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The Shamans and the Voice

Posted on May 29, 2010

I grew up in the Southwest along the Mexican Texas border. My parents were both shamans and made their living during the off season from working in the fields as farm laborers, healing people, casting out demons, casting charms and offering counseling to the hundreds of people who came to see them. As a child I was sickly, quiet, shy and skinny. I had six brothers and six sisters, I was in the middle and I seemed to catch it from everyone. The only person who took in interest in me was my great grand father who was 90 or so years old at the time, his son, my grand father was about 70 or so, and they took great pleasure in spending time with me, teaching me about plants, taking me hunting, fishing, and spending time with me. They also taught me to speak to animals, develop ultra sensory perception and the ability to “see”. This is a very difficult concept to explain, yet it can be found in many books, most recently in a book called The Sorcerer’s Secrets by don Jesus Ramirez, and found at Toltec Institute. I’ve recently learned that its the only book they’ve endorsed.

My parents were respected by the people, but hated by the church which held a very strong hold on the community of Rio Grande where we lived. The priest stirred up the church members and our house was burnt down by still unknown church members. My parents were beaten, and grand father died as a result of his injuries. By the time that happened I was 15 or so and my great grand father had died. My brothers and sisters were gone, I had remained because was caring for my grandfather who was by then a very old man. He was the one that dragged me away during the night, because he said he “saw” men coming. I don’t know why he did not warn anyone else, or if he did, but he spared me a beating, or maybe worse.

After the attack my parents, my grandfather and I moved to Corpus Christi Texas, we lived on the outskirts of town in a neighborhood called Hudson Acres. It was actually a migrant camp where people stayed during the cotton picking season. Someone got the bright Idea to haul empty houses onto plots of land and it became a barrio, complete with all the ignorance, poverty, and racial discrimination of that period.

It was then that my grandfather introduced me to another shaman, or curandero, healer or brujo, as some call them. I was given lessons on how to attract inorganic entities that seemed to surprise and scare the hell out of me. I also seemed to attract owls, crows, doves, hawks, vultures and animals seemed to want to be around me. By this time my biological father had abandoned us and taken up with a bar girl he met in some cantina along the beach in Corpus. There were a lot of loose single women roaming the bars along North Beach, and it seemed someone was always fighting. The cops didn’t care as long as no one beat up a gringo. My grand father had returned to the mountains of Mexico by then, and my mother and me were alone. We lived on a little money her family sent her. We were very poor, and I was very unhappy. I had thoughts of dying almost everyday and I kept hoping a truck would hit me and just end it all. I was miserable.

One morning I heard a voice, I don’t mean someone calling me from a distance, but a voice that seemed to come from around me, and outside of me. It said, “listen to the birds in the trees, aren’t they beautiful”. I heard it as clear as day in a voice that seemed familiar, but yet unknown to me. Because I had been raised to believe in spirits and inorganic beings, I was not scared, and I did not doubt what I experienced. Yet, I knew I should keep it a secret.

That voice changed my life and made it easier for me to accept the fact that I was never gonna be one of the guys. I was never gonna fit in, and be average, or ordinary. I had been shunned by the kids in the barrio because of my parents business, and even the nuns and priest refused to visit my mother who was in desperate need of companionship. I accepted that the it doesn’t matter if the birds sing because they’re happy, or if they’re happy because they sing. I began to sing and whistle, and I’ve been doing so ever since.

I still hear the voice, it warns me of danger, it directs me towards water when I’m thirsty, food when I’m hungry and money when I’m broke. It has kept me grounded and focused, but none of it would be possible, If I had not found the book by don Jesus that served as the anchor that has kept me grounded.

There is a lot more to say, but only a few will understand, even if you draw them map and give them directions.

Thanks.

Sent in by Blues Boxing, Copyright 2010 TrueGhostTales.com




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Tags: Brujo, Corpus Christi, Curandero, Healer, Hudson Acres, Mexico, Rio Grande, Shamans, Texas


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Comments

5 Responses to “The Shamans and the Voice”
  1. AnNa says:

    you know what i think you just need to talk to someone with how you feel,i cant believe how people are these days.well at least the voice tells you stuff that you should know.if the voice tells you your in danger what do you do,were do you go?if you need money how do you get it?thanks for the story.i wish i could help you out.

  2. Mykii says:

    Thanks, I enjoyed very much. Regardless of all the pain the birds always sing.

  3. trolldoll says:

    it seems your grandfathers were good and kind. after all you have been thru, you have found a inner peace that we all long for! bless you, keep your heart open and always try to give away your kindness!!

  4. Trace says:

    meh grandpa was a shaman. Cherrokee, i think.

  5. GirlRacer says:

    I dont cry much, but this has really resonated with me, I tell you no lies but I sobbed my heart out when I read this. I stopped to calm myself down, and even now my eyes are stinging.

    I wish I could reach you, and hug you. I wish I could make you smile.

    Please know that when you close your eyes to sleep, somebody somewhere cares.

    I will never complain again about my lot.

    Much love and respect,

    Steph, England.
    xxx

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