Surrounded by shamans

I’m just back from a week at the Modern Elder Academy in Baja California Sur, Mexico. On the final day, I took an early-morning ride in a pickup truck with a shaman and a compadre, as we call our MEA friends.

We went to Saul’s “office” at the top of a mountain, where he had a magical view.

At first light, Saul tapped his ceremonial bells. He lit incense and spit rum into the wind.

I was open to the fact that he had a superpower. I hoped he would show me my way.

But I also was skeptical that this shaman (or any other) could sense my specific confusion. After a week at MEA, what things could he divine, that we hadn’t already considered?

I told Tom* my plan: I’d reveal nothing to the shaman in advance. If he was as good as his reputation, he would figure me out on his own.

Tom scoffed. You’re not going there to play Stump the Shaman. You’re going there to learn.

Wow. So true.

Which got me to thinking. How often do we withhold information from friends, or lovers, or co-workers? Even when we desperately want them to succeed.

And how many “everyday shamans” are present in our lives? People who are eager to listen to us. To ask insightful questions. And help us unlock the answers we already have.

“Shooting Stars” like our Stephen, who guided us along nightly, in a collective chant of Ohmmmm.

After spending an intense week in the company of twenty or so wise and open-hearted humans, I am convinced: We are surrounded by shamans.

But how do we find them? And how can we let them work their magic?

Become a first-class noticer. We expect to see wise compadres at a wisdom school, and we do. But if we are observant and open—and conscious of our own thoughts, feelings, and attitudes—we also will respect the potential wisdom in others.

Become an appreciative listener. Whereas the appreciative inquirer asks insightful, open-ended questions, the appreciative listener also is patient, empathetic and physically engaged. If we slow down, we will hear what we need to hear. The wisdom won’t go whizzing by.

Open our hearts. Joy, efficiency, presence, skill, love. This is how we create the condition of self-trust, and trust in others. In the midst of the unknown, we can take risk comfortably and try something new.

So, thanks to Tom, I told the shaman on the hill that I’m a writer.

He held my hands and I waited. I heard the sea crashing below. My heart beat hard.

The shaman said that I’m more than a writer. He said I’m an artist. That I should continue to play with my gifts. I should paint with my fingers, as well as the brush.

I should believe in my power to inspire.

Who cares if he might have said these things to anyone? Or if others have said them to me.

The point is, I was finally able to hear.

NOTE: Tom McCook, founder of Center of Balance in Mountain View, CA, was one of our leaders for the week.