The Return

Instead of going to Placencia, a tiny beach town on the tip of a penninsula in the south of Belize, I've decided to stay in San Ignacio through the weekend, and thus, the remainder of my trip before I head back to the States tomorrow. The weather has been absolutely beautiful the last couple of days, and I have been doing a lot of scouting, walking, chatting, all things I didn't imagine I'd have time to do. The main reasons why I decided not to head south were because Dolores (Martha's sister) is coming in from Belize City today, and I am very eager to see her. It is their mother's 90th birthday today. Dolores and I spent a lot of time together when I was teaching; this was back when she had a house out on the western highway. I really have enjoyed her company and friendship, and I look forward to reuniting with her.

The other reason was because I had hoped to spend a good deal more time with Rosario yesterday, who got a commission to do the abdominal massage and healing spa work for a group of 10 in San Pedro for an entire week. She waited for me at the bus stop in San Jose Succotz, and because I was a little later than the time we had said, she went back to her home. Her son Gramson, 14, walked with me there, and we met her as she was coming out with her bag, destined again for the road, and her 4+ hour venture out to the cayes. We spend a little bit of time at her altar, where she produced her sastun for me -- a stone that a shaman will use to direct healing energy, usually given to them by another shaman, or if indoctinated by the spirits, it is one that the medium will encounter. This one, a beautiful, shell-shaped, heavy, palm-sized sandy, worn stone with a nipple-like cusp perched at the top, was given to her by her abuelo famoso. She let me hold it, and its energy was very deep, very internal, I could feel it sucking my energy into it. I wondered why that was, and asked Rosario. Sometimes, it doesn't feel like that, she said, but when you have more to give than you are ready to receive, the stone will hold the energy for you to direct as you feel best. She said that was a really good thing. It was kind of scary to me, like a black hole of space taking in what it needed. I'm not sure why it made me feel uneasy. Did it feel greedy? Did I not know how to read it. I held it longer, put my other hand over the top of it, and then, it shifted. The energy seemed to be radiating out from it through me, and I felt it best to hand back to her since I wanted time for this, and more importantly, I wanted to find my sastun, not be at the service of someone else's. I am on the lookout, but I have a feeling I won't find it this trip.

I walked to the Casa de Suenos on Trapeche Road today -- the beautiful (in my memory) two-leveled house in Santa Elena, just down from the Low Bridge, with an upper floor of side-by-side portico windows and gorgeous landscaping. It had changed entirely. No one has occupied the house the entire time that I've been gone. It was looking very sad; all the beautiful surrounding folliage gone from no upkeep, gated up and a neighborhood watch sign in front of it. I had such amazing dreams about what I could do with this house: a yoga retreat, a sanctuary for artists, recently I have fantasized about Carson using a portion of the lower section as a recording studio. It would take a lot of work to fix up that house now. Although, I'm sure with the housing market the way it is in the US, it would be possible to purchase it for far under list. It would probably be a blessing for Elbert Flowers to get it off his hands. Perhaps I'll see if Dolores knows any more information about it.

I'm posting pictures of the girls who were my students, Martha and John, Dora -- such a sweet, dear friend. All the faces of my trip that I have looked forward to seeing again. I hope to be back very, very soon.

Ojala que vaya con dios en sus viajes indivduales...

con carino amor,

soy yo

La Llorona

So, there's this legend (Mexican, I believe) about a woman who weeps down by the riverside. People hear her weeping in the lapping of the current, but she seldom appears to them in her full physical form. She has lost something or someone that she's seeking. Her tears, her lament are inconsolable.

At the end of a 2-hour long conversation with Yucatec maya shaman Beatrice Waight today, she said to me, "I think it was you who called out to me from the river, but I didn't know you. I kept trying to find out who you were, but you wouldn't appear. Perhaps now here you are."

This was a dream she had last night. The metaphor of La Llorona was not lost to me in her dream-story. Was I crying?, I wanted to ask, but I didn't. Perhaps it's a question for another time. Perhaps it's not important, for if it was me, I did not remain invisible. I sought her out today.

I almost didn't go. Just as with the Garcia Sisters, I had not made contact with her before now, and it would take some searching to locate her. I sent an email this morning, asking for an appointment, but it bounced back right after I sent it. So, I knew the only way I would get to her was if I just went searching. I knew that she was in or around Santa Familia, a little town on Bullet Tree road, on the way out to Spanish Lookout, where there is a large Mennonite community. I hired a taxi both ways for $15 US to take me out, wait for me, take me back. I was surprised to find someone willing to do it.

After inquiring at a couple of houses in Santa Familia (and receiving contradictory information -- which always seems par for the course in Belize...everyone knows the answer, but it's always different from everyone else's information), I stumbled upon a little house set far back from the road. Greeted by no less that 8 dogs (there were seriously too many to count), I was surrounded by the aroma of tamales being prepared for a today's holy day festivities, in honor of La Virgen Guadelupe, and lots of big, broad mayan smiles. There were more family members than dogs, and they all were so welcoming in their greeting, ushering me into the house and to Beatrice.

I found her reclining on a couch in her front room, having had surgery only a few days before and suffering from "bad blood" which I learned later was a very late diagnosis of diabetes. She was eager to talk and chat, somehow lonely in a house full of loved ones and food preparations. She devoted herself to a very long initial conversation, which thrilled me. I am finding some similarities in aspects and preparations for healing rituals between the three women I've talked to, and surprisingly, not many contradictions, which seems to be the only thing you can count on in Belize.

I've also been noting that it's very hard to get specific in directing my questions in ways that will produce substantive answers. I'm finding that the greatest success I've had in this is with Rosario, due largely to the fact, I believe, that she and I have a previous relationship, and she's more open and willing to get down to business. Especially with Beatrice, her advanced age makes tangential topics common points of departure in conversation. And, I think she wants me to get to know HER. Otherwise, she's speaking abstractly (what I imagine must be her opinion) about practices and conditions.

There was some good information to be collected, and I am eternally thankful for my patience and resolve. They have gotten me much farther than I've imagined I'd be after learning of the passings of Byron Foster (whose book on Garifuna possession I found in the public library here today after much searching) and Palacio on the Hummingbird Hwy. But, I have found the need to step back, step back because it is all too much, too fast for these new relationships I am forming. I want to let them cultivate over time.

Beatrice urged me to consider apprentice with her in a shamatic ritual treatment, which sounded amazing. I will continue to inquire about this. She is a beautiful, old, seventh-generation maya soul, and if it were me in her dream, I would be honored.

There have been little spirits prancing about in my room at Martha's: caps off bottles, shades closed and opened, light switched flicked...it is the maids, certainly, but I wonder...it is curious. And delicious.

I will sift through the accounts I've recorded so far to see how to proceed. I meet again tomorrow with Rosario.

la llorona llora

Permission to Post Pictures of Patience

Patience

Another name for today's lesson: the title of this blog. I woke up today uncertain about whether or not I should head out to San Antonio, little town on the Cristo Rey Road east of San Ignacio, before the capital of Belmopan. I was uncertain because even though I had traveled out this way once before, I have not previously made contact with the Garcia sisters, nieces of Don Elijio Panti. The skepticism mainly stemmed from that fact that I know it will be a difficult task to talk easily, freely with people that do not know or understand my intentions. This was no problem with Rosario, we had taken years to establish that. But this was a different matter; I did not want to appear the interloper. I swallowed strongly and forged ahead.

I overshot the Sisters' place by about a mile, made it almost into San Antonio when I asked someone on the bus where their place was. I had an inkling it was the azul casita antes del pueblo. I disembarked and headed back in the direction from which I came. This was an arduous task because it was entirely uphill on an unpaved clay road that had endured massive amount of rain from the night before and on and off all morning. I am extremely thankful for my Tevas and my decision to have worn them.

Arriving, I was greeted by the sister's mamacita, who I took to calling "Abuelita" (dear little Grandmother). This is not an innocent term of endearment for me; it has a history in cloroquine-filled ecstatic dreams I had when first in Belize. That anti-malaria med gave me the most intense, vivid, dangerous, potent dreams that were to portentiously lead me to Xunantunich and my first experience with the energy of that ruin site. I proceed to buy Christmas presents for my family, all the while chatting in Spanish with Abuelita, who lead me down a path of storytelling that at first was generous with family momentos, but gradually gave way to gossip and telenovela-style secretos about the town and Belize. We had good laughs and shared quite a few gasps for air. This extended for the good part of two hours.

Even though I tried to lead her around to talking about her maya heritage, I didn't get much out of her on that topic (she managed to say that she was Yucatec maya, which seemed at odds with Rosario's heritage, but perhaps it was her husband that was brother to Don Elijio, I am still uncertain). Then, the first of the last two buses went by, and there was no way I would catch it; so, it insured that I would be there another 2-3 hours. She showed me through the exhibit on premises, which included an old wooden marimba that Carson would surely have died to touch, and a series of beautiful drums, which also made me wish he had decided to venture out with me this trip, although I know there'll be a time for that.

She then escorted me next door to more conversation and lunch with her daughter-in-law Silvia and granddaughter Paulina. After panades and fried plaintains (and of course orange Fanta), I resolved to do some reading on the veranda until the bus arrived. I had given up the ghost of meeting with Maria; I was instructed that she was involved with laundry and yard work. I did not ask to see her. I considered it part of the fates, and it seemed rude to ask to take time from her; so, I thought it best to release my desires and succumb to what was to happen, not push to make something happen that was not (dare I say it) meant to be.

Abuelita got bored being alone, so she ventured outside to take me away from my reading, and I was thankful for it. But, because of it, another bus went flying by, and I ran for it, thinking it the one I had been waiting for. At that moment, Maria, hanging out one of the windows to the house, declared, "It's a charter. Yours will be by in about 15 minutes." I thanked her, not knowing yet that this was indeed Maria, and she then invited me into her side yard. Shouldn't I look out for the bus, I said. No, I will know when it's coming and tell you. I trusted her, and then, I found out who she was.

We filled those 15 minutes, boy. She told me about how she's taking in groups from the Peace Corp and Pro-Belize to instruct them on mayan rituals they must conduct in reverence to the ancestral spirits...and, off we went. I told her about my work, my art, she about hers, and although the conversation was very full and spiritual and warm and relationship-establishing, it could have not been more than that because of the time constraint and the fact that it was a first meeting. We exchanged email addresses and resolved to talk again; I keyed her in to the specific design of my project, and she responded with much enthusiasm.

I will be lucky if I meet with her again before I leave. She inquired as to when I will return, but could give no definitive answer. It's probably important that I start thinking about it now. I am being asked that often.

Oh. During a pregnant, silent pause in our conversation, Maria said, "Give thanks: your wish is about to come true." "What do you know my wish to be?" I said, interested to hear what she would respond because our conversation had been so thick with thought and feeling. She winked, "Your bus is just about to come round the corner."

"Ask permission." The other theme of the day. When describing what a shaman must do to engage in transformative processes. It was what I had been thinking of offering to the dialogue when she vocalized my thought for me. Patience and Permission.

I Take It All Back

It's been a really phenomenal day, even though I was called to make a decision that scared me for a bit. It truly asked me to rely on my instincts, but everything in me wanted to make the "not wise" decision. I think the only reason I went against want I wanted to do was because of all the travel trouble I had the last couple of days. If it weren't for that, I could be in a very compromised position right now. Apparently, there have been Guatemalan hijackings on little road outside of Benque on the border, the one I needed to travel down to go to a sculpture garden that is relatively new and sounds incredibly fascinated, comprised of all Belize artists, on a walking trail that takes 3 hours to complete. I was so there. Until, Hiram at Martha's mentioned that the activity on that road recently was not good: it didn't phase me at first, set off for the border on a local bus, hired a taxi to take me there. After getting in the driver says to me, "I will take you there if you want to go, but it's not safe right now. There was a tourist hijacking last week at gunpoint." I still wasn't quite phased (I don't know why) until he mentioned that I could be raped, and he made it quite clear (without directly saying it) that he would not be able to assist me. Then, it struck me: I needed to yield to this travel karma, and not push through to achieve my goal. This is a hard lesson for me when there's something I want to accomplish. I had him take me back down the road to San Jose Succotz, where the Mayan site Xunantunich resides. I hadn't planned to go there until tomorrow, but...

Rosario Panti was there. This is the woman that I've been hoping to reconnect with. For those of you who are unaware, she is the granddaughter of Don Elijio Panti, Mopan Mayan shaman and healer. What a blessing. We embraced. She was on the hand-cranked bridge that shepherds visitors over the Macal river to the base of the ruin site, and she agreed to travel with me up to the site and spend a few hours.

Which became 4. I told her about my project, and she told me about her new farm in Orange Walk (north of the capital), which she will inhabit to cultivate the herbs she needs to heal and teach others about. She wants to start taking in school groups to support her plans, and since Knox already has a marine biological unit, I let her know that I would inquire with those in botany if such a study-abroad program might be of interest to them.

She was very generous today with her time, and her stories, experiences. I am realizing in talking to her that her spiritual work stems more from the harvesting, preparation, administration of and education about "rainforest remedies," but she still had much to offer relative to embodiment practices, and I recorded her speaking, me asking questions, both of us in conversation, for an hour and a half. I got a lot of testimonial and information that I will have to spend much time excavating, but it's really exciting to me how this is genuinely off to a strong start.

In practice, the main things she emphasized for the work of inhabitation were : 1) balance between good and negative forces and in one's domestic and spiritual lives 2) testing - we had good laughs over my last few days and traded stories about this unique journey of needing to ask permission before entering a state of vulnerability to forces that are greater than you 3) unity: that this was the ultimate goal of a healer's work...bringing people together, creating and strengthening community, teaching others to teach themselves and finally 4) replenishment. I told her about my blog, how I titled it "soul replenishment". She said, "Are you tired of practicing your art or your teaching?" I admitted, I get tired, I get exhausted, there must be a better way. And she said, yes, there is, but it requires discipline to heal yourself. Just like anyone else. You must allow yourself to renew, because then you are no good to yourself or others.

Well, I know this. But, do I do it? No, I don't. Do I want to yes? Must I? Yes. I think it's a matter of acknowledging that it's a spiritual duty that I must.

Rosario and I will meet again on Saturday. Tomorrow I head to San Antonio to consult with the Garcia sisters, Don Elijio's nieces. They may have second-hand stories about his practices, while Rosario certainly has her own. I just discovered another woman that I must see if I can get to on Friday. My fingers are crossed about that. It would be wonderful to have 3 separate sources.

It'll be a full moon soon, Friday I think. A good day to mediate on all this, Rosario tells me. She's encouraging me to replenish. To prompt myself to do it.

safe, but not entirely sound

Consider this blog a venting. Of sorts. Believe me, I need to.

I'm here in San Ignacio, after quite a rough bout of traveling, I'm sorry to report. I'm fine, but the Detroit layover was horrendous because I was scheduled to depart from a whole different airport than the one I flew into, which meant I had to wait outside in the cold after midnight for transportation. I wasn't burdened with acoutrement like a coat, gloves, hat, the much-needed "like".

Then, when I made it to the right place, security was closed down so it looked like I'd have to bed on cement outside the revolving doors, when a maintenance person told me how I could get into the Westin and sleep on a couch in the annex to the lobby. It was very comfortable for about an hour and a half (but I couldn't fall asleep because Christmas tunes were blaring at me) until a security guard told me I needed to stay awake if I wanted to occupy that space.

Couldn't sleep on the next flight because the turbulence was horrendous, and then, I almost missed my connecting flight to Belize because we were delayed so much.

Here is the coup de etat: they lost my luggage. I decided to check it yesterday morning and packed accordingly, but just had a sneaky feeling that I would regret it. And, I am. Everything valuable/vital was packed in my carry-on; so, I'm OK, I've just got no clothes other than the ones that I'm wearing, or toiletries. (Or you package for Mark, Kristin!) I do have a small bottle of sunscreen, though, remarkably! The money situation is fine. So, I'm hoping they bring the luggage from the capital tonight or tomorrow. That would be the best of luck.

A very nice cabbie out to Belize city befriended me, and I gave him a card; so, I think he'll do the work of bringing my luggage out on the 3 hr drive to where I am. I'm glad Kristin gave me another small lock. Without it, my luggage would be exposed to whomever has the job to get it to me. And customs. Obama is a very big thing to talk about here -- Belizeans are ecstatic are him being president. My cabbie was citing the rest of the world being in on this sentiment, too! It was a shock logging in to my yahoo account and seeing that Blagoevich was ARRESTED today!!!

I allowed myself to be suckered into what I think amounts to the first significant "deal-making" scheme ever today: struck up a great conversation with a woman at the bus terminal (no longer Novelos, they went out of business, fellow Belize travellers), who offered me a ride to San Ignacio for, like, a million US dollars. Well, I told her I was looking forward to taking the bus, and that lead us to talk about everything under the sun, most notably more corruption in the Belize government, and then we parted ways, her to look for a fare, me to purchase a bus ticket. She came back, mentioning she had a fare, they were also US citizens, never having been in the country before, but would I ride with them to take the fare down to $25 US per person. It's the amount that I paid to taxi to the bus terminal (the standard rip-off), but the bus would have seriously cost me $4.50 US. I came to ascertain that she surmised I would ride with her if I could split the fare with other travellers. What a crock. I tried not to let it affect me too much and accepted the ride, not wanting to be the "gringa" who "took back her word". The conversation in the cab happened to be really great (despite the Americans), and I consoled myself that it was worth the price to ask and get answers to the bazillion questions I had about the country since I left. Some of which is this: both Palacio and Byron Foster have passed away since I've last been here: two sources of whom I considered to be my most promising contacts, gone. I'm redirecting efforts toward the Garcia sisters (nieces of Elijio Panti -- herbalist, shaman, healer who passed away in 1996) and a woman from Crooked Tree that the woman cabbie suggested to me. She's part Yucatec Mayan, and is going to set me up with a meeting. Another benefit to the cab ride.

I do have a beautiful room at Martha's (who have yet to see; she went to run errands on her late lunch as I was arriving) -- different from the one that she told me she was going to put me in (my old one from the teaching days), but exceptionally nicer than that other room (with a private bath) at the same rate, which is great. I'm hoping getting this all out will make me feel better. Honestly, it's not really phasing me too terribly much, which is unbelievably weird to me, but I'd like to dispel this bad travel karma right now. A beer is in my future, which is terribly exciting to me. After a nap. I having slept since Sunday night.

This is a test. This is only a test. Now, the choice is what to do about the knowledge that I'm being tested with. I suppose I've done a lot already by staying on an even keel.

Love you all.

me

Embarking

It's only a couple of hours before I leave.  Jennifer responded to a plea for a ride to the airport; so, I am finishing up with a few things at Carson's place before she swings by to pick me up, for which I'm very thankful.

It's hard to believe that I'll be in Belize tomorrow morning.  So much time has passed, so many lifetimes have cascaded by since then.  Suns and moons, rising, falling.  Grey hairs.  Ha ha.  

I wondered if I'd feel "ready," soon after Knox responded to my grant fund request to commence research on the ritual practices of Mopan Mayan shaman (h'men).  I had to force myself toward readiness when the money came through.  I was reluctant, resistant, even.  Why?  The time?  All that has transpired?  What was I going back to?  

Then, I cleaned off my altar, which had been accumulating dust for the past, oh, year, easy.  And I sat a wee bit in meditation.  I opened old journals, read old ink, sifted through old memories and saved momentos, recalling names, places, occasions, happenings, deeply felt things, true expressions.  I remembered myself, as I was.  I saw myself as I am.  I see, clearly, the differences.  The love that is between those 2 places that I have for myself, remarkably, still.

I discovered I was going back to me, there, now.  It isn't any different than any other moment of departure on sacred time.  I will just employ it differently, keenly, knowingly.  It feels like I have stopped searching.  For place, for identity.  And I trust a bit more what I bring, what I give, that I will learn, that I will remember.  Me.  All this is valuable.

Thanks for reading along.  I look forward to holding you close.