Close Encounters of a different kind

He stared into my soul and passed me the maraca like a priest passing a cracker that is actually the body of Christ.  I did my best to follow his reggae guitar strum pattern and when I messed up I just closed my eyes as if overcome by the spiritual intesity of the music. We were sitting on the floor of a tiny incense-fumigated room in almost pitch darkness, the flickering of a lone candle the only source of light.  This cannot be real.

Actually according to Halem, my host in Pasto (a city in the south of Colombia), it wasn´t real.  Because everything in this Demension is an illusion.  

When I met up with him on a street corner after hitchhikking 200 miles from Quito, he wasted only three minutes on chitchat before diving into his philosophy of alternative metaphysics.  By the time he lead me to his house and ushered me into a low-lit sitting room (the speed of his powerwalk stride matching the speed of his ADD speech), he was already neck deep in the explanation of the entymology of his name--given to him by two mountain shamans who taught him how to use "The Medicine" (San Pedro) to open the portals of his mind.  He pulled some "relaxing seeds" from his pocket and offered me one to chew.  

Halem is 33 years old with a full but well-trimme beard on his face with features revealing the trace of Palestinean blood in his ancestry.  When he dawned his ruana  (a hooded wool poncho), all he lacked was a glowing halo and a pastor´s staff to complete the look that matched his complex perfectly.

"But tell me your tale, little sister.  What's your aura?  What's your path?"  I've been around my fair share of hippies so I know how to handle these kinds of questions.  I spoke vaguely and used words like "journey" and "vibe."  But I hadn't even finished explaining my travel plans when The Prophet felt the abrupt supernatural urge to tell me that I was emanating a water-like energy with a very positive flow.  Over the next four hours I only managed to speak about twelve words, mostly "Hmm..." "Yeah..." and "Thank you."  Despite the one-sidedness of the conversation he managed to intuit quite a lot about me (like that I was full of love and a child of the light), most likely owing to the fact that he had met me in a previous life.  He could tell that I understood well The Nature of Things.

There is a Seinfeld episode where George Castanza gets hired for a job based on his (supposed) ability to understand everything without having anything explained to him.  George and I have no idea what is going on but we can't ask for clarification without giving ourselves away.  Just nod and smile, nod and smile.

"But I note that your physical body is stressed."

"Well I had a pretty long--"

"Come.  I have just the therapy you need."

We darted across the main room and it was then we entered in the dark Ceremony Room.  He closed the door. I heard the unmistakable footsteps of a Colombian mother shuffling around in the main room and suddenly I understood why we were whispering and sneaking around.  Wizardry and the likes are not generally looked upon kindly in Catholic society.

With the flame of the candle he lit a gnarled stick and began waving the smoke in geometric patterns in front of his face.  He arranged the magic rocks around a shimmering chalice of clear liquid and a San Pedro cactus that sat enshrined on a floor rug in between us. Then he asked me if I was ready to fly.

And I said no because plants that alter one's state of mind are bad.  The end.

[THE FOLLOWING ALTERNATE ENDING MAY OR MAY NOT BE TRUE.]

At that moment there were two voices in my head.

Voice 1: "Maintaining lucidity is advantageous in unfamiliar situations (like foreign cities)."

Voice 2: "You'll never know if you don't try..."

I closed my eyes inhaling the acoustic minor chords that floated hypnotically among the mystic white fumes swirling around the room.  On the exhale my heavy-lidded gaze fixed on the chalice. I took the glass with both hands and was surprised by its levity.  It was plastic.  I raised it, the liquid glittering in the shadowy candlelight, and I lowered my head to him in a nod of honor.  Our eyes locked.  I brought the rim slowly to my lips and drank.

It went down smooth... too smooth.  San Pedro is thick, like aloe vera (from what I hear...).  

The chalice was a cup of water.  I was very confused.  But I did not show it.  George Castanza.

Halem was still talking.

"For example, I never knew that the Queen of England was a Reptiliano......."
While he carried on about his visions of the Fourth Dimension his fingers were working to untie the knot of a small artisenal draw-string purse.  Inside of which there was another smaller bag.  Inside of which there was another smaller bag.  Inside of which there was a fine powder that he sprinkled on the flame to make it flash little star sparkles that reminded me of the Fourth of July.  

"I would like to take a moment to thank the Pachamama for bringing you here tonight."  A tear flowed down his cheek into his beard.  "Because--" (voice choke) "I don´t know how much longer I will be here.  The Reptilianos know I'm enlightened and they don't like it."

I wondered how long this could possibly go on.  I considered activating the fake phone call on my phone (my Go-To escape plan for these kind of situations) but I didn't have it in me to break our hyper-spiritual connection for something as banal and wordly as a cell phone.  But the show had gone on long enough.

I let my head roll back as if falling into a reggae-induced trance and waited for him to take a breath in his endless prayer/song/conversation (hard to distinguish the three).  When the moment came, I suddenly resurrected myself to declare that my body had been filled with peace and tranquility and that it was entering into the Unconscious Night Dimension (also known as "Sleep").  He seemed disappointed and somewhat surprised, as if he had been sending me telepathic messages and was just realizing that some of them hadn't gone through properly. 

I changed and brushed my teeth as quickly as was appropriate for the half-conscious zombie state I had declared myself to be in and made a beeline for the bed.  I was intercepted at the last second by an open-armed request for a Soul Hug.  I obliged, awkwardly embracing him while kneeling on the bed.  Three minutes passed.  He was mumbling a prayer in a voice so low and sleepy that the only words I caught were "universe," "mother" and “plants.”

(To be continued...)