Wouldn't it be cool if.....?
That is my new power tool, for manifesting, that is. Wouldn't it be cool if I could meet a shaman?
That's how this whole story started.
Maria and I were sitting in my living room in Puerto Morelos doing a bit of dreaming. "Wouldn't it be cool if I could meet a shaman?" I piped up. Maria had manifested a pair of blue sandals she loved earlier in the week. Now it was my turn to turn a dream into a reality.
"Yeah, that would be totally, cool," said Maria excitedly, "But I want to meet him too. So wouldn't it be cool if we could meet him before I leave?" Maria was flying home in two days, so that might be a bit of a tall order since I had been looking for a shaman for a few years and had not found a real one. They don't really have web pages or ads on FaceBook.
"Yeah, that would be super cool," I agreed. "And wouldn't it be cool if we could learn about energy healing and plants from him?"
"Yeah," Maria agreed. "And wouldn't it be cool if we didn't have to look too hard to find him?"
Well, we left Puerto Morelos around noon and headed down the Route de Los Cenotes and into the jungle. We had planned a trip to see Ik Kil, a fabulous cave cenote just outside of the ruins of Chichen Itza. We planned to drive the three and a half hours to get there, spend the night at a little hotel across the street, soak in the healing ecological pool there, sip margaritas, and then get up early and go swimming (well, Maria planned to go swimming. She didn't know I didn't plan to join her, but that's another story) in the cenote.
We did all that and then we packed up for a relaxing ride home through Maya pueblos where dogs slept in the street, kids played with soccer balls, and old men sat in plastic red chairs and watched the world go by. We stopped for lunch at a super cute place and shared panuchos and Yucatac pork.
After stuffing ourselves, we found an old man named Sebriano and listened to his wonderful tales (follow above link for tales from Sebriano) and then we hugged his neck, started saying our good-byes (these things can take time), and asked if he knew where to find a shaman. "There is a good one in the next village over," he assured us.
So, off we went.
I drove aimlessly through the little town stuffed with grass-roofed stick houses, exotic gardens rife with wandering bougainvillea blooms, and wild fruit trees.
I felt a tiny bit impressed to turn down a narrow road where most of the pavement was gone and there, sitting on the curb at the next block were two smiley, dark-eyed Maya men.
Maria said, "Let's stop."
So, we stopped and asked the smiley men if they knew where we could find a shaman. Of COURSE they did! He lived just around the corner and the younger smiley man would be very happy to take us to him because the shaman (Note: He reminded us that the Maya do not call them shaman's. They are herbateros.) had been treating his daughter for cancer. She was doing very well. "We are winning!" he said. "You know, you don't need to take those horrible drugs that make you sick or have an operation. The herbatero knows all the plants in the jungle that heal you."