Version 2007.11.09

## "Encounters With The Nagual" - ©2004 by Armando Torres
Part IV. The World Of The Old Seers

### Today

With the permission of the one who has no name, I proceed with my testimony to complete this account and present the truth in its entirety.

One day, very early in the morning, a phone call woke me up. It was Carlos and, frankly, he sounded bad. He said that he was in the Hotel Camino Real in Mexico City, and that he was very sick. He added that he had been unable to sleep that night, and had waited until dawn so that he could call me.

I asked him how I could help him.

He replied that he urgently needed a particular medicine specially prepared for him by an herbalist in a town nearby, and asked if I would go there and get it for him.

I was at his command. He gave me directions and the name of the person who would have the potion.

At that point, he made a comment which seemed odd to me, since it had nothing to do with what we were talking about:

"When Hernan Cortes arrived in Mexico, he gave the order to burn his ships. That was the magical act which guaranteed victory. For him, it meant he had to win, or perish; he had no other option. We should bear in mind that any undertaking could be our last."

He went on to say that he had a bad stomachache, and those plants were the only thing in the world that could alleviate his pain.

I didn't hesitate. Hanging up the phone, I was already on my way to Tepoztlan, a picturesque town clinging to a mountainside an hour's bus ride from Mexico City. My intention was to return with the package as soon as possible to help Carlos with his pain.

Today, with the perspective I have gained after all these years, I understand what he meant when he said that any undertaking might be our last.

I got off the bus and went directly to the market. Walking down the street, I could not stop marveling at the beauty of the landscape. High up on the hill above the town I could see the pyramid of Tepozteco.

It was a sunny day and it took me just a few minutes to get to the center of town. In the market, I looked for the herbs section and asked for Don Eladio. Nobody seemed to know him, or maybe they didn't want to answer my questions.

I stood there without knowing what to do, until a middle-aged gentleman with indigenous features, dressed in white with a straw hat and sandals, asked how he could help me.

I replied that I was looking for Don Eladio, the herbalist, and that I came on behalf of Mr. Jose Cortes. His face lit up; with a great smile, he extended his hand to greet me and told me he was Eladio Zamora, and that he was at my service.

I told him that I had come for the medicine Jose had ordered.

He seemed not to know what I meant, but when I told him Mr. Jose Cortes was suffering from a strong stomachache, he reacted as if he had remembered something. In a dramatic tone, he told me that he knew what it was about, but that unfortunately he had been unable to gather the herb in question, and didn't have it available at that moment to prepare the beverage.

I was alarmed, since I knew what happened to those who failed in some task which Carlos had given them: They were simply discarded.

I asked Don Eladio if I could get the plant somewhere else. He shook his head.

"It is useless to look for it: Nobody sells it here." I insisted that there must be some place where I could find it.

Seeing my despair, he told me that he could not go and get it at this moment, but maybe if I came back on the weekend...

I became very nervous and told him that if he would describe the plant to me and the place where it grew, I was willing to go and look for it on my own, to enable him to prepare the medicine.

Upon seeing my determination, Don Eladio consented, but warned me that getting to the place where the plant grew was tiring and dangerous.

"I am willing to do anything!" I exclaimed.

He seemed to appreciate my words, because he brought out an old botany book, and after leafing through the pages, he showed me a drawing of the plant. He said that the only place where it grew was in a narrow canyon among the hills a good distance away, and he explained how to get there.

I calculated that it would take me a couple of hours to reach the place, so I said goodbye immediately and was on my way.

The beauty of those places is overwhelming. I was filled with joy at the thought that warriors of ancient ages once traveled along those barren paths, thousands of years old.

The hill was further away than it had seemed. When I came to the narrow canyon, I entered it as best as I could among the tall grasses which were growing everywhere. The place in question is formed by the junction of two hills: A place where the water from recent rains accumulates in scattered puddles, and flows in a slow, lazy stream.

I looked for the plant for a long time. I finally found it, but as I bent down to pick it, a strong blow hit me on the head, and I lost consciousness.

A penetrating scent woke me up. I was lying on a mat, on top of a pile of herbs. I Looked around and discovered that I was in a rustic cabin. The floor was of stamped earth; and wooden beams darkened by smoke supported the tiled roof.

Near a clay oven where a fire was burning sat an old woman dressed in Indian clothes. I noticed that her skin was white.

Seeing that I was awake, she smiled and said:

"Well I'll be damned! Welcome back to the land of the living! For a while there I thought you were fucked!"

I didn't know what to say. I tried to move and felt a searing pain in my head: My whole body ached.

The old lady hurried closer to me and in an urgent voice ordered me not to move, since I was only alive by a miracle.

Judging by the pain I felt, I could well believe my condition was serious, and did as she told me.

I asked her what had happened to me.

She replied that she didn't know. She thought that I had been attacked by robbers who had beaten me up and left me for dead in the hills. Pointing at the clothes I was wearing, she said I was naked when she found me. At that moment I realized that I was dressed in a white robe embroidered with hummingbirds, like the ones indigenous women use.

The old lady introduced herself. She told me her name was Silvia Magdalena; that she was a devoted herbalist, and that she was healing my injuries.

She remarked that it was a stroke of luck that she had found me, laying as if thrown there in her path, bleeding and almost dead. She added that I had already spent three days unconscious, and that in a couple of days I could get up.

Her words startled me. I wanted to get up again, but I was so weak that I fell back on the mat.

I told her how shocked I was by what she told me, and in a moaning voice explained how I had come there in search of some herbs for a friend; but that I had failed in my task, and because of that I would surely never see him again.

Listening to my complaining, she started to laugh. I didn't understand why.

Seeing my confused expression, she said:

"Don't mind me! I'm just given to fits of laughter."

The following days were the strangest of my life. Every day, I had the opportunity to study how Dona Silvia cured her patients, who were suffering from all kinds of illnesses. When I began to recover a little from my injuries, she even asked me to help her. In that way, without really realizing it, I began working as a healer.

In time, I learned everything connected to the art. She taught me how to clean people's energy, and to make cures for various kinds of illnesses; and taught me as well a lot of chiropractic techniques- and an immense number of tea recipes.

I soon understood that Dona Silvia Magdalena was a witch, and that I had been taken on as her pupil. The simple fact of being near her was a true delight for me. The humor and drama in everything she did were magnificent, and they reminded me of Carlos' descriptions of his teachers.

I spent almost three months on that mat. The most difficult part was in the beginning, when I could not move and the healer's assistants had to come and take me to the bathroom. That the bathroom was outside the house didn't make the situation any easier.

One day, when I was much better, Dona Silvia told me that at the next full moon, there would be an initiation ceremony for me. I had already learned much of her world, and accepted the invitation as a true honor.

She added: "All I can say is that those who participate in these ceremonies are changed forever, and they can never be the same again. There is no return."

As usual, I didn't understand what she meant. She always used strange expressions.

It was around nine in the evening when she asked me to come with her. We walked in the darkness for nearly an hour, until we arrived at a place where some people sat around a bonfire. When we came closer, she made a gesture indicating that I should sit down on a particular rock.

The place of the meeting was near a waterfall: I could hear the roar of it, and felt a humid air wafting up to where we were.

The fire gave enough light to see the other participants. It was a group of fifteen people, most of them young, although there were some old ones like Dona Silvia. I felt a little uncomfortable and apart, because it seemed that I was the only new one present.

I had never been to a ceremony of this kind, and didn't know how to proceed or what was in store: This made me very apprehensive. The participants solemnly chanted something that I could not understand, but it filled me with an indefinable yearning.

We waited for a while, and then a man appeared out of the darkness dressed in the skin of a coyote. He approached the fire, dancing in a weird way. He wore the animal's head as a mask, so I could not see his face. From his manners and movements, I immediately understood that he was a sorcerer.

Without saying a word, the man came up to me. With a very skilled gesture, he grabbed my left hand and pressed it against his side with his arm while turning around. I felt a sharp pain between my fingers and wanted to retract my hand, but he held it in a strong grip. When he released me, I saw that he had made a cut between my middle and ring fingers. Blood was flowing freely from the cut.

I was shocked; I would have run away if I hadn't been paralyzed by terror.

Then the sorcerer squeezed my hand to force out more blood, and poured a little on the ground, some on the fire, and the rest in a clay vessel.

Next, he ordered me to get up, take my clothes off, and keep my eyes closed. There was such a force and authority in his words that I obeyed.

For a long time, the sorcerer prayed and sang around me. Then I felt him blowing on me, and rubbing fragrant herbs all over my body. Finally, he cleansed me with the fire of a torch or something like that.

At one point, I felt a hot and viscous substance being spilled on my head. I was intensely curious, but I didn't dare to disobey him and look.

Finally, he ordered me to open my eyes. What a shock: My body was covered with blood! On a rock in front of me, I saw the headless body of a small, black, male goat. I wanted to protest, but the solemnity of the situation stopped me.

Then they told me to go and clean myself; so I did. I walked nude in front of them all and went to the waterfall. The water was cold, but my body was burning hot, and the cold water felt very good while it washed away the red blood covering my body.

When I came out of the water, somebody was waiting for me with a towel so I could dry myself off. They gave me my clothes and I got dressed, still stunned by these unexpected events. Then I returned to take my place by the fire.

Just as I sat down, those gathered in the circle began to pass around some baskets filled with peyote buttons. Each one took a button and passed the basket to the left. I thought about refusing it, but there was no reason to; I had already made my decision, so I said to myself: "So what?", and surrendered joyfully to participate in the ceremony.

We were eating peyote and singing for most of the night.

At one point, when the effect of the plant had begun to fade, the sorcerer came up to me, stopped in front of me, and took off the mask. I almost fainted with fear. I could have sworn he was the same ghost that I had seen in the crypt of the cathedral!

A chill ran down my back and I wanted to scream, but the sorcerer spoke to me in a strange voice: It was very rough or dry somehow. He told me that his name was Melchor Ramos, and that I was welcome among them.

I didn't know what to answer: I just nodded.

I was in a very special state of awareness, and the clarity I enjoyed at that moment was not customary for me in my daily life.

Near dawn, the assistants made an enormous spiral with embers from the fire. Don Melchor came to me and told me I should look at the spiral until Xolostoc (the devil) revealed himself to me.

With growing apprehension, I did what he bade me, saying to myself that all this was merely symbolic. But after a moment of staring at the embers, I became dizzy and felt as if I was falling through a tunnel, towards a total blackness, where I could no longer recognize myself as me.

Since that night, I have never returned to the world I came from. I understand now everything that has happened to me, and I am thankful for my fabulous good luck which brought me to these magnificent beings who are my teacher and my benefactor.