Chance is not the only Shaman I’ve sat with. But he is definitely the most sincere. He has dedicated his entire life to helping guide people in their healing. He is extremely responsible and serious about his craft. He understands the aya deeply, is aware of its potential risks as well as its benefits. Ensuring everyone’s safety and comfort is his top priority. He will never ever leave your side when you need him. You need not be afraid in your darkest moments when Chance and his gifted team are with you. Chance, Eric, and Michael will shepherd you safely through your journey. Chance’s intentions are pure altruism. He requests a donation that is meager compared to other Shaman, especially considering how hands-on, attentive, and available he and his devoted and talented assistant Shaman are. They provide 24 hours a day of care and guidance along with the treatment, the setting, the accommodations, and an abundant amount of nourishing Shaman-made food, all for a nominal donation. You basically bring nothing but yourself, your intentions, and personal comforts for your journey. When the intentions of the practitioners are philanthropic, the entire experience is maximized in all the best ways possible. If you are called to sit, I implore you to consider your safety first, and entrust this Holistic Trinity of Shaman. I personally will never sit with any other Shaman again, and I plan to do this at least once a year to recalibrate myself.

I wrote the following entry about them in my journal during one of the journeys this past weekend:

These Shaman, Chance, Eric, and Michael, are the best kinds of doctors. Instead of putting bandaids on every bleeding scratch and oozing fetid sore, they are doing true healing. They are healing the spirit, the root cause of all poor health. They heal the body from the innermost to outermost: spirit, mind, and body.

When the Shaman worked on Daniel in the middle of the night, they rushed over to his body, like the trauma team running with urgency into the surgical suite. As I observed from above Daniel’s head, the vantage point of the imaginary anesthesiologist, I saw opposite to me Eric wearing his red headlamp at the other side of Daniel’s legs, the red light flooding his body as if it were awash with fresh blood. The warm red light illuminated the silhouettes of Chance, the attending surgeon at Daniel’s abdomen, and Michael at his thorax. In perfect harmony, the three trauma surgeons grasped their tools and went to work healing each organ system at a time, comprising the vital parts of Daniel’s spirit. Securing airway, breathing, circulation, assessing disability and exposure, they evaluated and analyzed, then carefully extracted the embedded shrapnel, debrided the necrotic margins, and excised and revised the hypertrophic scars that had been inhibiting free movement of Daniel’s contiguous spirit for decades. The red flood of light cast dancing shadows of the deft and decisively coordinated movements of the trauma surgeons, like a magical ethereal orchestra playing a melodic spirited spiritual symphony.

Reflecting back to my earliest hospital experiences before I went to medical school, I remembered my first trauma patient. The patient was a 17 yo caucasian male who had died from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head. Since there was obviously no need for an anesthesiologist, I was invited to stand on a step stool at the shattered skull shrouded in gauze, stay out of the way, and observe. The transplant team was helicoptered in from County USC. They burst into the surgical suite with a bang, and immediately began the arduous work of harvesting the organs that still contained life. Working on different areas simultaneously, they made many long deep decisive incisions into the body to get the precious organs out of their brain dead host, and carefully clamped to preserve the patency of the delicate blood vessels essential to be able to transplant them into their hopeful recipient waiting in anticipation for their new organ. They swiftly yet gently packed these vital organs on ice and placed them into a white plastic cooler, like one you’d take on a picnic. Then just as quickly as they flew in, they flew out. With the transplant team gone, the excitement was now over, and the room was quiet and somber. The shell of the body was hastily sutured back together by the surgical residents, now late for their afternoon clinic. The lifeless patient was then wiped clean by the scrub techs, draped with clean sheets, and wheeled to the morgue where his parents waited to receive their son.

It occurs to me just now that had this 17 yo suicide victim’s spirit been saved by this Shamanic trauma team, Mother’s Holistic Trinity, he would not have self destructed. He could have turned his pain into peace, like these Shaman, saving lives, one spirit at a time.

Many of the brave souls with whom I share this sacred space this weekend, we are the Rats. The humble, the hounded, the hated, yet the creatures who still persevere in spite of their injuries and tremendous adversities. Of all the animals, I respect rats the most, for they are skilled survivors, scrappy, resourceful, street smart, highly intelligent, capable of learning complex patterns, and they can even build new connections. The mythical Phoenix is often referenced for rising from the ashes due to its mystical beauty. But I contend that rats are the most beautiful creatures, because they are real. And there is nothing more beautiful in this world than authenticity.