A Truly All-American Renaissance Prophet Even without any actual historical references, Lamah contends that the contents of this narrative is a true story in reality. And after all, what is reality? This poignant book is, in essence, a story that is all about the power and significance of love. It begins at the closing years of the 18th century and has its final installment of inspirational spiritual muse manifested during the early to mid-19th Century. The source of this loving tale is an earthbound disembodied soul of unprecedented spiritual substance, who remained in spirit close to the geographic origins of this prophetic story until the end of the 20th Century. It was then that several conspiring, sometimes tragic circumstances brought together two initiate, spiritually gifted Medicine Men whose lives in this Garden of Eden were necessarily separated by the passage of more than a hundred years. They would dedicate their modest lives to the healing of others' spirits through that immutable power of love, a love that was and should always remain necessarily unconditional, and always boundless.
SHAMANS of SAN DAMIANO
By J. Lamah WalkerTrafford Publishing
Copyright © 2010 J. Lamah Walker
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4269-4132-0Contents
Preface...............................................xiiiPrologue..............................................xviiSan Damiano Cross.....................................xxi01 Awakening .........................................102 The Groundwork ....................................2303 Enter The Bear.....................................3704 Dream Worlds.......................................6905 Shamans Of Old.....................................7306 The Apprentice.....................................9307 Discoveries .......................................10508 The Arrival Of Spring..............................12109 ?ipa?Puli?Ma Found.................................13510 Sacred Offerings...................................15711 The Messenger......................................17512 Zuni Bound.........................................19313 Commemorations.....................................21314 Encounters.........................................22915 The Pilgrimage.....................................24916 Powerful Medicine..................................27317 After The Fact.....................................29318 Synopsis Of The Age Of Reality.....................30519 Feast Of Agap: An Alternative.....................313Shaman's Genealogy....................................332Dancing With Sunsets..................................333
Chapter One
AWAKENING ...
I was sound asleep in my own bed at San Damiano when I was so abruptly awakened on July 17, 2001 at just about five minutes till nine (I had begrudgingly glanced at my digital clock in the headboard just before picking up the phone) by the most unexpected, unwanted, and certainly annoying ringing of the telephone. Being the consummate night owl that I had become at that time in my life, I generally slept rather late, and any calls before 10:00 AM seemed to always effectively disengage me in a most untimely fashion from any of those sometimes intriguing dreams that may have been so totally absorbing to the point of realism. Such an abrupt interruption also seems to wipe the conscious memory essentially clean of any reasonable recollection of those dream's contents, even with the greatest of effort. What a bummer it was! I picked up the receiver in a slightly befuddled and somewhat agitated state of mind and immediately recognized a familiar voice: that of Ellen Raimer. Ellen was phoning just to inform me that she would be momentarily departing Albuquerque for her parents' residence in Wisconsin, in order to help them move from their long-time homestead into some retirement quarters, and therefore wouldn't be able to attend my birthday party that John Howell, my more than faithful housemate of some 12 years, had planned for 1:00 PM that Saturday. Ellen sort of hesitantly inquired, "Why this year?" postulating as to just why I was celebrating that particular birthday since, according to her own good recollection, it wasn't yet time for my sixtieth. You see, I hadn't had any birthday parties for as long as I could remember, and this was a rather unexpected event to be taking place at San Damiano; I have never really wanted to celebrate any of my birthdays except maybe as a very young child. Ellen was correct of course; I explained to her that it was my own sixth-sense contention that John had probably planned this particular gala event so that he could have an appropriately orchestrated stage on which to present me with the very special gift that he had apparently purchased some six months prior. This mystery gift had been staring me in the face every time I entered my walk-in closet, with specific instructions from John that I was to disregard its presence until my birthday. I had also shared with Ellen that my sister, Barbara, who was visiting Albuquerque from Ft. Lauderdale, had made the suggestion that I should simply tell everyone that might bother to inquire that this was going to simply be the "last" birthday that I ever intended to celebrate since it was the very last one of my fifties: fifty-nine. After all, who wants to celebrate their sixtieth and beyond? Just to be alive is often a celebration in and of itself by then.
Except that Ellen Raimer was a most significant part of this entire story from its earliest inception, there was no other prior cognitive reason for this particular awakening incident to have unexpectedly sparked in me the sudden urgency to finally begin writing this tale that had been in various stages of formation for well over 15 years—perhaps for my entire life considering the very nature of the story at hand?
I have always been one of those caring individuals who wants to make things just right for another person, whether it was their personal well being or the manner in which they related to their surroundings; specifically an individual's right to live his or her life in any manner they personally saw fit. My obsession with trying to make things OK for everyone else, and not always personally experiencing the same success, had as expected left me rather depressed at times and with those most desperate feelings of utter hopelessness. I suspect that my more recent bouts with nagging ideations of suicide, my dreaded birthday celebration that was so out of sync with the usual, and the mildly redundant conviction that I had accepted an obligation of eventually telling this strange story that was not yet fully materialized, that all combined to prompt my yearning to finally initiate the writing of this book, which I did almost immediately. I had imagined, after all, that if I were to get the book written, I could probably depart this miserable planet with no unfinished business and therefore a clear conscience. This was never an undertaking that was exactly of my own voluntary creation, nor did I even have any of those feelings of being completely comfortable with relating certain portions of this story that had such questionable facts and often seemed rather implausible to my own limited and so often conservative understanding of the real world. On the other hand, the very spiritual and personal nature of much of this tale is so very basic to the highest potential of mankind that it seemed only right to have finally started the process. I have consistently lived, or at least attempted to live, a rather involved and sometimes overly-complicated life based almost entirely on the principle that while life always reveals the often painful and sometimes unbelievable truth, it happens with the dissemination of unconditional love. I am often in the role of attempting to practice what I preach.
For the most part I have never been much for telling the intimate details my own story, being essentially modest and a bit shy except where it may be absolutely necessary for the perceived benefit of others; in my professional field of psychopathology we call this "modeling." I usually maintain a healthy self-image that I would rather relate to others by way of my actions rather than in any number of words; "Your actions speak so loudly that I cannot hear your words."
As I am writing this narrative, I am about to finish another grueling literary project, if I can ever bring myself to complete it: the third book of an epic trilogy tragically but all too appropriately entitled, The Orchid Hell Chronicles. That entire heart-wrenching saga is all about my overly poignant trials and harsh tribulations with the malicious prejudice and bigotry unexpectedly encountered within the...
