Oso Mario, from whom I learned much of the ways of the red road, was, when I met him, the guide of the Circle of the Osos. On the foothills of the Sierra Madre Occidental, just on the outskirts of the City of Durango, Mexico, upon drenched, gritty clay-sand floor of the temazcal of the Osos, Mario and Lety, I listened, in the darkness, as he would request a prayer from each of us. I recall, one day, discussing with him my lamentations of having become separated from my family. I told him of my suffering and pain in my new world. We talked of circles and cycles, and he told me to pray. I had told him that I practiced no religion and had no beliefs beyond what logic told me was real: things I could understand through my five senses or my rational based upon information from my senses. He said that it did not matter and again suggested that I pray. "When you kneel, in the morning, to put on your sandals, or when you kneel, to lay down, in the evening, kneel a bit more, and pr...
Here, now, and temazcal.