The shaman
Cusco, Peru
I took the boys to attend a shaman ceremony with me in Cusco. A woman named Ruty works with a Quechuan-speaking shaman who leads the ceremonies. They translate his words and prepare the space and materials he needs to invite, read, guide, and bless. We met Maestro (that’s what she called him) after a 15-minute taxi outside the city. Together, we walked for 15 minutes toward the foothills of the mountains, passing horses a few sheep. Then we sat in a circle on the grass near some boulders where our 90-minute ceremony took place. I wrote a few notes afterward so I wouldn’t forget.
In Peru, If you are struck by lightning and survive, some believe it’s a special blessing which gives you access to a different sort of power. Ruty’s (our guide and translator) brother was struck by lightning through a window and survived, while all the guinea pigs they lived with, died. Maestro’s grandson has already been struck by lightning, but Maestro has not.
Pachamama, of course. Mother Earth. Gold and silver, sun and moon, maintaining balance.
At San Pedro market you can buy a shaman packet with offerings to pachamama which include things like llama fat, lentils, rice, sugar, cotton (clouds), sweets (because, “who doesn’t like sweets?”), tree bark from the jungle, muña leaves, coca leaves, etc.
Maestro’s father was also a “paco,” and Maestro decided when he was 20 to pursue the life of a shaman. It wasn’t an easy decision.
Maestro gave us each 7 coca leaves then took them back from us and tossed them down on the ground in front of him. All looked “good” except one was upside-down and jutting out from the rest of the leaves. Something was off, he said. Something was making us sad.
The shaman asked for blessings and prosperity to be on each of us by name, including Josh.
During the ceremony the boys said they whispered to me saying they were “so tired” or “not feeling good.” They asked no questions when prompted and appeared unengaged, but not disrespectful, per se. I suppose that’s normal for school-age kids; it was the last of many consecutive days of travel and the midday sun was oppressive. Still, I felt disappointed and so very American.
For me, when I looked into the shaman’s eyes, it was like looking through a portal. His deep brown eyes, the Quechua language, his short, thick stature, the cloth poncho he put over his button-up shirt, his Converse knock-offs, the colorful, beaded winter hat with braided sides. Indigenous people retreated to the mountains when the Spanish arrived in the 1500s and some were left untouched by this new god forced upon their countrymen by conquering Europeans.
Asking the energy to come, the energy of the mountains. Forgiveness. Forgiveness of self and others. Enduring thanks to the earth for giving us everything we need.
Every faith tradition includes thanks and offerings for blessings received. Maestro said every god is the same, we just call them different things in different places in different traditions. I believe that, too.
