The Lightning Strike

By Carla Woody

Excerpted from Calling Our Spirits Home.

My introduction to the Q’ero Indian tradition provided the juncture that would propel me

forward and that I would go back to time and time again as the foundation for my learning.

Perhaps the larger vision came from a wizened old seer. A small group of us were

ensconced in Don Américo Yábar’s ancestral home, dating from the fall of the Inca empire,

remote in the high Andes Mountains. For me, there wasn’t a more magical placethe power of

that land and night sky alchemically mixed with the simple peacefulness of the setting.

Ancient Don Miguelito, who truly looked not of this world, cared for the garden fashioning

unexpected ‘rooms’ from draping vines and a stool or bench made from branches barely sturdy

enough to hold a person. He carefully preserved the sanctity of these sacred spaces by

sweeping the dirt with his twig broom, removing any stray leaves or brush. He created a true

invitation that any contemplative would find hard to turn down.

Miguelito was a respected paq’o, or shaman, in his own right, coming from the nearby

Mollamarka Indian village. One day he offered to give a reading using his traditional oracle,

coca leaves. The session was held at night. When I came to my reading, I found a surreal

setting instead of the normal place

where we took meals. The room was

candlelit, there being no electricity.

Miguelito in his usual threadbare attire

was seated at the table, candles and

moonshine coming through the

windows. Masses of coca leaves were

laying on his mesa.* Over the glow of

the tapers I acknowledged Don

Américo and his daughter Arilú who

were seated to the left of Miguelito.

Having no facility with Quechua or

Spanish myself, Don Américo would

translate for Miguelito and Arilú would,

in turn, translate the Spanish into English for me.

Miguelito bent trance-like over the leaves, sifting them with his gnarly fingers and

muttering under his breath. He acknowledged my presence by motioning for me to sit down to

his right with a slight gesture of his hand. Presently he picked up a few coca leaves and began

chewing them, still muttering between chews. After a short time, he spit them out onto the table.

Moving his hands over them he seemed to be noting where the leaves fell, perhaps in relation to

each other. Then, he began to speak in a low guttural voice. Stopping, he turned and looked

me directly in the eyes as though searching for something, and then went back to the coca

leaves continuing to speak for a few more minutes, conferring with Don Américo. Finished, he

sat back waiting.

When the translation finally made its way to me, Miguelito’s words seemed quite unlikely

to my ears.

“That storm we had the other night? ”

I nodded. How could I not recall it? I started awake in the middle of the night to thunder

like I had never heard before. Lightning lit up the room from its savage dance across the

mountaintops right outside my window. I sat up in bed watching the storm for the longest time

wondering if all was safe.

“The lightning was for you and its filaments are inside you now. I’m surprised that it was

for you.”

No more surprised than I was, as he sat there nodding. I just looked at him, unclear of

his meaning. Then he abruptly got up from his chair and starting rooting through the hair on the

top of my head with his fingers.

“Ah, there’s where it went in,” seeming satisfied with his finding he sat back down.**

What I know is this: Since that time the speed of the fast train I seem to ride keeps

increasing and often when I have spiritual epiphanies I feel the tickling of an electrical charge on

the crown of my head.

The energy of Nature continues to strengthen me and bring joy. When I gaze with intent

upon the mountains where I now reside, their gifts flow into my heart and exit back into the

world through the tears that come to my eyes and the actions that inform my daily life.

********************

* Literally translated from the Spanish, mesa means table. But it also refers to the woven cloth in

which a Quechua shaman stores and carries sacred objects and serves as an altar covering.

** Traditionally, the presence of lightning or a lightning strike has powerful shamanic

interpretations.

Note from Carla: Now in his 90s, we have been quite fortunate that Don Miguelito continues to

offer coca readings during our Heart of the Andes program. Ask anyone who has received one

and they will tell you that he's quite accurate! He predicted my many years' ongoing work with

Don Américo as well as being spot on regarding many other things. The second photo above

shows Don Miguelito and Doña Maria when I first met them in 1996 in Mollamarka and when the

story above occurred. I painted the oil on canvas (first photo above) in 2011 to commemorate a

personal reading he gave me in his home in 2008. We are next traveling May 5-18, 2012 and

you're invited to join us: http://www.kenosis.net/Retreats/PeruTrip.htm.

Calling Our Spirits Home is available through Amazon: http://tinyurl.com/6p8qm9c.

© 2012 Carla Woody. All rights reserved.