It was nearly 7:30 when nineteen-year-old César Espinoza arrived at Diego’s hacienda for his lessons.
From the Yucatán lowlands, a dense morning fog ascended upward to the hills like the first hard puff of smoke from a pipe.

      A bead of perspiration dribbled down César’s face and throat and he tugged at the neckline of his faded Gypsy Kings T-shirt.
Strands of dark ruffled hair lay damp and feathered across his forehead. He adjusted the headset and earphones of the CD-player
that banded his head.

      The sensual sound of a rumba now coursed through his ears and he listened as a man’s gravelly voice whispered a story and told
of an enchanting gypsy woman’s graceful dance and the passion she aroused in men. The background rhythms of strummed guitars
and a single violin filled his senses as he recalled this morning’s stolen kiss from Teresa, the young girl who worked for his mother at
her bakery in town. Teresa’s kisses were sweet—as sweet as the pan dulce his mother had packed for him and Diego.

When the song concluded César’s attention shifted. He popped the headset loose and looped the earphones around his neck.
Modern worldly things such as this were not something his shamanic teacher had much patience for these days. Distracting he
had called them. Just last week Diego spoke of César’s need to stay focused on his lessons, to pay attention to the details of
everything around him, no matter how minuscule.

      The sandy path crunched beneath César’s leather sandals as he walked past the two-story, hacienda whose walls had long ago
been claimed by creeping vines. And this morning, both the red bougainvillea and a vine with tiny, star-like, yellow blossoms were
heavy with dew.

      César continued down the gravel path, making his way toward a modest, concrete-block house flanked by a crescent of small
hills dotted green with low brush, cacti, and henequen. The structure sat at the edge of a clearing about a hundred yards away.

      César stopped abruptly, startled at the shrieks of a band of yellow-loreal parrots piercing the dawn with their cries. They swarmed
from the treetops of papaya trees. A rustling sound and a flash of movement riveted his attention on the trail just ahead. The hind
legs and tail of an iguana vanished from his sight as it plunged into the thick ground cover rimming the trail.

      César edged into the clearing where he halted. A small flock of crows gathered in a silent circle outside the back house.
Didn’t Diego always say crows were the omens of change?

      In a flurry of blue-black wings and discordant caws, the crows disassembled and spiraled up and over the thatched roof of the back house.
César watched as they flew toward the hills. When he looked down again, Diego miraculously appeared before him, standing where the birds
had formed the circle.

      The old man smiled at César's surprise. He pointed his serpentine walking stick at the sky. The two men watched the crows clear the
hill tops, then disappear.

      Diego balanced his weight on the walking stick. A yellow straw hat perched at his hairline, framed his tanned face.

The thin white long-sleeved shirt he wore was damp with perspiration as was the white handkerchief coiled around his fleshy neck.
A flip top pack of Marlboro cigarettes sat squarely in his shirt’s single breast pocket.

      César pulled at the strap of the cloth bag he carried over one shoulder, readjusting its bulk on his slender frame.
"So, was that real, the crows sitting in a circle?"

      "They were real."

      "I thought I was having a vision."

      "No vision, just a shaman's reality." The old man began walking toward the back house, past obscure mounds of rock and

rubble camouflaged by wild grasses and time. The apprentice followed.

      "But it was magic that put you in the middle of their circle?" César slowed his gait to match Diego’s unhurried pace.

      "Maybe."

      "Then what is my lesson?" Cesar followed behind Diego as he neared the small ravine running in front of the back house.

       "Nothing. The crows came for me today, not you. Before dawn they arrived. We had a good talk."

      "And how does one talk to a crow?" César asked, raising one eyebrow.

      "In their yellow eyes you can see the future. I hear their voices in my head."

      "The crow means change is coming, right?"

      "Transformation begins with your first breath. Always things are changing."
Diego tugged playfully at the new growth of a goatee on César's face. "Like the whiskers on your chin, change comes from the inside out."

      César smiled and shaped his scraggly goatee back into a V.

      "You are early today," Diego said.

      "I could not sleep. Nightmares. A creature, half-man, half jaguar."

      "You dream of the were-jaguar. Maybe jaguar came to teach you night-time magic? Darkness is his realm.
The underworld is where he sees best."

      César shook his head. "You are my teacher, not him."

      César followed Diego inside the back house. César placed his shoulder bag on the square wooden table and took a seat
in one of the chairs. His eyes adapted to the familiar semi-darkness of the room, his nose to the residue of pungent herbs
lining a set of wooden shelves in a shadowed corner.

      The half-full jars of medicinal herbs had not been replenished in over a year, about the same time Diego’s brother, Mateo, died.
It was then Diego started turning sick people away and César's lessons changed from healing to magic.

      "My mother sent some fresh pan dulce from her bakery for our breakfast." From his bag Cesar removed the pastries that
were swaddled in a blue and white checkered napkin.

      "Later for me, when we are finished here," the shaman said, his attention focused elsewhere.

      Cesar helped himself to a coconut empanada and watched as the old man prepared his altar atop a wooden table.
From the shelf below, Diego removed a single yellow brick. On top of the brick’s charred surface he layered crushed
black charcoal and a honey-colored crystal incense. Striking a wooden match on the side of the brick, he lit the copper sulfite.
The crystalline substance hissed and popped, then burst into flames of blue and yellow. A spiral of smoke swirled up to the thatched
palm roof, and the stifling smell of sulphur filled the air. Using both hands, Diego fanned some of the smoke into his hairy, flared nostrils.

      César popped the last of the empanada into his mouth. Observing Diego, he now took some leaves from a glass jar and crushed them
between his thumb and forefinger into the palm of his hand. When the mixture was fine enough to suit him, Diego brushed it from his
hand and into a small, hollowed gourd. From the three-stone hearth in the corner he retrieved a kettle, and returned to the altar where
he poured hot water over the leaves.

      "This must sit for a minute," he said, passing the gourd under the boy's nose.

      César sniffed at the liquid, then jerked his head backward and fanned the air with one hand. Diego chuckled.

      "Smells bad, tastes worse," Diego said, with a knowing smile.

      The apprentice twirled the jar of dried leaves around in his long, thin fingers. "This is the vision vine you spoke of,
the one from your friend who lives in the Upper Amazon?"

      "Si, Ayahuasca. Very powerful."

      "Will I also have a vision today?"

      "No, you’re not ready to experience the vision vine. I don’t have time to watch a skinny boy throw up his breakfast.

That is usually what happens the first time. Most people get sick. You will be my observer. Soon, very soon, it will be your turn."

      From a shelf above the altar, Diego removed a small box, a bundle wrapped in red cotton cloth, and a blue striped blanket.
He placed the box and bundle on the dirt floor and spread the blanket in the center of the room. With his walking stick he
drew a circle in the dirt around the fringed edges of the blanket. His working circle complete, he slowly eased his body lower
and took a seat at the center.

      "Bring the gourd and come into the circle. Pull the curtain closed on the window."

      The frayed and yellowed cloth shut out the light as César loosened the fabric from the rusted nail which held it at the
edge of the window casing. The apprentice picked up the gourd from the altar and entered the circle.

      "Tell me what you remember about the shape-shifting lesson," Diego said.

      César paused. He removed his sandals and crossed his long legs Indian-style.

      "You will not become the animal ... ," Diego coaxed.

      César parroted the master, "but will be one with it's physical body and spirit."

      "Correct. What else?"

     "You will see with its eyes, hear with its ears, and smell with its senses. Your heartbeat and breath will be that of the animal."
César rocked back and forth trying to settle his boney hips in a comfortable position.
"Oh, and time is not the same. Like there is no time in a dream."

      "And through this connection, you become empowered," Diego reminded his student. "The vision is a gift from the spirit of the animal.
With keen sight, you will see the wisdom in the images, feel the animal's power to enhance your abilities and further your knowledge."

      "Before you start, can I ask a question?"

      "I know your question. I journey today because I must find the place where a woman stays."

      "What woman?"

      "A woman I must find, and soon. That is all you need to know for now."

      From the small box, Diego removed a piece of folded mustard-colored gauze and placed it in front of him.
Carefully he unfolded it, revealing a crude, wooden box, the lid carved with images of jaguars and serpents.
Brilliantly painted Mayan hieroglyphics adorned the base.

      "What is the writing on the box?"

      "It tells of Kukulcan, the powerful Maya god of creation and transformation. This is the ring I have told you about."

      César watched while Diego removed the treasure from its box. He saw a light purple stone inlaid in the band, colors
varying in shades from cobalt blue to amethyst. Lines, resembling pyramid stairs, were etched on both sides of the ring’s shank.
Crude, miniature carvings of a jaguar and a serpent encircled the stone. His mouth fell open as he gazed at it. "May I hold it?"

      "Yes, but do not put it on your finger." Diego placed the ring in the boy’s hand.

      The ring was heavy in César’s palm. "From the weight, it must be made of pure gold, no? And the stone, what is it?"

      "The stone is very rare - lavender jade."

      "It is most beautiful." César cautiously returned the ring to Diego.

      Now Diego placed the band on his left ring finger. All the fingers on the shaman’s left hand stiffened, then curled as
he forced his left hand shut and made a tight fist. "The feeling of the ring's energy is supernatural–electrical, what I guess
it must feel like to be struck by lightening and survive."

      César watched as Diego now grimaced and grabbed at his left forearm. The apprentice imagined this energy surging

from Diego’s hand and traveling up into his arm. His teacher’s struggle with the pain in his left arm and hand was apparent

as he quickly but carefully unwrapped the red bundle that lay in front of him, revealing the wings of a hawk. Diego now
reached for the gourd and gulped down the brown liquid of the Ayahuasca brew. With a hard swallow and a shudder, he said,
"You never get used to the bitter taste. The visions will take me soon. Open the door to the circle." Diego stilled his body.

      César complied. Leaning forward and near the line Diego had drawn in the dirt that defined the working circle’s edge,
with one hand the young man made a sweeping motion in the air. The door to the circle was now open to the spirit world.

      The room was dark except for the glow that lingered from the incense on the altar and one red candle Diego had lit and
placed in front of him. Diego had told César working in the dark eliminated the stimuli of ordinary reality.

      César focused on Diego’s face. His dark eyes were the color of crow feathers, his gaze also bird-like, beaded and fixed;
his pupils grew smaller. His tobacco-colored skin contrasted sharply with his silver, pony-tailed hair. Years of cigarette smoke
and altar fires had tinged his hair yellow in places, and the candlelight softened and illuminated the maze of deep folds and
wrinkles etched across his face.

      César saw Diego's body fall slack and his head drop to his chest. Somewhere both outside of himself and deep within, César

heard the piercing cry of a hawk. He imagined Diego heard the same shrill call as he left his body. A chill ran up the apprentice’s back.
He took a deep breath, centered his attention on Diego and waited for his teacher's return from the other world.

                                                                  ................................................

      Diego was flying now across the Yucatán countryside - high above the guano palms and ceiba trees. He felt his heart
pounding in rhythm with the hawk's as he glided on the thermals. No matter how often he had done this, metamorphosis
into an animal companion/spirit always seemed novel and extraordinary to him.

      Salt air pierced his senses as he soared across the blue-green waters of The Bay of Campeche. He felt the lightness in his
hollow bones, the cupping of the wind with each downward stroke of his sturdy wings. He banked right, turning back towards
the shore. With his penetrating gaze, he scanned the narrow strip of land that spanned beneath him. It melded into soft blurs
of brown and green which stretched ahead of him as far as he could see. Ever so gradually, miles and miles of swamp land faded
to lowland, then to Sierra Madre, low mountains as he flew free of the Isthmus of Tehuantepec and out over the Pacific, knowing
now he had flown hundreds of miles.

      Below him, at the tip of his right wing, were two sapphire lagoons, one large, one small. The sun warmed him in the clear, cloudless sky.

      Now he navigated northwest along the coastline for many more miles, occasionally passing over villages and expanses of larger towns.
Even in the absence of time, Diego sensed he had traveled a vast distance.

      Suddenly, again, he heard the cry of the hawk, as if the animal helper was signalling him of something. He narrowed his gaze, focusing
on a small outcropping of jagged rock along the shoreline and past the voluptuous curve of a placid, crescent-shaped bay. Slowly, he descended,
gliding and wheeling on the warm currents. He circled the shoreline of sugared beach, gliding effortlessly past cliffs thick with palms.
This was the place he sought, the quaint fishing village of Zihuatanejo, Mexico - a town he had visited and knew well. Diego sensed the woman
was not there, but she would be. He had dreamed her last night, seen her face. If fate did not bring her to him, he would intervene.

      Diego felt he could leave now, knowing at least where he could find the woman if he needed to. He set out on the journey back.
As lengthy as the travel had felt to Zihuatanejo, the return did not seem as long.

      Now Diego recognized the thatched roof of the small house at the rear of his property. Then he felt a sensation of pushing through
something dense, the roof palms of the back house. Now in the middle of the room, he hovered above the form of his slouched body
and César. Diego felt his body stiffen as his soul reentered it.

      Eyes still closed, he again felt the strong tingling sensation in his left hand. As he reoriented himself, a surge of exhilaration filled him.
He opened his eyes to the darkness of the room, not sure how long he had journeyed, but the glow from the altar was gone.
The red candle still burned, casting light on the face of his apprentice. He blinked his eyes and shook his head to clear his senses.

      Diego removed the ring from his finger and placed it on the blanket. He stretched his left hand by opening it and closing it into a fist.
With one hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck.
      "So, did you find the lady?" César asked.

      "I found the place I was looking for–the place where the woman is to come–a woman who is to come here."

      "Coming here? I thought you said no more people are to come here. You said–"

      "No more questions." Diego glared at César.

      "I'm sorry. It's just that you always--"

      "You are a foolish boy who has much to learn about the power of silence. I must rest now. Go up to the house. I left a list

of duties for you. The birds need their cages cleaned. There is fresh spinach and carrots for them in the kitchen. I’ll be up later."

      "Si." César sighed, retrieved his shoulder bag, and left the back house.

      Diego rose and walked to the window. With the window curtain pulled to the side, he watched César make his way up the path
toward the main house. César’s chin was tucked to his chest as he kicked at some pebbles along the path. Diego sensed his student’s
frustration at not being able to push ahead with his studies as quickly as he would like. Diego knew there were days when César wondered
why he bothered to study with an old shaman. But Diego also knew the other realities he had shown him were the real reason César stayed on.

      César would never again be the same simple boy he had been when he first came at age sixteen. He had been Diego’s pupil for three years
now and just last week celebrated his nineteenth birthday. Diego knew it was impossible for César to go back to his old world with his family
and stay for long and Diego was glad for that. The boy had a good heart and the old man knew he would make a fine shaman one day.

      The old man turned from the window and began reordering a shaman’s world. He folded the red fabric over the hawk wings and placed
the ring back in its box. With a few strokes of a broom, the working circle line in the dirt disappeared. He picked up the blanket, shook the
grit from it and folded it, and finally laid down on the bed to rest.

      Diego Jara closed his eyes. He knew there was time for the woman to find him. Seventeen days to be precise, before that one day in April
when the sun’s light would pierce the opening in the roof of the Maya cenote, D’zitnup, and touch the tip of the massive stalactite--the time
when he planned to penetrate the veil between heaven and earth.