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13


We drove a short distance up the road to a dirty-white stucco church, and we entered its simply appointed chapel. It looked like what one might expect of a small rural parish that administers to impoverished indigenous people. We sat inside in silence, and I sensed that don Pablo was engaged in an energetic interaction with Mauricio. After some time, the energy inside became so relaxing that I started to doze off. Unexpectedly, Mauricio stood up and


slowly walked over to a small wooden door to the left of the altar. He pulled a key from his pocket, unlocked the door, and swung it open with a shrill creak. He motioned for us to follow him. We entered a very small room that was perhaps eight- feet [2.5m] square, and inside were many unusual objects hanging on the walls. Mauricio pointed to the costumes and sacred ritual objects, and he mentioned that they were used in tribal ceremonies for many generations. There were spears, masks, body decorations made of feathers, and other objects I didn’t recognize. Seeing this was a big surprise, and meant that Mauricio was honoring our visit by showing us tribal sacred objects rarely seen by white men. It soon became apparent why he had taken us so deeply into his confidence. Don Pablo, two other students, and I had embarked on another teaching adventure;


this one into the legendary Copper Canyon in the mountains of north-west Mexico. We were in search of indigenous shamans or healers, brujos or curanderos, as they are respectively called in Spanish. Our goal, as esoteric students, was to meet and speak with native healers, and possibly to receive teaching. However, this was going to be quite a challenge because the indigenous villages were quite remote and their inhabitants not very welcoming of strangers, especially gringos. We were looking for a proverbial needle in a haystack—one that didn’t want to be found. Copper Canyon, named for the copper-


green color of its steep rock walls, is comprised of six distinct barrancas (canyons) in the high Sierra Madre Mountains of south-western Chihuahua State that, in total land area, dwarfs the Grand Canyon in the U.S. This region is home to the Tarahumara (they call themselves Rarámuri), an indigenous tribe known worldwide as long- distance endurance runners. What we didn’t anticipate was arriving


at the Copper Canyon in the middle of the seasonal marijuana harvest, and that meant potential danger on two fronts. Four gringos traveling in a new American sedan faced the risk of being mistaken for smugglers by the Mexican Federales, who stationed periodic roadblocks to search for drugs and guns, but were just as likely to shake down tourists for money


or valuables. Or we could be taken for undercover narcotics agents sent to bust drug growers, in which case we would probably be executed. We managed to make it through one such checkpoint unscathed because when the encounter became a little scary, we identified ourselves as “esotericos”—practitioners of the esoteric arts. That label seemed to work, and they let us pass. Perhaps it commanded fear or respect, or both. Add to that the stressed-out state that


two of us were in because one of us had forgotten his passport. We had to literally race back to his house to get it, just barely making it to the airport in time to catch the flight. This set a tone of great apprehension right from the start, which was further magnified by the potential danger we now faced in this extremely remote location, deep in the mountains of Mexico. I remained on edge for the entire trip and had a very difficult time centering and grounding myself. It took great courage to contain my emotion and to witness what was about to occur. Jim, another of our group, had arranged


for an introduction to a local man who had inroads into the remote indigenous world. However, as it often turns out in Mexico, our plans didn’t materialize. Relying on an introduction by the operator of the hotel where we were staying in Creel, don Pablo and Jim set off


with two locals in their battered old Chevy ‘Suburban’ in search of a local shaman. David and I were asked to stay behind because don Pablo knew that in our agitated state we would arouse suspicion, and we would be even less likely to get an introduction without intimidating an already distrustful indigenous community. Later that evening, don Pablo and


Jim returned to announce they’d been successful in meeting a local curandero named Mauricio. All four of us had been extended an invitation to return the next day to be received by him. So here we were, in the local chapel, incredibly fortunate to have this audience with Mauricio, who had just deeply honored us with his trust. We returned to the main chapel and Mauricio walked to the door, indicating it was time to depart the church. Outside, don Pablo asked Mauricio if he would like to receive another healing for his vision. Apparently, when they had first met the day before, Mauricio had asked don Pablo if he would help him with his loss of vision. He was almost completely blind due to a combination of severe cataracts and the curse of a brujo, or sorcerer, who was angry with him for some undisclosed reason. Indigenous people usually ‘read’ energy, and Mauricio obviously knew don Pablo had healing


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