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12 A Journal of Contemporary Shamanism VOLUME 8 ISSUE 1 SPRINGSUMMER 2015 S H A M A N I C P R A C T I C E For five years I lived near Monteverde in the Costa Rican rainforest encouraged to go there by my first teacher a woman of Lakota and Irish ancestry who told me I would learn much from the trees. My house was small made of wood and concrete like most Tico houses but I had painted the entire inside and outside myself each wall a different primary color. The local people called it the la casa de feliz cumpleanos.It looks like a birthday cake very happy they would remark. My transporta- tion for those five years was a horse I trained named Chispa who lived in the field outside my home. The small normally peaceful town of Santa Elena was a fifteen minute walk up the road. Now every night for two weeks an owl had been hoot- ing near my window. I had never heard such a loud hootit alerted the entire rainforest. On moonlit nights I could see that this owl was huge. It perched high in a tree near my kitchen but the sound was so loud it might have been right outside my bedroom. One day Nani my friend and nearest neighbor came to say this owl was bothering her that she had a bad feeling about it. Nani who often knew things thought the owl was a messenger of no good. The murders ripped through the innocence of Monteverde like a knife through silk changing the inner and outer landscape of the place forever. It was the worst crime in Costa Ricas his- tory. I was riding home on my horse Chispa when the first heli- copter appeared headed directly toward the town the chopping sound disturbing the usually peaceful mountaintop air. Chispa startled at the sound and raced toward the safety of home taking refuge under the barn roof. Helicopters never flew into Monteverde the valley with its shifting winds was too danger- ous and the 5000 foot altitude was too high to safely make a passage through the rainforest for landing. Then Nani came up the road crying. Nani never cried no matter what horrible things were said or done. She had a good big heart but she had learned to be tough as life on the moun- tain sometimes held cruel surprises. But this day she came crying and asked to come in. Nani short with deep almost-black eyes was my dearest friend on the mountain. We were like sisters walking together every morning having coffee together nearly every day. It was Nani who had taught me to cook take care of my garden and shop. Nani was also as silly as I and the two of us giggled and laughed easily. But this day Nanis tears flowed into her tea. Two Nicaraguan men had robbed the bank and taken twelve local people hostage. They were trapped in there in the bank unable to leave. Already three shots had been fired and rumor had it that three people had been killed in the first hour. The ongoing siege was on the news and we turned on the TV to watch. As the drama unfolded Monteverde was besieged by the media both local and national descending like vultures and Monteverde was filled with armed police trucks cameras and strangers. One of the robbers lay dead outside the bank steps perhaps shot by a local policeman. The locals were told to stay in their houses most of the town was cordoned off so they were forced to watch from a few blocks away. It was like watching a show from another planet. They witnessed a few of the hostages escape through a window in the rear of the bank and run for their lives into the surrounding forest. All through the night the whole town was paralyzed. No one knew who was alive who was in the bank. Frantic calls were made house to house until word got out. William the mailman was in the bank. The florist. More shots during the night. The next morning one of the bankers convinced the robber to come out hands up and thats when everyone learned of the nine dead people in the bank. They were all people known by everyone on the mountain. Good people kind ones who had simply been in the bank to take care of their financial affairs. And now they were dead. The town was in shock. Once the media and police thinned out people stood in the town center day after day through night time candlelit vigils whispering. Many were simply frozen showing no emotion. How could it be How could this have happened The government sent counselors who held meetings for any- one to attend. People began to unfreeze and the tears flowed. A memorial of poetry dolls flowers balloons prayers stuffed animals and written memories covered the entire downtown. Every day new prayers more poetry. Huge black ribbons ap- peared on doorways as people tried to get back to daily lifebut they couldnt. Then the funerals began funeral after funeral pierced by the calling of the birds the occasional rumble of thunder all of us standing numbly beside grave after grave. Owl Warning Healing a Costa Rican Community by Rebecca Singer