Encounters with Power: Adventures and Misadventures on the Shamanic Path of Healing - José Luis Stevens 2017

The Guatemala Test and Initiation
Expression—Storyteller-Artist

Sometimes, even when we’re doing everything right, essence throws curves at us just to see how we will manage them. This is the tale of such a test and perhaps an example of one way of managing it, along with lessons learned.

After an extraordinary trip to the Huayllay Stone Forest in the Andes of central Peru, Anna and I stopped in Guatemala to do some pre-planning before taking our two-year program group there to work with Mayan shamans. In Peru our group had worked with the Q’ero, the powerful Andean paqos, or shamans, who had been teaching us. After a series of wonderful ceremonies at fourteen thousand to fifteen thousand feet, we felt strong and filled with light. Our hearts were open and our sense of connection to Spirit was strong. So Anna and I figured we would bring this good foundation with us on our research trip to Guatemala.

Guatemala was all mist and clouds, with occasional moments of hot tropical sun. We would map out a Mayan adventure; meet with shamans; plan ceremonies, transportation, hotels, and itinerary; and organize general logistics for a group of twenty. We headed deep into the Mayan land of mystery, Lake Atitlán, a true place of great power. After scoping out surrounding towns, markets, and ceremonial places, we were ready to head out for Tikal, the great Mayan ruins in the north, and then on to other adventures. We decided to take a day off and relax in Panajachel, a tourist-oriented town on the shores of Lake Atitlán with great views of the surrounding volcanoes. We found a nice hotel along the main street where we could relax . . . and that is where this adventure begins.

As we checked in, I noticed a woman who appeared to be a hotel guest sitting on a couch outside her room watching us. We entered our room, laid down our luggage, and since a strong rainstorm was taking place we settled in for a good nap. Earlier we had changed some money at the local bank, as we had more traveling to do and the banks would be closed the next day, Sunday. I stuffed a good amount into my wallet and gave the rest to Anna, who stowed it in her luggage and locked it up because there were no safe deposit boxes in this hotel.

After we awoke from our nap and the skies had cleared, we decided to go out and get a bite to eat and do some shopping in the colorful marketplace. As we were leaving and locking up the room, I noticed that, curiously, the same woman was still sitting on the couch watching us. The hotel seemed secure so I didn’t think much of it, and we went out. We had a wonderful time that afternoon exploring, eating, bargaining, and finding great gifts in the marketplace. We even found a location to do some great prayers and connect in with the Spirit of that place.

About sunset we made our way back to the hotel and upon arriving found the door to our room not only unlocked but splintered. The room had been ransacked. Our belongings were scattered everywhere, the luggage lay open, the contents were disgorged, and we realized that the robbers had made off with all our reserve money, Anna’s reserve credit card, her driver’s license, her expensive video camera, and my iPhone. At first it appeared her passport was gone too but we found it strangely safe under the bed. We guessed that in their haste the robbers must have pulled out the contents of the document case and the passport slid away out of sight. Since an American passport is worth about ten thousand dollars on the black market, obviously we were being watched over and protected from a worse fate.

As we witnessed this chaos, damage, and loss, I felt oddly neutral. I quickly assessed the loss; it appeared to be about twenty-five hundred dollars’ worth. All items could be replaced and we were not hurt. Both passports were fine, as I had carried mine with me. Nevertheless, I summoned the clerk at the desk to witness the robbery scene — and this is where the greater part of the adventure began.

The clerk was horrified that this had happened on his watch and he said he would call the owner immediately as well as the police. In short order the owner arrived, a lean German man in his fifties who spoke good English. I shall call him Hans. He appeared distraught and kept saying what a bad thing this was, that it was impossible, that in twenty years of hotel ownership it had never happened and simply could not be. He asked what we had lost, and when we told him he was even more distraught and kept saying over and over that as the hotel owner it was his responsibility to make it right, to see to it that we were compensated. I was rather amazed at this since I did not really expect any compensation. Nevertheless, he said it was a matter of honor for him and that it was bad for business and the hotel’s reputation.

Meanwhile, the police took forever to come. When they finally arrived they took many photos of the room and interviewed each of us. At first none of them or Hans knew we could speak Spanish so they thought we could not understand them. This led to some interesting aspects of the story. The police commented that we had probably left the room unlocked — then I pointed out a large screwdriver the thieves had used to break in. Meanwhile, Anna was busy on the hotel computer trying to cancel her credit card. As all this was going on, Hans’s upper-class Guatemalan wife showed up carrying a Rottweiler puppy of just eight weeks. She instructed her husband that he must compensate us for all the losses, and she kept mentioning “mil dollares,” a thousand dollars, as the sum he should pay us.

Now it turned out that the robbers had already tried to use the credit card eight times in just a few hours but failed each time except for buying a tank of gasoline. It was quickly established where the gas station was and someone was dispatched to interview the attendant, who said that the people using the credit card had commented about how cheap gas was in Guatemala and how much more expensive it was in El Salvador. Then someone noticed that the guests in room 6 had vanished but left their TV and lights on to make it seem like they were still there; the woman watching us as we checked in was one of the El Salvadoran robbers. It was a sophisticated inside job and they had scored.

By this time we were starving, having had no dinner, and it was getting late in the evening. Hans invited us to the restaurant next door, an establishment that he proudly said was the best place in town. Not wanting to take advantage of him, I ordered something modest and a beer, as did Anna. Hans waxed eloquent, saying he owned the entire hotel building and used to own the restaurant too. As we ate, he drank shots of tequila but did not eat. Meanwhile, the police had entered to enjoy a meal on his dime. We could see they all knew each other rather well, and there seemed to be some tension between them.

As Hans’s tongue loosened with the drink, he began to swing rather oddly from one topic to another. He badly wanted us to know how successful he was, telling us that each fancy dinner plate in the restaurant he had brought personally from Germany and cost one hundred dollars apiece. At one point a couple entered the restaurant and he remarked to us that they were the richest people in Guatemala. He made a great display of going over to them and greeting them. Upon returning, he growled threateningly about how he was going to catch the thieves — and when he did he would kill them. I started to feel very uneasy. He went on to say that in Guatemala if you were caught for a crime like this the police would likely kill you before you even made it to jail, and if you went to jail the conditions were so bad you would not survive. He said he knew a hit man in El Salvador who could find and eliminate anyone. By this time he was quite drunk. He told us he had had an incident before but it was just a tourist trying to cash in on his insurance. He glared at us as if implying that we were trying to do the same thing.

I deduced that Hans was a young soul warrior who was caught between his desperate need to appear successful and wealthy and even magnanimous and his terrible reluctance to part with any of his money. He said things like, “Nobody f——s with Hans” while giving us hard stares. I realized at that point that somehow in his mind we had become the enemy and he was trying to intimidate us by threatening us so we wouldn’t cause him any trouble. Then it came out that he was terrified of the police report we were about to file because it would cost him a lot of money; they would shut down his hotel for a month until all the paperwork was done. We could see that the police did not like him; in fact, they seemed to detest him, and it didn’t seem far-fetched that they would stick it to him. He wanted us to come to some kind of agreement — we could write what we wanted in the report but he preferred we would say that the robbery had happened on a bus or somewhere else. I told him the police already knew it had happened at his hotel but he said that did not matter. With the proper arrangements (bribery and payoffs), the police would accept any story we told them and make it official. Even though he said this, he seemed quite afraid of the police and seemed to be on negative terms with them for some past events unknown to us.

Anna and I looked at each other and realized that we had entered into a local political quagmire and were being squeezed to do something illegal to benefit the hotel owner. What was really going on, we were not sure. Perhaps we had stepped into a big old karma. We did not know how corrupt Hans was, but it was clear that in his twenty years in Guatemala he had learned the game. Whatever the police had on him, it was evident that they were massively corrupt too. I quickly tried to evaluate what we should do and worried that our safety was at stake. Both Anna and I called in our allies and helping spirits — clearly, we were out of our league here.

Once again Hans’s wife came over to the table to say that he should just pay us mil dollares so they could all go home and go to bed. He was careful to tell her that he was going to pay us but did not mention any thousand dollars. In his drunken state he had forgotten that we could speak Spanish and knew what his wife had said. After more braggadocio and more indirect threats, he finally got down to it. “How about if I absorb your hotel room cost, pay you four hundred dollars, and pay for your dinner and we call it a night?” he proposed. “You tell the police it happened somewhere else.”

A thousand thoughts went through my head. I knew that our trip insurance would not cover lost cash and that all the equipment lost would be depreciated after subtracting a large deductible. The truth is we would end up with nothing. I considered the very limited funds we had left and how much we would need to finish our trip. I was also aware that Hans was by this time very drunk and his character was quite suspect. It would not be good to piss him off or ask him for very much money since, being a young soul, he identified closely with his money and did not want to part with it even if his wife knew they had plenty. But he was also asking us to lie in the report to save his hotel a lot of trouble with the tourism department.

I made my decision. I said, “We have little money left to finish our trip. Our credit card has been stolen so we can’t pull any out. We need five hundred dollars to be able to finish our trip. If you give us five hundred and cover our hotel room and the meal tonight, we would really appreciate it, and we will tell the police whatever you want.” He replied, “I’ll give you four hundred.”

I said, “No, we really need five to make our trip happen.” I could see the terrible pain in his eyes as he realized he was going to have to part with another hundred dollars. On the other hand, I was not asking for so much that he would consider it worthwhile to make us disappear. At last he agreed but said he did not have the money with him; it was at home. Because I didn’t want him to vanish on us, I said we could go to his house on the way to the police station to file the report. As he staggered from the restaurant stone drunk, I prayed it was not far to his house.

The ride was nothing short of terrifying. It was a Saturday night and the streets were filled with revelers and other drunk people. My worst fantasy was that he would run over someone and kill them while we were riding in his car and then we would all end up in a Guatemalan jail to rot or be raped and murdered.

I realized that this was like a passion play somehow unfolding before our eyes. We had stumbled into a series of events that were beyond our control and there was something significant about it that I could not yet fathom. Anna and I had very little opportunity to interact, so mostly we communicated through glances and eye contact. Although on and off terrified on the surface by the dangers of the experience, deep down both of us felt calm, even amused about it. Yes, we were truly having an adventure — perhaps even a misadventure — but I kept thinking that if we survived, it would make a great story.

I was not surprised by the splendor of his estate. As we strolled through the gardens and past a huge swimming pool, he said, “People think I am a wealthy man but I am not really rich.” We passed several buildings and when I asked about them, he couldn’t help himself. “I have ten large houses here that I rent out in addition to my own house.” Despite his fear that we would think he was rich and try to squeeze more money out of him, he felt compelled to report his significant holdings to us. Clearly he was a very wealthy man who came from a well-stationed German family and wanted for nothing. He even made a point of telling us his new Rottweiler puppy had cost over seven hundred dollars and came with papers. We heard a long story about puppy breeders in Guatemala who catered to the wealthy and how he was lucky to get this one for so cheap.

As we entered his home, more Rottweilers came out to greet us along with the biggest German shepherd I have ever seen. Fortunately for us they were friendly but it could have been otherwise if Hans were not with us. There was a pause in his monologue and we waited as he tried to remember why we were at his house. I reminded him about the money he had come to get. Very displeased, he agreed and went to get his wallet, which was stuffed to overflowing with hundred-dollar bills. I will never forget how reluctantly he withdrew five crumbled bills and handed them to me as if he were giving me his last dime. Anna and I kept talking about how wonderful his dogs were, figuring this would distract him and put him in a better mood. He clearly loved his dogs.

As we weaved down to the police station in his car, we had to remind him a couple of times where we were going. When we arrived, we were surprised to find his wife waiting for us. She asked him, “Did you give them the mil dollares?” Evasively, he answered, “I paid them.”

The police lieutenant we had been dealing with, sitting in front of his computer, asked me, “Have you come to some kind of agreement?”

“Yes, we have,” I replied.

“Is it to your satisfaction?” the policeman asked.

“Yes!”

“Where shall I say it happened, then?”

“On a bus,” I said.

He did not blink an eye. After about forty-five minutes Anna and I had completed our separate reports. Hans and his wife drove us back to our hotel — the most dangerous and death-defying ride of all at breakneck speed through the narrow streets — but we made it without smashing into anything. Stunned by the entire episode, we fell into bed at midnight facing a 4:30 a.m. wake-up call for a three-hour shuttle that would take us to Guatemala City followed by a nine-hour bus ride to Tikal.

Anna and I continued to puzzle over this series of events. What the hell was it all about? What were the lessons? What did we miss, if anything? Did we behave properly under the circumstances? I thought so, but one never knows. Maybe I should have refused any money, but then we might not have experienced all that we did. It seemed important that Hans should at least keep his word after promising to compensate us — and as our price for lying for him. The reality is that it was not a lie because the police were completely complicit with it. We were expected to play the game.

Why were the police so upset with Hans? What did they have on him, and what was he paying to be left alone? The mystery remained with us for the rest of trip. One thing was clear, however. We had run into a very wealthy young soul who was profoundly insecure and identified solely with his money. He was deeply unhappy, filled with rancor, revenge, and hatred. He was involved in a corrupt way of life and, when faced with a threat to his security, would resort to almost anything to regain control. And yet in a childish sort of way, he felt compelled to at least partially keep up the appearances of honorableness.

Even so, we both found it possible to forgive him his shortcomings and recognize him as a face of Spirit, just a confused one. In fact, the police and all the characters in the play were also faces of Spirit that were helping us to learn something important. It was okay.

A week later we were home safe and sound but a little worse for wear. We hit the ground running as usual, immediately leading a five-day retreat at Eagle Bear Ranch. Both of us agreed that the event was not quite over; there would be more. Maybe it would have to do with dealing with the trip insurance we had taken out, we thought — but that was not it.

During the beginning of the retreat, Anna dreamed that she was back on the shores of Lake Atitlán and could feel the immense power of the Mayan lake. The lake told her that the robbery was a test and it was not over yet.

Later we did a drum journey and Anna had a sudden, profound, and unexpected experience. When the drumming began, a quetzal, a bright, sacred, Guatemalan bird, showed up and asked her to follow it. She followed the bird as it took her down a very bright tunnel. She traveled for a long way before popping through into a strange, fuzzy, dark place. After looking around and not being able to see her surroundings clearly, she asked the quetzal where he had led her.

“You are at the bottom of the lake,” it said.

Remembering her dream about the power of the lake, she said, “What is the source of the power of this lake? I would like to meet it.”

The quetzal said, “Look down.”

She looked and saw a strange square opening in the lake floor below her, and the quetzal indicated that she had to go down through the opening to find what she was looking for.

Anna asked the quetzal if it was coming with her and it told her that no, she would have to do this part by herself. She bolstered her courage, went down through the strange hole, and popped into a dark, cave-like place. The energy was intense and somewhat scary. Out of the dark came a grotesque, frightening, lizard-like creature that stood staring at her in an intimidating way. She felt like turning and running but instead held her ground and stared back at the creature and announced, “My name is Anna Stevens. I am a daughter of the Great Spirit. I came here because I wanted to know the source of the power of this lake.” The creature continued to stare, giving no answer. Don’t worry, nothing can hurt me, Anna told herself.

Suddenly the creature transformed into an extraordinarily beautiful woman. “Congratulations,” she said. “You have passed the test.”

With this, Anna felt tremendous relief.

We could not be introduced to the source of this Mayan power place without meeting some kind of a test. Would we freak out? Would we take the events personally? Would we deal with the situation unreasonably or unfairly? Would we whine and complain? What would we do? Apparently we had done what we were supposed to do and played our parts well, and it was through Anna that we found access to the powers of this land.

The beautiful lady spoke again. “Is there anything you would like to ask me?”

“Yes,” Anna answered. “Will you agree to protect and support any group we bring down to work with the power places of the Maya in Guatemala?”

“Yes,” the woman said.

We had just received an extraordinary gift: protection from any harm for all our travelers for all future trips. This was better than any insurance policy with lots of small print that makes it worthless. For this reason alone, the test had been well worth it, with the bonus of containing many lessons.

I have led two large groups to Guatemala since then, and we have twice gone across Lake Atitlán on motorboats. On the second trip a large windstorm came up and created huge waves that almost scuttled our boat. Yet remembering what the goddess of the lake told Anna, I was never afraid. Everyone got wet, but no one got hurt.

POSTSCRIPT

What were the lessons? As far as I know, they are these:

•Observe and discern but don’t judge.

•Forgive everyone as events are unfolding and see all characters in the play as the face of Spirit.

•Treat all characters with respect, no matter what.

•The fact that you have had high times in one place does not necessarily mean you are off the hook for the next place.

•You must form new relationships with the helping spirits of each place and pass their tests if you want something. The helping spirits of the last place will not necessarily be able to help you in the new place. They are for that place only.

•Keep “don’t-know mind,” a Buddhist expression for “be open to everything.”

•It’s not over until it’s over.

•The catalyst for the lesson is not necessarily the main event. It just sets the play into action.

•What you lose is not important. What you gain is.

•Being in control is not always possible or even desirable, but keeping your wits about you is.

After the trip, Anna told me her video camera had been malfunctioning and it was going to cost a lot to fix, maybe more than it was worth. Instead, it vanished. We recouped half of the thousand dollars. The rest was the price of admission to this misadventure.

There may be more lessons that we don’t yet know. Adventures and misadventures can be the gifts that keep on giving.

EXERCISES

Consider a misfortune that you feel you suffered in your life. Did you learn something? What did you learn? What price, if any, did you pay for these lessons? Was the misfortune actually a test? Was it an initiation? Was it worth the price of admission?

Think of a time when you were robbed or ripped off. What were your feelings? Victimization? Anger? Now imagine that you could freely give the robber what they took from you. Just give it to them with blessings. Be in the driver’s seat about this. Can you do it? What is that like?