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An Encounter with Don Alberto Tazto, Yachag Shaman from Ecuador The Spiritual Traveler
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I
drove to Martha Stoner's house in Manchester, Michigan, on a crisp
October evening to meet. Residing in the High Andes
Mountains, Don Alberto was appointed the highest honor by the Shamanic
Council of South America in 1990. He is a teacher and healer
of the Cotopaxi Quichua tribe in Ecuador, and has been influenced by
spiritual teachings of the East. In 1992, the Dalai Lama and
numerous Tibetan lamas visited with Andean shamans and elders,
including Don Alberto, in Ecuador and Peru, passing over to them the
spiritual responsibility of the planet.
It was 6:30 in the evening,
and already very dark. I almost had a head-on collision with
an enormous antlered buck just after turning north on M-52, just
outside of Clinton. The Stoner house was located not far
from the virtual accident, in a secluded woody area, accessed by a
small dirt road. As I stepped onto the front porch, I could
see a man I assumed to be the shaman, stretched out on a bed as he
relaxed in a private room just to the right of the main entrance, his
long, dark hair spilling over a faded yellow shirt.
I knocked on the door, and
was greeted by Martha's husband and about a half-dozen other dinner
guests. A large meal lay prepared and ready in various
dishes scattered around the kitchen, and a table in the dining room was
set with a single candle burning on a brightly colored
tablecloth. I introduced myself to the guests, and we
chatted amiably for fifteen minutes or so. Eventually, Don
Alberto emerged from the room in which he had been
resting. He was an unassuming man with deep brown skin, a
barely wrinkled face, cheerful eyes, and a gentle manner. I
grasped his hand wordlessly, and immediately noticed the firm
grip. I was also introduced to his interpreter, a young
woman from Peru. We were invited to help ourselves to the
food in the kitchen and to seat ourselves wherever we wished at the
dining room table. I sat between Mr. Stoner and his son, but
the boy moved to make way for Don Alberto, who sat down immediately to
my left. The interpreter sat at the right end of the table,
forcing me swivel my head from left to right whenever I wished to ask
Don Alberto a question and receive the answer.
"Is this the first time Don
Alberto has been to this country?" I wanted to know. "And
what is the reason for his visit?"
"He and other Ecuadorian
shamans are coming to the United States to fulfill an ancient
prophecy," the translator replied. The legend tells of the
uniting of the materialistic and intellectual "North," the land of the
Eagle, with the spiritualistic, holistic, and heart-centered "South,"
the land of the Condor. In 1998, the shamans concluded that
now is the time for a magical union of the two
cultures. Since then, Don Alberto has come to the United
States many times. He gives talks, conducts workshops, and
gives spiritual 'cleansings' to individuals. He has also set
up a shaman apprenticeship program for Westerners at a center in
Ecuador."
"Can you tell me what being a
shaman involves? Is it more than being a healer?"
"Much more. Being a shaman, or yachag, is an entire way of life."
"Would it be considered a spiritual path?"
"Yes."
"And what does the training involve?"
"The crux of the training is
to confound the intellectual processes, so that the individual comes to
depend more on his feeling, his heart, and his intuition."
"When did Don Alberto's training begin?"
"From the very moment of his
birth. The position of shaman is one that he has inherited
through his family. His father was a shaman, and his father
before him. And Don Alberto will, in turn, pass his
knowledge on to a member of his family."
"So the position of shaman cannot be passed on outside Don Alberto's family?"
"No. People from
outside the family may participate, but the line of shamans is a blood
line, inherited through ancestry."
"And Don Alberto trains Westerners and Ecuadorians, alike?"
"Yes."
I was curious about the types
of people attracted to this type of spiritual path, and asked Don
Alberto, via the translator: "The people who come to see you, in the
United States-do they tend to be of a particular age group?"
"They tend to be between
twenty and forty years of age," Don Alberto replied,
smiling. "And they are largely women."
"Why is that?"
"Because women are becoming
very strong," Don Alberto explained. "Soon they will
dominate the earth. Men will merely accompany women."
"I don't think I'll mind
that," I quipped. "The imbalance between the sexes is just
as hard on men as it is on women." I looked into Don
Alberto's eyes as I said this, and when my words had been translated,
my gaze was met by a look of profound agreement.
"What about the apprentices
in Ecuador?" I wanted to know. "Are they also largely women?"
"No," Don Alberto shook his
head. "Women in Ecuador are still largely restricted to
their positions within the household."
"And is that changing?"
"Very rapidly," he nodded his head.
As we talked, the Stoners
passed around some photos taken of Western apprentices in Ecuador, as
well as of Don Alberto and his wife. There was also a photo
of an exotic orchid-like plant. "This is the tazto, the
translator explained. Don Alberto is named after the
plant. Tazto is not his real last name. The plant
blooms year-round, and has medicinal qualities. Don
Alberto's personality is like that of the plant-delicate and healing."
I inquired about the 'cleansing' sessions.
"There are still appointments
available for tomorrow," Mrs. Stoner said. "But you have to
tell me now if you'd like one."
"Could I write about it?" I asked.
"Of course."
I decided that this would be
a worthwhile experience, and arranged to come the next day.
"Bring some cut wildflowers
with you," Martha instructed. "Whatever catches your
eye. And also think about a spiritual request that you would
like to make inwardly."
It was strange, but as soon
as she mentioned the wildflowers, I remembered some flowers I had seen
in a garden by the side of the road the day
before. Something had struck me about them, and I instantly
knew that I would like to bring a couple of those flowers with me the
next day.
About eighteen hours later, I was on my way back to Manchester via the
same route I had gone the evening before. But now it was
shortly past midday. The sky was cloudless. I had
a couple of long flower stalks with me that I had harvested from the
garden I had remembered from two days' before. But I was not
in a good mood. I made a mental list of all the things that
were bothering me:
-Anger and frustration with my present job, particularly with my meager salary…
-Lingering bad feeling toward
a former friend who had suddenly cut off all ties with me…
-My poor digestion…
-I had mislaid my
notebook. What had I done with it? Without it, I
would not be able to keep track of all the things I had to
do. My life would be in disarray…
-Concern about my mother's
declining health, about leaving her alone during the holiday
season. Dismay at the prospect of spending New Year's with
both my mother and sister, at having to liquidate my mother's apartment
in the Spring, at having no place of my own, no direction, no career,
no job prospects…
-Depressed about the coming
national election, the alarming low to which politics had sunk…
I arrived at the Stoner house
with all these worries on my mind, sat down in the foyer with my two
large stalks of flowers, and waited my turn to see Don
Alberto. When it was my turn, I entered the room and gave
Don Alberto the flowers. He wordlessly motioned me to stand
facing him. I did so, and closed my eyes as he began the
ceremony.
I kept my eyes closed
virtually the entire time. This was simply instinctive on my
part. Around me, I could hear Don Alberto chanting in his
native tongue as he made several circular passes around me, stopping
four times during each cycle at what might have been the four points of
the compass. With each cycle, he seemed engaged in a
different activity. During one, I felt strong bursts of air
aimed at me from each of the four directions. During
another, I was being sprayed with water. During a third, I
was being touched with the feather of a bird. During a
fourth, I was being whipped with something soft. I opened my
eyes just a bit and saw that Don Alberto was holding in his hand the
very flowers I had brought. Throughout the ceremony, there
was the pungent smell of incense that seemed to me Eastern in
origin. During a late portion of the ceremony, I felt Don
Alberto anointing me with a pungent balm that he smeared on my
nostrils, my spiritual eye, and the top of my head, as well as my arms
and hands.
As the ceremony progressed, I
felt myself moving through various states of
contemplation. Periodically, my body stiffened, I felt my
eyes aimed at the back of my head, and I noticed that I was nodding my
head backwards and forwards. During the initial moments, I
felt on the verge of a kind of panic, uncertain as to whether or not I
would be able to remain on my feet. During the middle
portion of the ceremony, I automatically started to chant a word that I
use in my own contemplation. It seemed to blend into Don
Alberto's chanting, and did not appear to interfere with his conduct of
the ceremony. Just as suddenly as I had started my chanting,
I stopped, became silent, and felt more peaceful and at
ease. Inwardly, I made my spiritual request, and was
surprised that it was nothing that I had thought of beforehand, nothing
for myself, but rather only to be of service to
others. Suddenly, without any signal from Don Alberto, I
found my eyes opening. He was standing before me, just as at
the beginning of the ceremony, bowing slightly in my
direction. I bowed in return, and then we embraced
briefly. The 'cleansing' was over as quickly as it had begun.
As I walked back to my car, I
noticed indeed that my thoughts were clearer, and that all the worries
that had preoccupied me forty minutes before seemed to have receded
from my mind. As I drove home, I felt convinced that there
was efficacy to Don Alberto's healing art, and wisdom in his way of
life. |
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Date Submitted:
1/2/04 |
Copyright Information:
Copyright © The Spiritual Traveler, 2001 |
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