Secret Pyramid

Somewhere in Mexico -- There are thousands of these places all over the country. No road signs point the way and there are no gates, guards or visitor centers. No maintenance crew keeps things neat and trimmed. Few tourists ever find them. And in most cases, these places remain much the same as they have been for centuries.

I have a secret pyramid. When I visit, it's all mine. I will tell you about it, but I am not going to say just where it is.

Of course it's not really a secret. It's located close to a highway and people live nearby. They drive cattle past it every day, and work in their milpas, cornfields, which dot the surrounding area. However few who live here give the pyramid much thought. It has always been there. Just like the sky and hills, the rocks and the trees, it's part of the landscape.

The government knows about it, and apparently official archaeologists once came out and took a look. But in a country with limited funding for such things and countless ancient sites scattered over tens of thousands of square miles, this one has probably never been thoroughly surveyed, and is unlikely ever to be excavated, restored and developed as a public park. To be truthful it's small, not awe-inspiring when compared to other well-known Mexican pyramids, and represents a lost and little-understood culture.

When I visit this pyramid, I normally have the place completely to myself. I always feel that I am the only one who cares about it as much as I do. I guess that's one reason why I like it so much.

I first came out here about a dozen years ago, and since I pass through the area from time to time, have visited the pyramid six or eight times since.

On my very first visit I went with a couple of locals who offered to show me around. The pyramid is actually one of several pre-Colombian structures in the complex, but the others are in such ruinous contition that it is hard to make out what they were. That day I enjoyed the hike. I climbed to the top, admired the view, and took a few pictures. Then afterward I found myself thinking about the place and felt the need to go back and spend more time there.

So I went back by myself. From where I normally stay when in the area, it is about an hour's hike through a pueblo, down into a small canyon full of pillar-like rock formations, jumping the stream at the bottom, and up the other side into another small pueblo. As I walk I occasionally pass traditionally-dressed indigenous women, often accompanied by children, carrying bundled firewood or tending small herds of animals. It's hard to get lost on these trails; foot traffic over many hundreds of years has worn deep grooves into the rock.

Passing through the pueblo only takes a couple of minutes. On the far side, an expanse of corn fields on both sides of the road opens a vista of the hills and valleys in all directions. Soon you climb a rise. As you come over the top, a hill comes into view. It is covered in shrubs and small trees, and at first looks like just another hill. Then you notice a level row of stonework near the top, and the design of the structure becomes apparent.

Sometimes, local children come out of their houses or materialize from the brush to shyly peer at me. The braver ones may approach and try to sell me artifacts they have found in their fields. I politely look at what they have to offer, shards of pottery, blades and points of translucent obsidian, and small objects of clay or stone. I then explain to the children that although they are very nice, it's illegal for me to possess artifacts like these, so I can't buy. The children speak Spanish poorly, having grown up speaking an indigenous dialect, so I am not sure that they understand exactly why I won't purchase their treasures. They are disappointed. They are reluctant to have their picture taken. After this exchange, the kids wander off and leave me to myself.

A local child displays obsidian points found near the pyramid.

From this point I am left alone, free to feel the wind, sun and rain, and enjoy animals, plants and the scenery. No one comes near as I wander, kicking at pottery and obsidian fragments scattered in the dust, the abundant litter of an ancient civilization. No one accompanies me as I eventually climb the ruins and sit on the top of this former spiritual center of a long-forgotten culture.

Nothing much happens at the pyramid. Sometimes I take pictures, write or sketch there. Mostly I just sit and watch my surroundings. It's a beautiful and quiet place with a solidity about it that few others in my experience possess. That's what it has to offer and that, it seems to me, is its great value.

The secret pyramid is a touchstone, a pilgrimage for me. It has become one of a small number of very special places in the geography of my life, places where I feel connected, content, and at peace. I suspect I will keep returning to it, from time to time, as long as I am able to do so.