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.