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As my twenty year old nephew and I were walking down the road from our home, and into the brush, he said to me that he was ready to break his lungs for the job ahead of us. We each carried our axes with the firm determination of finding the sacred wood needed for the ceremony. My young companion knew, perhaps better than myself, that our task would require great effort. We had found a few trees, about a mile out along a stretch of stream bed, but these trees were immense which would require an extreme agility of climbing high up while working with our axes, and so intelligence drove us further out to find a more suitable specimen. We found her deeper into the government land along the same stretch of stream where once we had gathered uña de gato (cat's claw) a valuable cancer fighter. The tree we selected was of the right size for our purpose of collecting a measure of wood for the ceremonial preparation of chicha (corn drink) needed in the traditional Embera method of spiritual healing that my mother in law was to perform. Norky, my nephew, was familiar with the length and width of the wood required for the amount of chicha that was to be prepared. We needed three logs of about a foot in diameter and five feet long. To look out from the trunk, not too high off the ground, the main portion of the tree took to growing at an angle off to one side. This would allow for us to cut enough wood with out killing the tree. This wood, which has a name that sounds like pitching-day, is so hard that you need a clean swing of the axe with a blade that is very sharp so as to not to bounce off the tree with a hard swing. As Norky would cut wood I would watch out for government guards. We would alternate this way which was also our rest. On several occasions we would each, as my nephew says, break our lungs and needed to stop to get our breath back. In the humid heat of day, compounded by our own sweat and fatigue, I needed to sometimes squat and breathe deeply until my rhythm would return. Norky seemed to be enjoying his exuberant youth while I was reminded of what it used to feel like. This would lend to a friendly competition of who could last longer or better place our swing until we had what we needed cut down. At one point Norky suggested that we just carry one long log between the two of us back home. My years had taught me better, but the challenge made my words say lets give it a try. After shouldering the log between the two of us we decided to cut it in into two sections. Yes, it was quite heavy, but not only the weight concerned us as much as being able to maneuver with our load over and thru the slippery stream bed and into the tangle of brush along either side on our way home. My nephew was well ahead of me, up a hill on the road near to home, when he pitched the log to one side and was sitting on the ground for awhile. Slowly walking by, as I passed him, my laughter rang out with how much he had impressed me with his effort until I saw him drop. A bit later, at our home, my actions also became closely scrutinized, by my wife and sister in law. Upon seeing me drop the wood off my shoulder to the ground, my ears were met with a firm command to " get the dog away from that wood, don't let the chickens near it either, get that log off the ground, and don't step over it while you do, don't you know that's sacred wood? ¨ The truth is that at first I felt foolish, and then a bit annoyed, then it came to me that my heart knew they were right all along while silently I prayed to bring my attention back to Spirit. My nephews step dad was out of the house and Norky needed to attend to errands related to a university scholarship he has recently been granted. Bricka, my wife's elderly step father was with us, but the situation left me as the only suitable male to split the logs into thin strips under my wife's suggestions. After a couple of axe swings, with my sore blistered hands, it started to rain. Seems to me our Creator forgave my errors by cleansing the land while giving me a needed rest. On the morning of the next day it was again just me and the chore of splitting wood. As a life time martial artist my efforts created powerful movement, and my determination fueled the endurance necessary for the task. However, it became evident that technique and accuracy were more important than brute strength. In the middle of the concentration of that moment a prayer came to me. The spirituality of chopping wood left my mind to enter my heart. Time bent backwards to when Irma and I meet the sixteen year old son of an executive Latina woman who has come into our practice. This teenager has, since infancy, been trapped within his body, unable to walk, speak, and never fully to open his eyes. The day my wife approached him he was in the arms of a caretaker. She, myself, and a mutual friend who was present were amazed by a communication taking place between Irma and the boy. My wife says that she was drawn to him while at the same time her body became all heated up. She knew that the boy was desperate wanting to be helped. Days later she prepared for him an alcohol infused with plants and the claws of a certain crab found along the sea shore at night here in Panama. This was given to the boy's caretaker with the instructions to massage his body daily with the medicine. The boy was also in need of an elaborate healing ceremony to be attended to by Placeres my mother in law. The classical mess of modern life, which miraculously lives along side our millenarian practice of traditional medicine, often leads to a difficult communication or collaboration of interested persons of good heart, but minds occupied by the seeming importance of contemporary city life. In other words the planning of our ceremony was made difficult by lack of good communication and cultural understanding. As a consequence of this the boy was not able to be physically present for ceremony. His mother told me on the cell phone that she felt as if my words had thrown cold water all over her at the thought of not being able to attend. She was all set for Saturday night, did not receive our communication from a third party that the ceremony needed to take place on Sunday, and the result of this was that they would not be able to make it over. It was my wife that saved the event by telling the boy's mom that while the physical presence was best, the ceremony could settle with an article of his clothing along with a photograph. The great deception that I too was feeling turned back upon my prayers while splitting the ceremonial wood. You see, my prayers were/are for all of us, while through the sweat and fatigue of my efforts the name of the boy, with those of others, as with all the names unknown, were in my heart prayer of healing. Then, in future time, at the height of the deception my wife reveals to me that with a photograph a healing ceremony can be made. In the prayer of my life, there is a meaning behind all that happens. As now, in this moment, my body is still painted in the tradition of this ancient ceremony. For a few days now I have traveled back and forth between our home and Panama City all painted up.The paint on my body is a snake design, and while so many of us are unaware of Spirit, at least my wearing this paint in the crazy hustle of the city is testament to the fact that traditional medicine is alive and well today. Just recently, on internet news, the braggart Bob Woodward talks about the US governments secret killing program on terrorism, and about terrorizing the terrorists. Most people, of all walks of life, can admit to not being able to accurately describe what good art is, but are intelligent enough to say that they would recognize it if they would see it. In the same manner my belief is that many people of all sorts may not understand some fancy talk or writing, but they would know the difference between right and wrong. We now have this demonic example of high tech communication along government manipulation letting the world know how wrong it is to kill thru their own evil example. What is so disturbing is that apparently many people are learning to accept that this is a good thing to do. It is akin to a form of demonic possession entering in thru the eyes and ears of those who are susceptible to this malignant intrusion. My heart tells me we will not solve these wrong doings thru modern politics, economics, or other sciences. My belief is steadfast in commitment to the development of global spirituality. It has come to me that the change we need in our world is best brought about thru an integral communication between all cultures. The modern sciences have, through mechanical means, enabled us to integrate on a scale unknown to those who only see with their eyes alone, but now, what has been revealed in my prayers, is a way to reach people with a spiritual/high tech fusion of old ways with the new. This is a fascinating tool with which we can get traditional medicine to more people with one of the same instruments which is controlling so many minds. Please bear with me as a thread woven into this story is painful, yet needs to be heard: Her name was Onelia. While Irma and I were walking, within the community that surrounds our home, on our way to gather medicine for some of her patients, two men stopped us along the road. They were of the look that is scary to many upscale city folk. Their physical muscular presence like their mental toughness is tangible like the ebony, shiny with sweat, black skin which turns your eye into the beautiful characteristics of its color. Yet, in their eyes you see grief and pain. The younger man was all distorted, swelled up from his feet to his gut, to his face. He related the story of Onelia, his mother, and how she died with her last cries for help sounding Irma's name in a desperate plea for attention to her needs. His mom was a very large, heavy woman who had come to our home, and rather quickly found relief through my wife's attentions, her medicine, and Gods will. However, even though she was responding well to traditional medicine, as is often the case here in the multi cultural community surrounding our home, her family decided to bring her for a stay at the hospital in Panama City. After a few days in hospital she took a turn for the worse, and begged her family members to bring her to our home where she felt she would get better. One of her daughters told us, later on, that she had thought about taking her mom out, but was afraid of the reaction she might face by other family members if her mother were to die in her care. The way Onelia went was with Irma's name on her lips as she died alone on a hospital bed far removed from her immediate family. Now there is a bitter feud between her children as to where the responsibility lays. Now one of her sons who is suffering the same illness comes to Irma for help. I can only pray that his mother's death can at least serve the purpose of his own discipline to my wife's medicine, and for all of us to understand that what is most needed is faith. Not only our own faith as individuals, but also for those in which our lives are entrusted. Returning our attention to the ceremony, you may understand that my prayers are for all of us. It is with this in mind that we have been able to video a small portion of the preparations, and of the brief time prior to the ceremony itself. You can also view some photographs which are a mix of events of what is our daily life as a family of healers, including some of the preparations just before the ceremony. Bodies are painted, and then the chicha is prepared, during the day before the mesa (ceremony). During the day of the ceremony I was climbing to the top of a royal palm to bring down the new growth of palm fronds. It was with this material that we were going to make a sort of covering for the boy to lie under during the ceremony. Just before my action to cut the palm word got to me that the boy would not be able to travel to our home. The night of the mesa (ceremony) it was with the help of Anayansi, and a mutual friend, that we were able to take photographs and video. Of course, all our actions were with the consent of my wife and mother in law. Mother started to chant and sing at around 9PM finishing at five in the morning. It was not appropriate to film during the singing through out the night, one reason being that all of us in one way or another were part of the process. Our friend who was present is a Buddhist, and a Santero, who takes to smoking Habanos while chanting Buddhist prayers. He is a wonderful fellow at heart; we all enjoyed his company, and sharp sense of humor. In the early morning we drank the corn drink which had been sung over on the altar. Mother was pleased at the out come of the mesa which was to be confirmed later on. Not long before the ceremony Irma, and I went with her Hindu patient, who has been cured of liver cancer, and his wife, to visit his sister who is ill. Apparently, she is diagnosed by modern medicine with an ulcer, bladder infections, and has been suffering arthritis for many years. Also, her daughter has psoriasis. We all sat down and talked about traditional medicine. Now that Irma's Hindu patient has recovered from cancer his family is unfolding before us in their trust and desire for healing. On the second day after the ceremony we were on our way to bring them more remedio (medicine), and also a plant preparation in alcohol to treat the arthritis. As we arrived to Panama City we stopped by a supermarket to buy some ginger to be added to the preparation. This was when I got a call on my cell phone. It was the boy's mom excited to share with us what had happened with her son; that while in the presence of his caretaker he fully opened his eyes. The poor woman had quite a fright as he had never done this before, and at the same time he was trying to speak. The caretaker didn't know what to make of what was happening, and thought that maybe he was dying. Irma explained to the mother, over the phone, that she could expect changes in her son's behavior over time. She said to her that during the ceremony things unseen were happening to the boy, that in this world he is trapped in his body, but that he can walk and communicate in the spirit world. Mother's jai or spirits carried him, walked with him that night, and now he is in the process of assimilating those occurrences into this world. She then mentioned that her mother is soon to take a needed rest by leaving or home to stay with her son for awhile, and that it would be good to bring the boy to our home, so that she can attend to his physical body, before she goes. God willing, this will happen within a few days. This has been news that has made me very happy and all of my efforts are rewarded. If you have been reading my blogs you may remember about the wandering jai of Udarico. That now, after his death, the spirits he held are without a traditional host, and that my prayers have been for the making of a ceremony to rescue these wandering jai of this shaman who has passed away. In the movement of my experiences some things change as does my insight. At this time it needs to be left unsaid, until maybe, at some future point, this process of our healing journey allows me the proper perspective to better communicate the unseen with you all. My heart tells me what is right, what needs to be done, but the Great Mystery involves our faith to trust in the outcome of our prayers, our good intentions, our right actions. I am a simple, down to earth man, on an incredible journey to re integrate traditional medicine into the mainstream so that we all may benefit. If my faith was not strong my life would feel like driftwood along the uncertain currents of an unknown sea. However, God is great, and my heart humbly accepts not to know the future, but to trust in the outcome. Until we meet again, Raymond Hermenet

Tags: Panama Embera Spirituality Cancer

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