The following are some notes that I wish to record while they are still fresh in my mind.  The following all pertains to the proposed story about a mystical journey with an initiated Shaman of the ·anše·kwe (Bear) clan.  This particular journey, which is to include Lynn Andrews, had its beginnings with my having contacted Robin Webb.  When I first talked with Robin, I had expressed and that I had just finished the first draft of a book entitled, Shamans of San Damiano.  This title sparked his attention particularly with the word, shamans.  Robin told me that his ex-lover, Al Lowman, was a literary agent and represented an unusual woman author named, Lynn Andrews, who wrote books abound medicine men and women and her mystical journeys with Native Americans.

It wasn't until July the 25th 2003 that Robin finally arrived at San Damiano.  Robin was on his way to Santa Barbara to assist Al Lowman with a serious health problem that had given cause for Al to move from New York City to a more favorable climate; Al was apparently suffering from emphysema.  It was on that Sunday the 27th that Robin and I had decided to make a day’s excursion to Santa Fe.  We were just about 12 mi. short of completing our journey when Robin's mobile telephone rang and it was Al.  When Robin had explained to Al that we were on the way to Santa Fe, Al enthusiastically suggested that we ought to give Lynn Andrews a call; Robin was quite surprised to discover that Lynn was in Santa Fe.  Al said that he would call back and give Robin, Lynn's telephone number, and he did so almost immediately.  It was just about this time than the Chevy van indicated that the generator was no longer working and we had to accomplish the remainder of the trip to Santa Fe on the battery alone.  We were fortunate to have made it to Pep Boys, but the undesired verdict was read and that meant that the van was not going to be able to be repaired until the following day.  Later that afternoon we were so fortunate to have acquired transportation back to Albuquerque.  It was through a good friend of mine that arranged for us to accompany two gentlemen en route to the Albuquerque Airport for engaging a flight to San Diego.

When we first arrived a Pep Boys around noon Robin gave Lynn a call and got her answering service.  Robin left a message that we were in town and explained our rather precarious situation.  We were about 10 miles out of Santa Fe en route back to Albuquerque when Lynn finally returned Robin's call.  Lynn's first response was for us to turn around and to stay with her that night.  Robin explained that there was no way for us to return to Santa Fe because the two gentlemen that we were with were on an already tight schedule to meet their flight.  Robin then handed me his mobile telephone and introduced me to Lynn.  I expressed to Lynn that I had heard about her for more than a year and knew that we were to eventually meet.  Her response was, “You should have just picked up the telephone and called me!”  I explained that Robin and I had not known each other well enough for him to have given me your (Lynn's) number.  I expressed to Lynn that we shared a common interest in shamans and that I had just completed and edited a book entitled, Shamans of San Damiano and that the book had been given to the University of New Mexico Press.  Lynn gave out a sigh of appointment at which time I assure her that they (UNM Press) were not going to be publishing the book, as I had just received a kindly rejection stating that their budget for ‘fictional’ books had been exhausted.  Since we had to return to Santa Fe the next morning to retrieve the Chevy van, we made arrangements to have breakfast with Lynn at 8:00 that morning.

When Lynn and I first encountered each other that Monday morning there was an instant connection that possessed those all too familiar feelings of déjà vu.  I had taken with me a copy of my book and presented it to Lynn.  From the intense high-energy contact there was little doubt in my mind that my destiny was to have encountered this unusual woman.  In exchange for my book, Lynn gave me an autographed copy of her latest contribution to Shaman literature; Jaguar Woman, The Wisdom of the Butterfly Tree.  We departed with the promise that we would soon be meeting once again.  I had also suggested an idea for one of her next books, “Journey with the Shaman,” which would essentially be in another mystical journey for Lynn that would most aptly be centered around this sacred Zuni spring and the modern pilgrimage en route to one of the lower ridges of the Sandia Mountains; that sacred spring of the Zuni Medicine Men that was first discovered by José and Raquel, the earliest Zuni Medicine Initiates of San Damiano.

It was the evening of July the 31st that Lynn returned a call that I had made to her the previous day.  Lynn said that she had been up until five in the morning reading my book and very much enjoyed it.  I immediately and humbly apologized for the first three chapters because they were essentially autobiographical and not necessarily relevant to this central story of the Nineteenth Century Zuni Medicine Men and the Jesuit priest.  Her response was, “Oh, no hunn!  That was the interesting part!”  I suggested that we might meet and have dinner and Lynn responded with the idea of meeting the following night, Friday, at 7:00 P.M., at one of Lynn’s favorite restaurants, the Rio Chama, next to the Pink Elephant that was located on the Old Santa Fe Trail.  That next evening I met Lynn who was accompanied by a good friend of hers.  It was on this particular occasion that I gave her a copy of my most recently completed writing, Interview with Jesus.

It had occurred to me that Robin should become an integral part of this forthcoming ceremony since it was he that had made this very special meeting possible.  It is interesting that Robin had become involved with an Episcopalian Monastery in California and in some strange sense sort of paralleled the character of Manuél.  I called Robin one morning and shared my bit of inspiration with him and he fully agreed and committed himself to being present whenever the pilgrimage to the spring was to take place.  It was by now getting to be just too late in the fall to make any immediate plans before the advent of winter.  It was left with the idea that the journey would most probably be undertaken that next spring.

Our next face-to-face meeting was in October during the National’s Arabian Horse Show held in Albuquerque at the New Mexico State Fairgrounds.  We had lunch at the Macaroni Grill at Louisiana and the freeway where Lynn’s significant other of some nine years, Mike, and her daughter, Vanessa, had joined us.  It was at this meeting that I further discussed our mystical journey to the sacred spring in the Sandia Mountains.  I had also expressed that on this special journey to the spring it would be possible that Lynn might inquire of the Shaman certain spiritual questions that could possibly be answered only on such an occasion.  I had hoped that Lynn and her family would have been able to come to dinner at San Damiano, but there just didn't seem to be enough time allotted in her busy schedule.  I reminded Lynn that I needed some down feathers from the under-wing of a red-tailed hawk.  When I had first mention this to Lynn she had joyfully indicated that that would be “no problem” as there were a number of red-tailed hawks on her property in Arizona, and that it should be a rather easy gathering of the several needed down feathers for the anticipated ceremony.  I suggested that Mike could gather these feathers as well.

There is no medicine ceremony without medicine bags for each of the new initiates, so I had acquired some deerskin for its softness for crafting the intended medicine bags.  I emptied the original medicine bag of its contents, removed the leather string that held the bag closed, flatten the bag out and used it as a template for the new bags.  The piece of deerskin that I had purchased for the two medicine bags turned out to be enough material for five.  After carefully crafting the five bags I selected three; one for Lynn Andrews, one for Robin Webb and most intentionally a third one for a yet unknown initiate and distinguished each of them with wooden beads; natural colored for Lynn and that unknown initiate and brown colored ones for Robin.  From the contents of the old medicine bag I deposited bits of lemongrass to each of the three new initiates’ bags.  There was also a piece of mother-of-pearl in the original medicine bag that I specifically placed in Lynn Andrews’ bag and a small pebble that I placed in Robin Webb's bag.  Only the lemon grass was added to the unknown initiate’s medicine bag.  I had the specific idea of there being some elements of succession form the original Medicine Man that had performed my own initiation.  I then set about gathering the other elements I felt necessary for this initiation.  To represent the oceans (water) I selected some pearls that I had retrieve from oysters some 13 years prior while vacationing in the Hawaiian Islands.  I also paid a visit to Medicine Rock and there collected several small pieces of the rock as another symbolic element for the new medicine bags.  The thorns that are to come from the Rocky Mountain locus tree will be collected just before the ceremony from the newly transplanted locus tree from behind the residence at San Damiano.  I had specifically transplanted this tree as the Shaman of San Damiano’s medicine bag tree during the summer of this year.

In further preparation for the anticipated initiation to be held at the sacred spring I needed to gather several other key elements including some pine nuts from some of the local Piñon trees.  There was, however, a serious problem because of the rather severe droughts that New Mexico had been experiencing for the past several years; there simply weren't any of the present season’s piñon nuts to be had anywhere in our immediate area.  I was returning home one afternoon after having searched several areas for these piñon nuts when I had surprisingly noticed in the yard of a neighbor, one singular piñon pine tree that had actually produced nuts this vary year.  I asked my kind neighbors, Tim and Debbie Webster if they had noticed that they possessed probably the only piñon tree in the area that had produced nuts and whether they minded my gathering several of these now rare piñon nuts for a very special ceremony.  In exchange I offered them a copy of the book, Shamans of San Damiano, as soon as the most recent self-published edition was finished.  There still remained other elements to be gathered at some later date, and as there was plenty of time remaining before the ceremony, I felt that the other elements would all come in their own good time and season.

Just to be on the safe side of things, I had decided to make a trial run to the spring myself just to be sure that the recent droughts hadn’t completely dried up the running water as had been so sadly reported for several of the other springs in the Sandia area.  On Thursday, October 30 there was to be the a Sierra Vista South (subdivision—where San Damiano was situated) Water Board annual dinner, and at this dinner, John and I sat across from Bill and Cindy Boyson, some familiar neighbors who had both previously visited San Damiano.  Bill was an accomplished amateur photographer and had previously taken black and white photos of me in the greenhouse amongst the orchids.  It was on a subsequent visit by both Bill and Cindy that I had given them a previously unedited copy of the Shamans’ book. In our exchange with the Boysons that evening I expressed my desire to hike a to the sacred spring located in the Cole Springs picnic area.  I had originally had the idea of hiking up there on that very Friday and invited Bill to join me.  Bill apparently already had previous plans, and so I suggested that we might make the hike that Saturday and invited Cindy to join us.  With the plans being agreed upon we departed that Saturday morning at eight.  It may be interesting to note that Friday was Halloween, October 31 and that noted date marked the eleventh anniversary of the beginning of the Age of Reality according to my own inspired estimation.  Local residents occupying the private land adjacent the county park where the spring was located had blocked off a goodly portion of the access road leading into the park area because the Bernalillo county had refused to maintain their access roads in lieu of the public traffic and natural weather erosion expected of cleared and un-maintained terrain.  We had to park the Boyson’s vehicle at the entrance to an old graveyard that was situated just adjacent to the gate that now denied public entrance to the park area.  This meant that the hike would now be some 1½ to 2 miles longer than was previously necessary had been able to drive to the entrance of the trail leading to the spring.  One of my concerns was whether Lynn would be up for such a hike especially taking into account the sometimes-negative effects of the higher altitude on an individual more accustomed to the lower altitudes of Phoenix.

On our way to the spring we all shared the serious concern as to whether there would be any water due to the recent droughts.  As we were nearing the actual location of the sacred spring we heard the trickling sounds of running water, which gave us all a sigh of relief.  The running water was running off these rather wide ridges that had formed around these oval ponds that cascaded from one to another of several ponds in a manner that reminded me of tiered rice paddies somewhere in the Orient.  It was such a beautiful and surreal sight beneath the towering trees that Bill had wanted to set up his tripod in order to take some pictures. This was a good chance for Cindy and I to take a bit of a rest; a rest, by the way, that wasn’t that all pressing, as the hike was a rather easy gentle climb along a well-identified path left by the many hikers over a long history of exploration.  Because our ultimate destination was designated as the Cole Springs picnic area, I had always thought that the actual name of this sacred spring was “Cole.”  When we finally reached the sacred spring that I had initially visited some twenty or so years prior, there was a sign placed by the Cibola National Forest department that clearly designated this spring as “Cañonsito Spring.”  Of course, the name of the nearby old Spanish settlement was Cañonsito, a settlement that had been duly referenced in the story of the Shamans of San Damiano.

Returning from the spring around the noon hour we were fortunate to have just then encountered two vehicles parked on either side of the gate that had been obviously unlocked and opened for their passage.  I stopped the first car that was now moving in my direction and began to express to the young lady driving the car my hope that I could possible make arrangements for the gate to be opened at some future date when Lynn Anderson was to be joining us for the special ceremony.  The young woman before I could finish my story directed my attention towards the other vehicle and kindly suggested that I should talk to either “her grandmother or her mother” concerning my request.  I approach the older woman as she was closing the gate because she was then closer to where I had approached the other vehicle, “Are you the grandmother?”  Just as I had started to relate to her my story, her daughter approach from behind and joined in the conversation.  Having explained my perceived desires/needs, we all than approached the daughter’s vehicle so that I could get a name and telephone number for future use.  At just about that moment the younger woman asked, “Don’t you recognize me?”  At her kind prompting I immediately and most sincerely responded that she did in fact, looked quite familiar, and then she explained that she and her husband (Davra and Philip Clayton) had once visited San Damiano to review the construction of my greenhouse and the orchids.  They were planning to build a greenhouse of their own, and having researched the web for other greenhouses in the Cedar Crest area came across my own website for San Damiano Orchids.  I learned that this family had actually lived on Cole Springs Road since the nineteen-forties and that Davra had grown up here and remained on the family property all of this time.  It seems that this whole developing scenario was just another predestined turn of events that only added to the spiritual intrigue of this whole mystical story of native Medicine Men.  We left the company of these friendly women with the suggested and hopeful idea that we might all have lunch together on the day that the initiation ceremony is to take place with Lynn Andrews, Robin Webb, a yet unknown third initiate and myself.

Another important reason for having made this pilgrimage to Cañonsito Spring at this particular time was to get a picture of the spring as the most natural source of some artwork proposed for the heading of the Shamans book’s ninth chapter dealing with the initial discovery of this sacred Zuni spring, Šipa·puli·ma Found.  Of course, the picture taken in the present moment does not in any way represent a true depiction of the spring as it probably flowed some hundred and fifty years ago, much less only the some twenty years prior and certainly before the droughts of recent history.  I had specifically asked Davra whether she had remembered that the spring originally appeared more agitated with the gushing of water from what I remembered as being even deeper in appearance.  Davra indicated that the spring has indeed diminished in both the volume of flow and depth over the years.  When I had first visited the spring with Ellen Raimer some twenty years prior, it was then necessary to forge a small creek a mile or so below the now gated area where we now parked the vehicle at the old cemetery.  That once regularly flowing creek that was initially and entirely been fed by this one sacred spring is now entirely dried up and doesn’t even appear to be effected by spring thaws; how sad!

It was in December that I began to gather some of the elements that were intended for the sacred ceremony that was planned for the spring of 2004.  Because of some serious droughts for several years prior to this time, the indigenous piñon trees had failed to bear any nuts.  I had specifically driven throughout the surrounding neighborhoods hoping to find that one rare tree that may have been spared from the drought.  It was upon returning from one of these searches that I caught a glimpse of a piñon tree that had actually born some nuts.  It was fortunately in the yard of a familiar neighbor, Harry and Debbie Webster.  The very next day I approached Debbie and inquire as to whether I might be so honored as to retrieve some of these rare piñon nuts.  Debbie was pleased to have accommodated me and for her kindness I offered her a copy of the Shamans of San Damiano and explained that these nuts were to be used in a special ceremony. 

It was December the 11^th that I went shopping for a Christmas tree.  The first lot that I visited was one from which I had purchased trees for several prior Christmases.  I usually visited this particular lot because they had always had some of the taller trees available.  While surveying some of these taller trees there was one tree in particular that was several rows away from where I was standing that had mysteriously caught my eye.  I immediately headed for this tree, and as I got closer, I was excited to discover that there were a number of down feathers caught in the lower branches.  It was the only tree on the lot that had been so blessed.  I am confident that these down feathers were probably from some bird other than that of a red-tailed hawk.  In any case, I gathered a number of these downy feathered gifts that had found their way to Albuquerque from Mora that is situated in northern New Mexico .