A Victory Cigar

Red Auerbach gets credit for the idea of the Victory Cigar. As coach of the Boston Celtics, Auerbach smoked a victory cigar whenever he thought a game was decided, a habit that became cult-like in popularity in the Boston area. He didn’t wait until the game was actually over and the buzzer had sounded to light up. No. He lit up while the game was still being played, when he knew that his team’s victory was assured. Back then, you could smoke in public buildings like the Boston Garden.

So today, I fired up a Victory Cigar of my own. In my backyard. My new, second novel, Tulum, isn’t entirely finished. It still needs some work. Some revisions. Some editing. Some cleaning up. But today was the big day. It was the day on which I first knew for sure that the end of my work on this book was within my reach. I think I will be finished later this week. The end is at long last, after more than five years of work, just ahead of me. I can actually sense it.

The idea for the book was ambitious. And innovative. And difficult to realize. And the manuscript isn’t perfect. The book has its flaws. It has its problems. But, for better or worse, I’ve now exhausted what I can do with it. It’s time to stop, to get it out, to have readers take over.

The book, set in Tulum in Mexico’s Yucatan and in Cuba, is at once a travelogue, a love story, and the story of the unlikely friendship of a Mayan Curandero and a middle aged, gringo expat with a shady past, who ultimately embarks, as an apprentice, on the path of becoming a Shaman. There will be no spoiler here. The book, drawn from the deep cenote of Magical Realism, adopts Carlos Fuentes’s guidance:

A writer should never know the whole story. He imagines one part and asks the reader to finish it. A book should never close. The reader should continue it.

And now, it is time to turn this project over. For better or worse, I have done my part. It’s time for the reader to continue the story.

After The Shooting The Shadow

I woke up this morning with a profound sadness.

The worst part of yesterday's shootings seems to me to be the death of the 9-year old girl. She was apparently at the Congresswoman's political event at the Safeway because she had been elected to an elementary school student council. She might have been inspired to meet an actual Congresswoman.

All of the deaths and the many serious injuries lie like a heavy brick on my heart.

The many analyses of why these shootings happened began too soon for me. They started immediately after the echo of the last bullet was drowned out by the agony of the victims and the Medevac helicopters. They continue today with renewed force. And increased monotony. They will ebb and flow for the next few days. It's not necessary to enumerate these here. There are many different ideas but the central idea seems to that there is something very wrong, and that's what caused this to happen.

We have come to expect from these discussions the fixing of blame and righteous recrimination and finger pointing. And also the scrubbing of web pages and the editing of previous statements and the making of pronouncements. The reactions are all terribly predictable. I don't expect anyone who did not actually pull the trigger to take any responsibility for these deaths and injuries. And I expect that the actual shooter to have a defense as well. This prepares a fertile ground for continued blame and justification. And arguments. And shouting. And more of the same. And more violence.

This brings me directly to the Shadow. My Shadow. Jung's definition and explanation might be relevant, but what I am drawn to this morning is far less academic. I'm drawn to how Loughner lives inside me. My internal Loughner. Or put another way, the aspects of my personhood that I dislike, that I am afraid of, that I have shunned and hidden, that I do not reveal, that I keep secret. I am drawn to the aspects of myself that I consider horrid and ugly and deformed and despicable. This morning I find that these weigh heavy on my chest. I think this is what today requires my attention.

For example, I ask, where in me does the deranged, incoherent, violent Loughner live? Where in me is a person who writes such bizarre Youtubes? Where in me is the person who carries and uses a concealed weapon so devastatingly? So coldly? Where is my seething but covert anger at apparent authority? Where is my belief in illusory, mysterious, demented magical thinking nonsense? And where does my persistent blaming of others for all of my pain reside?

These are hard questions. It is very hard to look at this ugliness. But my view is that this is what needs attention. Today. It needs to be looked at. And it needs to be acknowledged. And even harder, it needs to be honored for why it is there and what it has done for me.

I would like us to ask ourselves these tough questions and to begin to attend to them. Otherwise, I fear, embarking on an impersonal, academic analysis of yesterday's tragedy might amount to our again disowning our ugliness, our pushing it into the darkness, and our unintentionally creating the conditions that will surely make it happen again.

Haiti: On The Effectiveness Of Ceremonies, Part II

This is working. Really.

The idea is to shoot the gap. Put Tomas between the islands. So far so good. A little to the West might be better, but this is definitely looking good.  A work that is progressing.  Whatever you are doing, keep doing it.

On The Effectiveness Of Ceremonies

In connection with yesterday's ceremonies to spare Haiti the brunt of Hurricane Tomas, we find this article today:

PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti (AP) -- What had been Hurricane Tomas is now a disorganized tropical depression, and forecasters don't expect it to regain hurricane force.

The storm, with winds near 35 mph, is about 390 miles southwest of Port-au-Prince, Haiti, and moving west-northwest at about 6 mph.

The National Hurricane Center in Miami believes it will reach Haiti by Friday after brushing past Jamaica.

One forecaster says he's baffled by the sharp decrease in the storm and the hurricane center says there's still a possibility that it will regain strength.

Tomas has already killed at least 14 people and left seven missing in the eastern Caribbean nation of St. Lucia.

That speaks for itself.

And, of course, a very special thank you, thank you, thank you, gracias, gracias, muchas gracias.

Haiti: Hurricane Tomas And Today's Ceremony

This map warns of impending devastation. The news from Haiti this morning remains frightening. Bloomberg reports on the huge scale of the looming disaster:

Tropical Storm Tomas strengthened over the Caribbean Sea as Haiti braced for the system to hit as a hurricane at the end of the week....

Haiti’s government, the United Nations and humanitarian agencies are working on a response based on a projection the storm may affect 500,000 people, according to a statement on the website of the UN’s Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs. The nation is already reeling from a cholera outbreak and a magnitude 7.0-magnitude earthquake in January that killed an estimated 300,000 people and caused $7.8 billion in damage. ...

The Haitian government has agreed to allow the U.S.S. Iwo Jima to dock in Port-au-Prince if needed for disaster relief, according to the UN. Emergency groups are stocking up on tarpaulins, blankets, soap, hygiene kits and rehydration salts, it said.

More than 1 million Haitians have been living in camps since the January earthquake, while an outbreak of cholera has killed 337 people and infected more than 4,764, the World Health Organization regional branch said on Nov.1.

An article in the Miami Herald provides additional worries:

In Haiti, however, wind speeds won't be as critical as rainfall totals.
Flooding from Hurricanes Hanna and Ike in 2008 killed more than 800 people and the four hurricanes that hit Haiti that year left $1 billion in damage. A tropical deluge also could overwhelm efforts to contain an outbreak of cholera, caused by drinking contaminated water, that already has killed more than 300 people.

Meeting with authorities from the surrounding vulnerable regions around Les Cayes in southwestern Haiti, ... The health ministry was evaluating the possibility of evacuating patients at the government-run hospital, which is prone to flooding....

Still, the southern coast's largest city -- and Haiti's fourth largest, Les Cayes -- is vulnerable to floods even with normal rainfall.
``Once a hurricane hits us, we are in a mess,'' said Pierre Leger, a Les Cayes businessman, recalling how twice in two years mud burried the city of Gonaives after hurricanes.
``We have two canals -- one on the left, one on the right. They are blocked with trash, there are houses built on them. What happened to Gonaives could happen to us.''

I've been writing about this now for a few days, beginning when I saw that the projected track for the storm turned North, toward the south coast of Haiti. I've hoped that the Traditional Media would pick up the story, and that there could again be an outpouring of aid, this time before the disaster strikes, in time to do some good. That hasn't happened. Watching the animated tracks at NOAA and the flash and java versions feels to me like watching a slow motion train wreck.

I've suggested making donations to Doctors Without Borders and other Haiti aid organizations. I've posted these essays at various group blogs and on Facebook. Response to what I see as an enormous emergency in this Hemisphere has been slight. I choose not to analyze why this might be so: following that thread only makes my small essays seem like the unheeded, repeated warnings of Cassandra.

So I decided to call for help from my friends in the Shamanic Community across the world. I've sent emails (yes, you can send emails to Shamans), I've posted on Facebook (yes, Shamans are on fb), and I've talked with Shaman friends (you don't need Quetzel feathers and a bone through your nose to be a Shaman, btw). Consider, if you've read this far, that this is your personal invitation to help, also. At 11:30 am ET today, I will conduct a small ceremony, and I will ask Pachamama, Santa Madre Tierra, Mother Earth please to turn Hurricane Tomas away from Haiti, and if she must put Hurricane Tomas's landfall in or near Haiti, I will ask Pachamama please to be compassionate and merciful, please to protect the lives of all of those in Haiti, to recognize that they have been devastated already, and are in serious danger. I know already that others on three continents will do ceremonies at the same time. The more, the better. And, of course, there's no prescribed liturgy: each of us will do what we can, each of us will do what feels like the right thing to do in that moment.

In my email I described my plan:

Hurricane Tomas is about to run over Haiti. What do we know about Haiti's current situation? Well, it's dire. The Earthquake destroyed the infrastructure. Many thousands of people are homeless or in shelters that don't really provide shelter or in badly damaged, unreliable housing. There's a cholera outbreak. And now, Hurricane Tomas is coming. If it arrives with any intensity at all, and it appears that it will, it will create even more havoc: loss of life, loss of shelter, loss of food, loss of drinking water. Medicine will be even more scarce, and even more people will need it. The cholera will expand. There will be flooding. Unsanitary conditions will abound. Because of extensive deforestation, there will be mudslides. Roads that are barely repaired from the earthquake will again be impassable. Hospitals will again be overwhelmed and unable to care for the injured and ill.

So what I propose is that we all have ceremonias tomorrow (November 2, 2010) at 11:30 am ET. And that we forward this email to all of our fellow Shamans who might be interested, and that we ask them please to make offerings and do ceremonias at the same time, that we ask for their prayers and offerings. Together we need to move the hurricane to the West so that the most vulnerable people in Haiti will not be harmed. And we need to ask the hurricane, if it must come ashore in Haiti, to be compassionate, merciful, to spare the most vulnerable, to be as gentle as possible.

... I believe that Pachamama responds to these ceremonias, that she guides these storms on their courses, and that when we honor and acknowledge our inner Hurricanes and destructive storms, as Pachamama wants, she in turn is happy to spare others from an actual, fierce Hurricane. ...

I will make a fire at 11:30 am tomorrow. If one of you is in the area, please join me.

In my view, the part about honoring and acknowledging my inner Hurricanes and destructive storms is a key. I dreamt that last night, and I am carrying it and turning it inside myself today.

Thank you for reading, and thank you for your contributions.

There's More To Being An Elder Than Being Old

It takes more than being old to be an Elder. Not every senior citizen can be an Elder. Or wants to be one. And it doesn’t depend on whether you’re healthy. Or “spry” as younger people would put it. It depends on something far more elusive. It depends on whether one actually occupies the role of being an Elder. And how.

What does it mean to be an Elder? I'm going to be 64 in October. I imagine that I should be assuming the role of an Elder, and that I would like to do that. Am I ready to do this or do I need more time? Am I ready to be a beginning Elder? A novice Elder? Am I ready to start paying my dues to Elderhood?

If I were in India, and my kids were grown (as they are), it would soon be time to renounce being a householder and to embark on my Spiritual Journey. I'd give away my stuff, and hit the road. Some Taoists I know say that this is called “practice dying.” You get rid of your possessions just as they would be dispersed when you make your mahasamadhi. Then you go on to do what you’re going to do. You’re not held back by things.

Death is one thing that’s certain. If the first third of life were about learning and finding a mate or companion, and the second third was about being a householder and performing the multitude of functions involved in making money, raising children, working a relationship, the final third ought to be about the spirit, the soul if you believe you have one, getting ready for the long journey, serving the society as an Elder before impermanence catches up to your body and breaks it down.

But look at us in the US. We don't think about this. Maybe we don’t really have Elders any more. We don’t revere our Elders. We don't even consult with them. We don't really take care of them by providing for their needs. We don't ask them, let alone listen to them. And we certainly don't have a ceremony or an acknowledgment for them, at which society says, "Look at you, you're now an Elder, you've been around for a while, and no doubt you've learned something that could be of benefit to all of us. We’d like to ask your opinion from time to time."

No, we’ve got other plans for old people. And they don’t seem to involve their occupying the role of Elder. My house was built in 1841. In 1897 or so an itinerant photographer came by and took an image of the people in the house with their proudest possessions. In the photo are perhaps four generations of people. That’s not our current way. Whatever our current way might be, it sure isn’t about acknowledging the role of the Elder. It’s not even about the small Elder role the oldest person may have played in a four generation household 150 years ago.

In fact, what’s involved in the role of being an Elder is pretty obscure. I haven’t found a book, “Being An Elder For Dummies.” So what I know about this I am learning from indigenous people, wisdom keepers, Shamans. And from those who have recorded what Elders in various places have had to say. And most important, from asking myself, “What does it mean to be an Elder? How does an Elder inspire others? What does it mean to serve a community as an Elder?” In other words, I’m making it up as I go along.

It’s odd thinking about being an Elder. It’s not something many are concerned with. It’s not about retirement planning or investments or social security and medicare. It’s not really about politics. It’s about a niche in society that seems to have gradually become obsolete. Or suppressed. It’s mostly disappeared even though it seems to be vitally needed.

When politicians and young war chiefs decide that they should fight, or go to war, or act aggressively they don’t consult the local Elders. They consult their peers. People who are strong and young and impulsive consult others with the same characteristics. Would the US have invaded Iraq, for example, if Elders had been asked about this folly? Would US troops in Afghanistan have been increased? Would you see BP drilling and destroying the Gulf, if not the entire planet? Would there be a defense of mountaintop removal? Look at the list: global warming, genocide, hunger, poverty. Would any Elder worth his or her salt approve any of these debacles? I believe not. Wouldn’t any Elder say that these problems had to be taken care of? Maybe that’s why we don’t ask.

Why should anybody consult me? Or ask my opinion?, In my last 64 years there has been plenty of failure, outright, stone foolishness, errors, misjudgments. I’ve misunderestimated lots of times. I’ve done and said zillions of things that I wish I hadn’t. In short, my track record hasn’t been perfect and a lot of it isn’t inspirational. At all Yes, I’ve done some good things. Yes, I’ve done some bad things. What Jung would call my Shadow has made some uninvited, cameo appearances. But being an Elder isn’t about perfection, or lack of regret, or being right. Not at all. It’s about having all of that experience in life, honoring it, learning from it, reflecting on it. It’s about bringing forward the richness of life, the multitude of experiences, and hopefully the wisdom that’s been gained on a long journey. It’s about being able, when asked, to summon some wisdom and being to deliver it with clarity and, hopefully, kindness. It’s not about instant answers. It’s about being willing to sit for as long as it takes with not knowing and embarking on a process that will eventually call forth some responses.

I believe I am learning how to do just that. I’m working on it . It seems important for me to do this. I’ve been working on it for more than 6 decades.

So why is it, then, that younger people aren’t listening to older people? This is a funny idea and a strange question. Didn’t I myself once believe you should never trust anybody over 30? Wasn’t most of what my grandparents told me about life just plain wrong? Actually, it’s not older people who need to be listened to. Nope. It’s Elders. And Elders are those who occupy the space of being an Elder. They declare that they are Elders by their words and actions and presence. Maybe they are acknowledged by their community. Maybe not. That doesn’t matter. They have some wisdom and stories to dispense. They can take the seemingly complex and see through it. Or try to. When somebody is stuck and doesn’t know what to do, s/he could think, “I will ask the Elder. Maybe that will be of help.”

So being an Elder is probably a lot like fulfilling other functions in life. Some Elders are going to turn out to be frauds, nut jobs, charlatans, quacks. You’d have to be crazy to listen to them. But others would be worth talking to. If the advice makes sense it should be taken. If it doesn’t, it should be discarded. Talking to an Elder is not a form of abdication of personal wisdom, it’s a useful adjunct to whatever else one does to find answers to life’s questions.

Obviously, being an Elder is a work in process. I know that many who read this might be thinking about these questions with me. Am I ready to become an Elder? How would I do that? What does it mean to do that? How can I be of service to my community? How can I step up.? I’m hoping we can ask these questions, and that we can change our world, one Elder at a time.

Dear Pachamama: This Too Can Heal

The Despacho


Beyond the anger, frustration, sadness, depression and fear of the BP oil disaster there must be something else. The Gulf of Mexico is fast becoming a deadly petroleum gumbo garnished with oil coated pelicans, life in the sea is massing and trying to unsuccessfully to escape the pollution, and there may really be nothing on a practical level that can be done to staunch the hemorrhage of Pachamama's vital fluids. We watch in horror. And grief. Is our mother dying? I awoke in the middle of the night to write this haiku:

I watch you dying.
Pelican can't fly away.
Oceans fill my eyes.

Yesterday I had the thought that we are watching the death of the coral and multitudes of the finned and swimming creatures because they are offering themselves up, sacrificing themselves to give us a message we have willfully refused for decades to hear. I want us to hear and heed that message. And they are apparently ready to die to have us hear and understand it.

But there is more. If it is true that what we give our attention to grows, and I believe it is, it is time to shift some of our conscious attention from our pervasive thoughts of grief and anxiety to another thought. This thought: this too can heal. Even this unprecedented horrendous mess Pachamama can heal. Even this unmitigated disaster she can heal. How she can do this is not important. What is so very important is the thought, the belief that this too can heal. That thought needs to take hold. Without the thought that this too can be healed, there is only focused attention on the death of the Gulf, the death of all of its creatures, the eventual death of the oceans, and the death of the planet. And that focused attention will kill all of us.

The Dhammapada tells us this very same thing, that we are what we think:

We are what we think.
All that we are arises with our thoughts.
With our thoughts we make the world.
Speak or act with an impure mind
And trouble will follow you
As the wheel follows the ox that draws the cart.

Filled with anger, fear, sadness, grief, overcome with frustration, we are what we think. With only those intense thoughts there is no room for anything else. There is only death.

To mark the Solstice and to offer both our thanks and our deepest apologies to Mother Earth, Pachamama, Santa Madre Tierra, many friends gathered on Saturday. We made a despacho, an offering, the one pictured above.

A despacho is a prayer bundle in the Q'ero tradition from the high Andes of Peru. It is made up of many symbolic elements: sugar for sweetness, lima beans for nutrition, raisins to honor the ancestors, alphabet noodles to honor learning, red wine to honor the feminine, white white to honor the masculine, and on and on and on. There are so many ingredients. There is a clam shell to symbolize the mamakocha, the oceans and waters of our planet. There are cotton strands to symbolize the clouds. And stars. And the sun. And Pachamama. The despacho in many ways is a complete, mythic universe of offering. To it, each participant in the ceremony adds personal and community prayers. In this case, the prayers were especially for the healing of Pachamama from the Gulf disaster.

Many of the prayers were like this one by Masaru Emoto:

Now let's give energy of love and gratitude to the waters and all the living creatures in Mexico Gulf by praying like this:

To the water, whales, dolphins, pelicans, fishes, shellfishes, planktons, corals, algae and all creatures in our Gulf of Mexico:

I apologize.
Please forgive me.
Thank you.
I love you.

source.

Or like this one I wrote:

Dear Pachamama, Mother Earth, Santa Madre Tierra, Gaia, Sweet Mother, I am so sorry for what we have done and are doing to you and your creatures, our brothers and sisters, the creatures who live in and near the sea. We don't know how to stop the oil, and we don't know how to save all of these beings. Please understand our remorse, our regret, our shame and accept out deepest apologies for destroying this part of this wondrous, blue pearl planet. Please forgive us.

source.

After all of the many prayers are placed in the bundle, and the bundle is tied up, the despacho is burned in a ceremonial fire. This, the tradition says, releases the prayers to the heavens, but we all know that the prayers reach their destination as soon as they are thought. Whenever they are thought.

I know that I will not be able to keep my focus on the possible healing of the Gulf and our planet. I know that I will again become infuriated. At BP. At the government. At Obama. At the BP CEO. And Louisiana's politicians. At Missisisppi's governor. That's just human. My hope is that I will be able to turn away from strong negative feelings to hold gently in the palm of my hand the possibility of healing for the Gulf and our beautiful, blue planet. And for all of us.

BP: Wounding My Mother, Wounding Pachamama

It begins as helplessness. Nothing more, nothing less. I watch as oil spews from BP's well into the Gulf of Mexico, killing sea life, destroying the ocean, ruining the breeding grounds near the shore. The Gulf of Mexico is becoming a vast petroleum gumbo garnished with oil soaked sea birds and drowned turtles. I watch this. I wish that all of the wise men and women of the world could find a solution, could stop the flow. But as the time elapses, and the 48 hour periods to know whether the flow can be stemmed mount up, it should be obvious to me. There may be no solution. At least not for the foreseeable future. And by then, by then what even BP is calling a "catastrophe" will be that much more enormous. That much more irremediable. The leak will have killed much of the Gulf of Mexico, and unchecked, it will continue to kill.

Keith Olbermann thinks that Obama should show more anger about this. That, he thinks, will show people that Obama is with them. Or something. Personally, I have more than enough unproductive anger about BP. I don't need it to be mirrored. Or extended. No. What I want is internal. I want to understand what BP is doing and has done to my interior landscape. I want to come to terms with that. And to comprehend it in this way, I use what I know: I look at the mythic, and I look at myself. It's Shamanism 101.

Please join me on this voyage.

Have I ever seen anything like this before? Have I ever seen my Mother Earth, Pachamama, Santa Madre Tierra so wounded and killed by one of her children? I've been thinking about the BP leak as a wound that will lead to matricide, the death of our Mother.

I've found two myths that seem to apply. There are doubtless others. I offer these two as a beginning point.

In Babylonian mythology, Tiamat is a primordial goddess of the salt water ocean, mating with the god Abzû to produce younger gods. ... Later when Ea's son Marduk creates problems for her yet sleeping god youngsters by playing with sand storms and tornadoes, she conspires to retaliate by creating eleven frightening monsters and erecting her son Kingu as their general, but this plot fails when Marduk slays them all including Tiamat herself. From Tiamat's body the world is formed, land and sea.

Wiki

Marduk kills his mother. Marduk, who plays with things that should not be played with, sandstorms and tornadoes and deep sea drilling, kills the primordial goddess of the salt water ocean. And the world is far different because of her death; it then has both land and sea. Marduk's killing his mother is a cosmos shifting, future changing event:

Tiamat possessed the Tablets of Destiny and in the primordial battle she gave them to Kingu, the god she had chosen as her lover and the leader of her host. The deities gathered in terror, but [Marduk], first extracting a promise that he would be revered as "king of the gods", overcame her, armed with the arrows of the winds, a net, a club, and an invincible spear.

And the lord stood upon Tiamat's hinder parts,
And with his merciless club he smashed her skull.
He cut through the channels of her blood,
And he made the North wind bear it away into secret places.

Slicing Tiamat in half, he made from her ribs the vault of heaven and earth. Her weeping eyes became the source of the Tigris and the Euphrates. With the approval of the elder deities, he took from Kingu the Tablets of Destiny, installing himself as the head of the Babylonian pantheon.

Is that what we have done? Has the BP leak changed the Gulf of Mexico, the oceans, and the entire world in ways that cannot yet be comprehended? Is that what we are watching and are helpless to change? Put another way, are we Marduk?

Another myth. If you think of the Earth, Mother Earth, Pachamama, Santa Madre Tierra as a living, moving, thinking, conscious being, our planet, our Mother, what is this horrible gaping wound that has been done to her? What is this deep puncture to her insides, to her womb, to her intestines that is now leaking her precious blood and bodily fluids into the Gulf of Mexico? What kind of grave injury have we given to our Mother that is now spurting her life force, her blood into the ocean, creating huge plumes of oil and death as it flows?

How do I confront the bleeding out of our Mother? Bleeding I am unable to staunch.

And when I passed by thee, and saw thee polluted in thine own blood, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live; yea, I said unto thee when thou wast in thy blood, Live.

I have caused thee to multiply as the bud of the field...

Ezekiel 16:6 - 7

It's an ancient prayer. Some call it the Bleeding Prayer. "When I came upon you polluted in your own blood, I said, 'Live. Live, like the plants in the field.'" It seems to fit the present disaster: uncontrollable bleeding of our Mother that is beyond our ability to check. Our engineering and governmental resources just aren't up to the task. If there's a solution, it's obviously in another realm, of Spirit.

For the past month, I have written extensively about BP and this disaster. What I notice about my writing is that it's angry and I have been making a sharp, bright line between BP and the rest of us, including myself. On reflection I now think that one of the reasons we are so ineffective in handling this disaster is our shadow and the degree to which we have tried to suppress and disown our inner BP. My inner BP: my tyrannical, know-it-all, powerful, greedy, reckless, patriarchal, secretive, dishonest inner BP. As I write this sentence, I think, "Wait. BP is the fourth largest corporation in the world. It's not even a person. You're not like that, at all. You love the Earth." A thought that to me is first rate evidence of my own shadow and of the existence of an inner BP that has neither been acknowledged nor honored.

So what, as Lenin said, is to be done? I invite you to join me a small ceremony. I will make a small altar to my inner BP. I will put on it things that remind me of BP or that I identify as BP or that have something to do with my inner BP and drilling and oil and accidents and destruction and recklessness. I will acknowledge these many things, and I will consider how it is that they have helped me live and exist in the world, in my life, the benefits they have given me in the past. And then, when I understand and can feel how that is, I will honor each of these aspects of BP that I find in me. I will thank them for being of assistance to me, for helping me survive, for helping me grow and succeed. And then I will commit them to the fire and release them.

I invite you to join me in this.

Saving Pachamama: A Beginning

Don Mariano Quispe Flores

Pachamama, mother earth, Santa Madre Tierra, the earth, the planet is obviously in trouble. This should by now be obvious.

The Q'ero of Peru, the descendants of the Incas, live in remote villages that are above 14,000 feet above sea level. They have lived in these areas for hundreds of years. They live above the tree line. They raise llamas, alpacas, vicunas, and other similar animals, and they grow big kernal maiz ("choclo") and hundreds of species of potatoes. And until recently they kept to themselves. They stayed away from the cities. And the Government. And, of course, they kept their understandings of Shamanism and energy medicine to themselves. They certainly didn't tell North Americans about it. But then, relatively recently, they noticed the oddest thing, that the glaciers surrounding them were slowly melting. Slowly becoming smaller. Slowly disappearing. And the spiritual teachers in the lineage decided that Q'ero who were healers, who were powerful Shamans, who knew that it was necessary to heal mother earth and her children, would have to go down the mountain and bring out their teachings and carry them across the world.

I spent this past weekend with Q'ero Shaman Don Mariano Quispe Flores at The Abode in New Lebanon, New York, along with some three dozen other shamans. Don Mariano is 72 years old. He does not know how to write. Or to read. He speaks only Quechua (though he does say a very few words in English and Spanish). His village in Peru is about an 8 hour bus ride and then a 4 hour walk uphill from Cuzco. This trip to the United States (he stopped in California and Washington State and Colorado before journeying to the East) was his first trip to the US, though he has been to Europe. He is a very sweet, gentle, and humble man. And a powerful, traditional healer.

Because Don Mariano speaks Quechua, his translator sometimes translated first into Spanish, and then someone else translated into English. This was an incredible gift: I could hear what Don Mariano was saying three times. No, I didn't understand the first statements in Quechua, but I could feel and hear his tone of voice, and then it was repeated in both Spanish and English, so the content was repeated. I'm not going to try to bring you all of Don Mariano's teachings.

Instead, I bring you this very short essay to tell you something important that you probably already know only too well, just to remind you.

Pachamama, your Mother Earth, Santa Madre Tierra is in trouble and she needs our help and our caring for her. She needs us to honor her. And protect her.

This might involve traditional practices, like making offerings ("despachos") and prayers for the healing of the earth. It also might involve ceremonies, calling in the power of the Twelve Sacred Mountains (the Apus), the six directions, prayers, and healing thoughts. These are all important. But also important, perhaps even more important is our continuing awareness of Pachamama and our actions to take care of her as she takes care of us by feeding us, by giving us water, by providing shelter.

So I have a very simple request. Please pause now, look up from your screen, go outdoors if you can, and see, if you can, the unbelievable, abundant world surrounding use, the world on which we walk. Look at Pachamama. And feel, if you can, in your heart gratitude for all Pachamama provides us. This gratitude is incredibly important. It is the beginning point to help the planet.

Your Bloguero On Top Of The World

See that rattle in my hand? What a sweet and powerful sound. May it bring into being whatever you dream. May all beings be happy. May all beings be free from suffering. May all beings be free from hatred. May all beings be well. May all beings be safe. May all beings have peace. May all beings realize their enlightenment.

Ireland: The Global Vigil Fire

The End of the Fire (photo by Jón Ágúst Guðjónsson)

A three-day vigil fire by shamans from across the world was held April 24 through 26 in Dunderry Park, Co. Meath, Ireland. Additional fires in support of the vigil-- as many as 100 or more-- were held in other parts of the world. The idea was for about 40 trained shaman of many traditions to gather in Ireland and to dream the world into being, to shift the world into greater peace, abundance, and collaboration, to turn from a personal or community focus to a broader, worldwide one, to put our focus on walking in beauty and gratitude on the earth. We had done this before. We will, I hope, do it again.

When we have such a fire, I am reminded of the Hopi prophecy that when there are a million fires there will be peace on earth, and Pachamama will be healed. I think about this often.

The fire was tended in two-hour shifts. I arrived at about 2 am on Saturday morning in a light but windy rain and fog to find Lisa and Bob and a large, hot, wild fire. My shift with Sinead was to begin at 4 am. All of us stayed until after 8 am to listen to the first birds singing, to watch the sun rise (an important reason for taking the 4-6 am shift), to play, to tend the fire, to talk, to drum, to dance and sing, to offer to the fire and ourselves whiskey and incense and stories and jokes and anecdotes, to send through the fire and out across the planet our desire for peace, abundance, healing and cooperation, our prayers for Mother Earth, Santa Tierra, Pachamama.

Tending the fire might be sacred work, or it might be profane, or it might be a delightful, lovely human mixture of the two. There are no real rules. Except one. It is important to have fun while preventing the fire from being extinguished by rain and wind. The fire must be fed and nurtured. It ought not to go out.

The character of the fire changes, depending on who is tending it. I find that fires I tend are large and wild and quite hot. I like that. Others make the fire peaceful and calm and receptive. Some fires are masculine; others, feminine. Some fires listen, others speak. Some fires bring out singing, others like silence. Some fires bring introspection; others, expression. Fires have qualities reminiscent of personalities, and are both as different and the same, as members of the same species.

In the midst of our tending the fire, a sudden, strong gust of wind managed to rip a tent from the ground and throw it into the pasture. We immediately decided to retrieve it. Bob and Lisa went after it and easily ducked under the electric fence to get the tent. For reasons I do not fully comprehend-- I have an electric fence at my home and have had it for many years-- I thought that the fence must definitely be turned off. And here is the strange part: I decided to check this hypothesis. I have no idea what I may have been thinking, if anything, at the time. Accordingly, I intentionally placed my bare, wet right hand on the already very wet wire. This was not a good idea. In fact, it was a very stupid one. I was immediately treated to a gigantic shock of high amperage and low voltage. I was shocked. Literally. And figuratively. I do not accept that there was a blue spark that jumped from the wire to my hand. I do not perceive that I started to glow. I did immediately growl and roar. And curse. This, I am sure, disturbed the donkeys. I do not think it disturbed my companions, all of whom were surprised by my outburst. There is an irony, of course, that the fence was there to keep jackasses in or out of the pasture. You can draw whatever conclusion you wish from this. I was not, however, mortally wounded. I was ever so embarrassed by the large outpouring of energy I experienced. I consider myself unworthy of such electricity, of such energetic attention. I am now seriously considering becoming a Luddite. I have also reaffirmed my position that electroshock therapy is inhumane and barbaric in all cases.

At the end of the fire, on Sunday morning, we all stopped feeding it, so that it could slowly consume itself. We placed around it all of our prayer bundles, mesas, and malas in blessing, as you see in the photo. When the fire was out, I collected in a small plastic bag some of the ashes. These ashes contained ashes of other sacred fires, fires from Tibet, fires from Africa, fires from North America, fires from Australia, hundreds of fires from sacred sites across the world. I brought the ashes home. They are sitting on my altar. When we have a fire this week, I will add the ashes to my fire circle, and that will add my fire to the web of past and future vigil fires across the world, all asking for peace, abundance and the healing of Pachamama, Santa Tierra.

Sliabh na Caillí

Sliabh na Caillí, or Loughcrew is in Co. Meath, Ireland. It is a sacred site with cairns dedicated to or occupied by the Crone, or the Hag, or Garavogue. It is far more than 4000 years old. There are, of course, many details. But the important part is the personal, the intuitive, the spiritual.

When I visited Sliabh na Caillí with an international band of Shamanic friends-- more about them in a later post-- I made an offering to the Crone in her cairn, and I asked her whether she had anything to tell me. And she did. I am to finish the draft of my novel in process before the end of the coming September. No excuses. No extensions of time. No dogs eating my homework. I take this seriously. I do not wish to run afoul of the Crone's wishes. I do not wish to incite her to anger. I do not wish to taste her wrath.

To make sure I wouldn't let the time slip by, to make sure that my vow to follow this message and to complete the task would be kept, I told my friends what the Crone had to say. They are my witnesses. And today, a couple weeks later, I am writing it down. Forgetfulness, unconsciousness, being busy, lack of mindfulness, other seeming necessities, all forms of practiced sloth, are not to deter me. Nor rain, nor gloom, nor dread of night, stops this courier from the prompt completion of his appointed rounds. And you, dear readers, are witnesses also.

The working title of my book is "Tulum," which is a Mayan town in Quintana Roo, Mexico. I won't tell you about the book, except to say that it is about the friendship of a US expat with a shady background and a Mayan curandero. There are 30,000 +/- words on my key drive as I write this.

And so, I have a task, a quest, an imramma, a journey to perform. I am honored to carry this out.

Evo Morales On Coca Leaves

Today's New York Times has an Op-ed by Bolivian President Evo Morales calling for the legalization of coca leaves. Coca leaves are not cocaine; cocaine can be made from coca leaves. People from the Andes have for centuries chewed the leaves and made tea from them and have used them in ceremonies.

In 1961, the United Nations Single Convention on Narcotic Drugs placed the coca leaf in the same category with cocaine — thus promoting the false notion that the coca leaf is a narcotic — and ordered that “coca leaf chewing must be abolished within 25 years from the coming into force of this convention.” Bolivia signed the convention in 1976, during the brutal dictatorship of Col. Hugo Banzer, and the 25-year deadline expired in 2001.

So for the past eight years, the millions of us who maintain the traditional practice of chewing coca have been, according to the convention, criminals who violate international law. This is an unacceptable and absurd state of affairs for Bolivians and other Andean peoples. ...

Why is Bolivia so concerned with the coca leaf? Because it is an important symbol of the history and identity of the indigenous cultures of the Andes.

The custom of chewing coca leaves has existed in the Andean region of South America since at least 3000 B.C. It helps mitigate the sensation of hunger, offers energy during long days of labor and helps counter altitude sickness. Unlike nicotine or caffeine, it causes no harm to human health nor addiction or altered state, and it is effective in the struggle against obesity, a major problem in many modern societies.

Today, millions of people chew coca in Bolivia, Colombia, Peru and northern Argentina and Chile. The coca leaf continues to have ritual, religious and cultural significance that transcends indigenous cultures and encompasses the mestizo population.

In other words, la hoja de coca no es una droga. The coca leaf is not a drug.

Coca leaves are a vital part of the ritual of Andean Shamans and are used in despacho offerings and in divination and in other ceremonies. When Q'ero Shamans visit us in the US, we're forced to substitute bay leaves for coca leaves when we do ceremonies, because the coca leaves cannot legally be brought into the US. This, of course, makes no sense: we couldn't turn the leaves into cocaine even if we wanted to.

Significantly, the cultivation of poppies, which have no cultural or spiritual uses in Central Asia and Afghanistan, which are used to make heroin and opium, is not forbidden by the UN Convention.

Clearly, the ban on coca leaves needs to be removed.

Dreaming The World Into Being

Q'ero Shamans Don Francisco (l) and Don Humberto (r)

A Q'ero shaman from high in the Peruvian Andes will visit my home in early October to share the wisdom that the Inka Elders have kept alive for thousands of years. I'm really excited again to welcome to my home my Q'ero spiritual brother, Don Francisco, and Shaman friends from across the US.

Until 1949 the Q'ero remained largely isolated in villages high up on Ausangate Mountain above 16,000 feet. Since that time they have come down from the mountain to share their knowledge with the West. Their mission is to prepare people in their country and in the world for this time that they consider a time of great change and potential peace, which they call a pachacuti (a turning over).

I just returned from 8 days with two Q'ero Shamans, Don Francisco and Don Humberto in Oregon, where with my spouse and about 30 of our Shaman friends we spent the time just before the Autumn Solstice making prayers and offerings, and immersing ourselves in the path of the heart. How did this look?


The Sand Painting

We made a giant sand painting on the beach in Yachats, much like a mandala, putting into it our dreams, prayers and symbolism. We made the sand painting at low tide. The prayers and objects and offerings were taken into the world by the Pacific Ocean (the Mamaqocha) and spread out when the tide returned. The center of the sand painting was a circle of flowers and items from nature. Around it were sand drawings, constructions of items from nature, and other symbolic representations of the universe, the stars, the sun, and animals.


The Vigil Fire

And, of course, we held a 3-day vigil fire. A group of more than 30 people joined together to tend the fire, to feed it and make offerings to it, to dream a New Global Tapestry of cooperation and sufficiency and self sustainability, to dream into being a new world of peace and justice. We brought together all our hearts' desires and visions of what the world can be. We joined each other at the fire and we made our offerings to Universe to invite it to inspire us and to create with us a new world.

It is a prophecy of the Hopi that when there are vigil fires across the entire world, when there are millions of vigil fires, there will be peace. In 2007 at the Autumn Equinox we were aware of about 50 fires; this year, 100. And next year, we hope for many, many more.

And of course we made despachos. A despacho is a traditional prayer bundle that gathers together individual and community prayers as an offering to bring us into AYNI - right relation - with Mother Earth, the Mountains, the Stars, the Animals, the Oceans, all living things. The prayer bundle often includes herbs, flowers, llama wool, foods, each with prayers blown in. In addition, people can blow their dreams and prayers and wishes into the leaves of a kintu (three leaves representing the alignment of heart and mind in action) and place it into the despacho. The despacho is a Q'ero ceremony to honor community and the interconnection of all things. The prayers in the despacho are sent to spirit, are released by burning it, or by burying it.

In early October, at my home, we will repeat some of these rituals. The main public event, “Weaving a New Global Tapestry,” will be a despacho done on behalf of the world, especially powerful at this moment of transition on our planet. The despacho ceremony will take place on October 1st at the Hawthorne Valley School on Route 21C in Ghent, Columbia County, New York from 7-10 pm.

Everyone is welcome at this despacho ceremony. This is an opportunity for everyone to put in their heartfelt prayers and to receive a blessing from the Q'ero.

Special thanks and h/t to Bob Aldrich for the photos, to Wake and Kinlen Wheeler for their hospitality and planning for both events, to the Yachats

The Yachats Gathering Of Shaman

Don Francisco and Don Umberto

The Second Annual Gathering of Shaman: Global Vigil Fire was held over Autumn Solstice Weekend on the coast of Oregon in Yachats. Co-created by Wake and Kinlen Wheeler and the Global Ayllu of trained Shaman, including Don Francisco, and Don Humberto of the Q’ero, the group of more than 30 people joined together to continue to weave the New Global Tapestry, to dream a world of peace and justice into being. We brought together all our hearts' desires and visions of what the world can be. We joined each other in the fire and offered our weaving of visionary threads to the Universe to invite it to co-create with us a new world.

It was especially enjoyable to meet and participate in ceremonies with Don Humberto and Don Francisco of the Q'ero, the descendants of the Inca. As important, the presence of the Q'ero fulfills their own prophecy, to reach down from the high Andes to bring the rest of the world a message of joyful peace and respect for the earth.

Last year there were over 50 fires connected in this beautiful dream. This year there were more than 100.

Between 4 and 6 am on September 21 I found myself with a group of lovely Shaman from as far away as Ireland at the fire. I was aware of the Hopi prophecy that when there are a million fires all around the world, there will be peace. I also perceive that sitting quietly, or singing, or joking, or talking while tending the fire is a step toward universal peace. How? By focusing ourselves on how we would like the world to be, on how to walk in beauty on the earth.

I offer my gratitude to all of those who made this fire possible.