Alberto Roman

  Postcards From the cure machine. 1  A while back, in shamanic circles a story went around about a legendary female healer.from Taiwan. Men from all over the world would go to her.for a session of her miraculous powers. Her fame and notoriety came for the capacity to cure ailments in the sacral chackra/ genital area of many a brother. Apparently, the patient would walk into her two room hut, disrobe, and lay nude on a flat wooden table.  The old old woman would come out of the.other room through a beaded curtain waving holy smoke with one hand as she recited phrases from an unknown tongue. She would stop at the edge of the table, scan you with her other senses, and suddenly grab a man's sack vigorously with her very strong hand and twist, turn, back and forth a man's package till he grimaced with an expression speaking of terror and exhilaration at the same time. Her "cure" rate is reputed to be a hundred per cent since there were never any repeat customers. 2. A

    Postcards from the Cure Machine (2) 1. This is a "radiation dieta."  Yes, this is a "radiation dieta."  That is what this is. 2. At the waiting area for Kali therapy ( the young therapists conceded to my suggestion to name the Linear accelerator machine after the Goddess, can you believe it?) we applaud, cheer, as one of us has rung the bell at the reception desk meaning their treatment is over.The staff, friends and family holler up. I look over at Michelle who is with me this day as she tears up hearing the initiate praise and give thanks to Jesus and I, have tears running down my face behind my covid mask.   3. "Improvise, adapt, overcome," the gracious gentleman from the West Coast transmits to me his motto.  He had been in remission for years but now Mistletoe Therapy is his last chance and last stand to live just a little longer. I am remembering him as I await my turn for another dose of the ionized green beam. It was a few months back when We m

 My beautiful, beautiful friends, Spiritual teachers, preachers, healers, mystics, shamans...all good people who keep the roads to the Sacred Fire open, If you want to and can, for a little while, please open up your Fields of Virtue and Power and turn those high refined vibrations/frequencies my way. You know how this goes: we are part of a Marvel that Renews itself and sends healing light, love and power all over this precious earth. I am now in communion with my death song and listening closely how to sing it. So far, an incredibly complex weave of emotions, insights, releases, and of course, gratitude for my life has surfaced through the arriving of this turning of the wheel. Even though my inner light, my life force, has never been as free and the resolution of my awareness as keen, parts of my body are under siege by a cluster of fast and furious cells, micro death stars, that, if I want to live longer (and I do), I need the intervention of a variety of Medicines. Otherwise, a ve

    " I tell you how I am experiencing it...at least today. Shamanism is an evolving wisdom culture. I see this particular response to existence as a series of knowledge gathering practices and applications inside a habitat of varying degrees of agency and power. A shaman, though that term is more of a polemic and invention within Anthropology, we need another locator for all those who are healers, by the way, and, remember healing is different than cure... these kinds of folks that are ceremonialists, artists, leaders, healers, yes, warriors, teacher/students, story tellers, and so on, bring wholeness and vision to a community. There are a lot of ontological postures available in our century: Materialism, Idealism, Nihilism, Agnosticism, not to mention all the Metaphysical and religious takes on what having a pulse or not is all about, Mystery Schools, and their countless hybrids... For me, at least the way I understand it, the Ultimates remain mysterious and wi

    The nagual's subtle body: weightless, real, we passed through to the other side...light had other properties the cosmologists forgot...Dark matter is but time not crystallized not yet a manifest of causal sequences...not mental not material this power...   I look out into the starry night. Jungle lightening bugs fly more like humming birds more like mischievous ancestors as I register what the Cave was telling me.   Maybe all of this homecoming was because i nearly died twice in the last week. First, that undertow in the ocean just took me and threw me against a volcanic reef...Left a gash on my knee and my right quadriceps traumatized. Then, this afternoon when I stepped off from a ledge into a water pool on the other side of the cave and up.    I recall on the way down thinking that I was not yet touching water. Primal intense self reflexivity...Then, plunging into the water going down and down and down. I was aware that I needed to force myself to come back up if I wa

    Friends, I would like to change the name of this precious collective from Shamanic Meditations to just "Quetzal."   A few reasons guiding my vision, mi vista. is, one; the Quetzal is deemed by many as the most beautiful bird, and, after all, is that not the endeavor we take when walk the path called shamanic, refining who we are to that vibrating open spaciousness filled with the presence of love in co creation with all the realms?   Also, there is a conversation about the eagle and the condor flying together. North and South America and yet it is through that most abundant of corridors that the two Continents and civilizations are united. Meso America Central America. Anthropology bears out the ongoing exchange between civilizations through art, rituals, customs found in "Snake Island."   However, what makes this renaming a more salient recalibration for me is that the rich and complex history of Meso America is one where identity is based on Hybridity, Mesti