Sastun: My Apprenticeship with a Maya Healer

denizens of the roadside that had once provided shade for humans and
shelter and food for wildlife and plants had vanished. The forest had given
way to new fields, roads, and homes as the village had expanded and
population had increased.
Still, it was a beautiful day and both of us were happy to be where we
were, at home with each other and nature. Don Elijio was in a playful and
happy mood, making jokes and telling stories all morning. We found the
Billy Webb trees and said our prayers in thanks to the spirit of each tree
before beginning. He carefully showed me how to use my machete to make
oblong cuts in the trunk three feet above the Earth to prevent rain from
splashing soil contaminated with bacteria into the incisions.
It takes a long time to skin a tree carefully, and it was almost midday
before we were finished. We had stripped enough bark to fill a sack for me
to carry weighing about fifty pounds. Then Don Elijio showed me other
trees he had stripped before and how well they had healed. He caressed
their new bark as if they were also his patients. They were.
We hiked further until we found enough Zorillo or Skunk Root to fill a
sack for Don Elijio to carry—probably another fifty pounds. This he carried
strapped to his head, Maya fashion. That method gave me a headache, so as
usual I carried my load as a backpack strapped around my shoulders. That
way the load rested on the small of my back, leaving my arms free to
collect Xiv and to wield my machete.
It was 3 P.M. by the time we started down a steep hillside that led to the
old logging road and back to San Antonio. Don Elijio was in marvelous
form. In spite of his heavy load, he seemed to glide effortlessly down the
slope, hardly catching a breath between stories. Above our heads was a
playground of tropical birds and butterflies. I envied their weightless flight
as I trudged along with my sacred burden.
Don Elijio suddenly slipped and fell, propelled forward by fifty pounds
of Skunk Root. I gasped. But hardly missing a beat, he reached out and
grabbed a sturdy vine. There he swung back and forth like a pendulum
holding onto the vine with the sinewy muscles of his arms. He laughed out
loud and said, “Ha! This is good exercise. I should fall more often.”
“Don Elijio, you’re a strong man,” I told him once I had recovered from
my momentary fright.
“Very strong,” he answered, as he slithered down like a boy at play.
“Enough blood and strength to keep a woman up all night long, kissing,