We woke Tuesday to double alarms; to be sure we woke in time.
Fortunately mine was a loud and
obnoxious gamelan because Greg’s was a teeny fairy bell that would not wake a
soldier standing guard. We waited out in
front of the hotel for our expected ride, watching the early sunrise and
watching the “chicken buses” fly past us, each painted like Mardi Gras float and
generally named after women – wives or saints?
Most of them have a Christian sacred image pasted over the back window
so that the last thing anyone would see when they are run over is their
favorite saint waving goodbye. Also,
each bus and taxi has a “wingman” – a young man who leans out the open door
or window and shouts to pedestrians, announcing a destination or asking for
business.
At last, our ride came – Kukumatz – and we were extremely
happy to be on our way. It was a short
drive to la casa del doctor. Again like Pompeii,
one could barely tell from the street that it was a house & clinic. A door in a metal garage gate opened into an
atrium with many rooms surrounding it. Wilma
welcomed us and showed us past a few waiting patients into Tata’s office. It was somewhat like a small museum, largely
decorated with magnificent Mayan artifacts, either real or reproductions – who
can tell? – but given Tata’s standing in the Mayan community, likely real. There were artifacts from other cultures as
well, like a paddle decorated with northwestern Indian designs. We spoke for a short while. El
doctor was suffering from an earache & headache, affecting his balance. He said that his difficulty had started three
days ago, just as I was preparing to come here and just as the pain in my arm
was starting to lesson. He thought that
the two were likely connected. Even so,
he welcomed us and sang a Mayan song with a drum.
The drum and song were to initiate his communication with
the spirits. After the song, he spoke to
me and not only could I understand his Spanish, but as he looked right into my
eyes I felt I could understand the deeper meaning and intent behind his
words. He emphasized the importance of
my being here and that we were true brothers.
On behalf of my Coven and indeed all the “Wiccan people” I presented him
with one of Oberon’s Gaia / Mother Earth statues that I had first presented to
him in Los Angeles a few months ago, but that he had feared bringing home in a
backpack. This statue had been on my
Coven’s altar for a full year of Sabbats.
I also gave him a vial of the Waters of the World, a list of the waters,
and a copy of the WoW ceremony that is usually performed at interfaith meetings
(Wilma would translate the documents).
Tata was very pleased and moved. As occurred in LA when I first presented him
with the statue, he nearly swooned, as did Wilma. The Waters were appreciated with kind words
and gestures.
Then we sat in the atrium to eat breakfast – refried back
beans, scrambled eggs with ham, papaya, bread, sausage, and two types of
tamales (Guatemalan & Mexican). And
lots of black coffee. Greg and I were
concerned that patients were filling Tata’s waiting room while he was eating
with us, but Wilma said not to worry.
She had explained to them about our visit. While we chatted, Wilma said that the main
healing ceremony would be tomorrow at a place sacred to the Maya. She warned that the place is both powerful
and dangerous and that it would take all Tata’s skills to manage the energies
safely. After breakfast, we continued
the introductory healing.
I donned my Gardnerian cord and we went into Tata’s altar
room. One corner held a little shelter
for an entity like a man sitting and smoking. Two other similar statues sat nearby. The walls were covered with various icons, but
most intriguing was the corner covered with numerous heads of various sizes carved
from some kind of black volcanic rock, filling about a quarter of the
floor. While I focused on Tata, who had
once again started drumming & singing, Greg tried to count the heads. He found that he could not discern which ones
were faces, as some were quite clearly carved, some were crudely carved, and
some seemed to be naturally-formed rocks.
Greg told me later that while trying to take in all the
contents of the altar room, he kept seeing colors moving in and out of his
peripheral vision. He felt that
something was trying to distract his attention from the ceremony. As for me… as soon as I entered the
altar-room, my left thumb started twitching, and then my hand. (My hand had stopped shaking entirely after my LA visit with Tata, so
this was quite a surprise.) I had the
distinct impression that something
didn’t want to be there and wanted to escape.
I told this to Tata through Greg.
He did something surprising, but that in retrospect made magical sense…
He poured kerosene on the tile floor in a circle around me and Greg and set it
on fire. It was hot and the flames were
about a foot high, but it didn’t last long, although it did lick at my pants leg. He
said that this was a circle of protection and I thought that it was a test to
see if whatever was affecting me was being directed from outside. He told us to raise our arms in the circle of
flames. My left arm was shaking. The problem was within me.
We received no further diagnosis, but retired to his office
again for more talk. I gave Tata &
Wilma host & hostess gifts of flannel shirts and chocolate-covered coffee
beans. (They have chocolate &
coffee, but together…?) Greg suggested that I might be able to help
Tata with healing work from the Wiccan tradition. This was gratefully accepted by Tata. I did what could, definitely feeling a link
between his problem and mine. Afterwards, he had regained his balance and seemed to be doing a bit better.
Wilma said that someone would pick us up at 7:30am tomorrow at our hotel for the main ceremony. After many hugs, expressions of brotherhood
and friendship, and some suggestions as to where we might find a cell-phone,
Greg & I left to walk to the plaza
of Chimaltenango.
Down a long busy business street, filled with passing trucks
and buses, we found the plaza – a welcome, serene garden filled with trees,
flowers, statuary, and a great fountain.
The plaza was in front of the local church – a great, white edifice
dedicated to Santa Ana. In fact, the feast of Santa
Ana had been a few days before and everywhere workmen
were dismantling wood pavilions, carnival rides for children, and rows of
benches. The other three sides of the
plaza were filled with banks, one shaped like a castle and all protected by shotgun-carrying guards.
Looking for the cell-phone shop, we passed the farmers’
market and a truck full of goats. The
driver offered to sell us goat’s milk and, when we declined, offered goat’s
piss as an alternate, all with a smile and a laugh. Everyone was friendly, helpful, and welcoming…
and no one was smoking! In fact, we
realized that we hadn’t seen anyone smoking since we arrived in
Chimaltenango. This was quite surprise
in a Latin American country.
Eventually, we found the cell-phone shop and worked through
the details of cell-phones and use-plans for only a week’s stay in
Spanish. We stopped in a small place for
a quick lunch. The entrée was preceded
by a bowl of “mosh”, a local specialty. Mosh is basically like the aqua fresca drink horchata (rice milk, seasoned with vanilla, cinnamon & nutmeg),
but served as a hot soup. After lunch,
we grabbed ride back to the hotel in a tuktuk,
a small, three-wheeled taxi (still with a wingman).
We walked to the internet café to post the first of these
reports, but it was closed. Then we
noticed that everything was closed and
the streets were deserted. Of
course! Siesta! Duh! We returned to the hotel for a quick nap,
disturbing a gecko that was busily hunting in our room, and went back out later
in the afternoon to find the internet café open. Returning after dark, we discovered that our
hotel has free internet access in its lobby (where I’m working as I write this).
Before turning in, we puzzled out the process of allowing
our new phone to call the US
and of making international calls. For
some reason, I can’t reach my home phone, but I can reach Anna’s cell. Sleep beckoned in anticipation of the
ceremony on the morrow.
More to come…
Blessed Be,
Don Frew (and his wingman Greg Stafford)
CoG National Interfaith Representative
