_{An important note here: The Misa is my Medicine Bundle that was created throughout my training and continued learning. As I continue to learn and grow, my Misa changes and grows. Like most traditions, there is a means of divination. And for me, this comes forward as clarifying an existing situation and clarifying connections between seemingly disconnected things vs telling the future. Also, my Misa Readings with clients are confidential. Any reading you see here is a reading down for myself, about my own work.}

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We are on our 20 year wedding anniversary trip to Spain. And in Barcelona, where spent almost a week, I was noticing some real struggles with the language. I was getting frustrated and I felt myself shutting down, and then also acknowledging that my crappy Spanish is the best option we have. On that first night in Barcelona, I woke up at 4am for no reason at all. I didn’t want to move or get up because I was afraid of never being able to go to bed again, so I just sat, and let myself process. And the language thing kept coming to mind. When I felt sadness, shame, guilt, frustration, hopelessness about learning a language that is so important to me, I realized I have tools for this. I remembered my brother and sister-in-law teaching me about EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique, also called Tapping.) And I decided to try. I was tapping on a point in my hand, and thinking through those hard feelings. And each time I would come up with a feeling I was having, I would tap, repeat it in my mind, and then remind myself that I am okay. I have seen some incredible success from EFT but I always struggle to use it as a tool. That night, I could. I processed all of the feelings that came to me, until the only things that were coming up were things like, I really like my wife. (Which is a pretty awesome thing to know is still true.) Funny side note: after I fell back asleep, I dreamt about how much I like my partner, and was thinking about proposing to her, and eventually realized that we were already married.

While walking around Barcelona we saw a store called “Inca” with a bunch of products that looked “Native”. I HAD TO GO IN. I was fully expecting there to be almost offensive level of appropriation and “authentic” knick-nicks. And while I did see many of the things I would assume to be appropriated, I also then saw a keychain with a chakana on it. The chakana is a symbol of Peru, and it has also become a symbol of my path to me, and also is a large part of my personal logo. But it is the first time (in person) I have seen a chakana for sale. It got me thinking that this might be something. I saw some cool flutes, bags, jewelry. And I saw some in-expensive rings with symbols carved in them. And while I wanted some of the items, I realized I tend to get over excited and just bought the chakana keychain.

In another shop, I saw something about the Inca. Near our apartment, I saw a Peruvian Restaurant, and finally I needed to understand about the connection between Peru and Barcelona. After searching online and reading for a bit, I learned that there have been large waves of immigrants from Peru to Barcelona for over 150 years. And understanding the feeling of cultural and literal genocide by a larger power ~ Barcelona opened their arms to the Peruvian immigrants. Which means that, The Inca store I was in, was authentic. There really were Peruvian natives that were carrying forward their culture and faith in Barcelona. And my Misa told me, that if I made it back downtown, I needed to go to that store, and buy one of the rings with a chakana pattern. (We did end up going back and purchasing one.)

Let’s fast forward to San Sebastián. When I arrived in our apartment here, my Misa wanted to be opened. When I opened it up, it was being very specific on how each pieces was to be placed. I did not intend to set this up for a reading, but simply how I open it up in a new space as a bit of a welcoming. My Misa told me to place a specific Khuya on top of another Khuya, but rotate it specifically to point towards the East. It told me to stack several other pieces. It told me to put a flat item to stack on top of a spherical item. And I was like, this is honestly not going to work. And they said, Why else did we ask you to get that ring? And that is when I realized that this was a reading for me.

Before I tell you about the reading, let me tell you about the trauma I now know it is about. I would like to preface this story with: my shadows are not other people’s responsibility. I know that my parents were doing the best they could, with what they had.

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When I was 7, I learned I had a dad because my father showed up on our apartments door step. Within a few days, we left my mom and sister for me to go away with him for a year. I did not recall anytime in my life that I had left our tiny city. (Compared to today, 1987 Traverse City feels tiny.) We left in a car I had never seen with a guy I met a few days before to visit places far past where I had ever been. We were planning to go to the military base he lived on in Heidelberg, Germany. But as my father was so excited to see me, and to introduce his only son to his family, we went to Puerto Rico first. In Puerto Rico, nobody but my father seemed to speak English. My grandma, her partner, my aunts and uncles, and my cousins. I remember that a couple of my cousins spoke English well enough to include me in some things, but overall, I felt more disconnected from anything safe than I ever had in my life. I learned that this part of my family, who were so welcoming and kind, and wanted so badly to invite me in, felt to me like they were behind a sheet of glass, because I could neither speak to nor understand them. I was determined to learn this language. And promptly, we left for Germany.

I remember that when we got onto the military plane, I was handed a plastic baggy with a fruit roll up, ear plugs, and some ibuprofen. My father and I were sat in a strange row of seats next to the TANK that the US was flying to Germany. And when we landed in Germany, I met my step-mother, and step-siblings. They were from Atlanta, Georgia so we spoke the same language, but goodness did we have different outlooks on life.

This was probably the most traumatic year of my life. Nothing felt stable, nothing felt safe, nothing felt solid. I made friends on the military base, I went to school, I was a kid. And outside of the tiny bubble that was our base, nobody spoke English.

I remember a couple of times where I would go on Volksmarches. Looking it up now, I see that this term is for a non-competitive peoples march across Germany originally set up in the 1960’s. We would go miles and miles and miles. But I wasn’t a runner, and no matter the level of competitiveness intended, my dad wanted to win. (To be fair, he did win the several marathons in Germany that year.) But I remember walking from town to town, knowing my dad would meet my at the finish line. There were a couple that my step-siblings went with me on, and then a couple where they refused. So there was a 7 year old me, walking across the German countryside, with hardly a word of German, and looking for the end of the path. (People were very kind even if they couldn’t speak to me, people fed me in the towns.) I also have a very powerful and fond memory of one time that I was still with my dad on one of these volksmarches, and we stopped along side a country road and ate pears that were growing on a tree there.

The school did slowly teach us some German. Kind of crazy that within a month’s time, I went from not knowing that there were other languages, to feeling like I needed to learn 2 more to simply survive. My father has a very nonchalant feel about many things. I call it, “The Cabrera Crazy.” If you believe it strong enough, it is true. “Learning German was easy. I was shipped here, and I learned. That is also how I learned English.”

While it was not his intent, he made it feel like a competition. It was so easy for him to learn these languages, it was so easy for him to live life wherever he needed to. And each time he would note his skill, I would feel like it was a dig on me that I didn’t instantly pick up these languages. I started feeling the shame, guilt, powerlessness, hopelessness when I was 7 because I learned of these new skills that I needed to survive and couldn’t pick them up fast/good enough. When I tried to speak Spanish, or German from the little bit I was learning, he would interrupt me to correct me. Almost every interaction with my dad, was him trying to show how well we could connect, and make it exciting for me to want to be near him. And I often could only see that he could do so many things I couldn’t, which would amplify my shame.

We lived together for that year, and through out my life after that, I traveled with him a couple of times to see Disney World, or go to Puerto Rico to see his family (my family). And each time, it amplified my shame. It amplified my fear. It amplified my inability to learn the language(s) that I felt was a live or die paradigm. Between the ages of 7 and 14, there wasn’t exactly great places for a poor kid in Traverse City, MI to learn a language. But I felt like I was expected to know it since the last time we had met. Until one trip where my dad seemed to finally decide that I would never learn Spanish and he would just do the communication for me. This really amplified the fear and shame that I had as it confirmed their validity.

While I was back in Michigan, my junior high school started offering Spanish classes. I tried to take a class every semester because I was so determined to learn it. I nailed the accent, I nailed the composition. Actually, learning Spanish in class helped me understand the structure of English a lot better. But I couldn’t do homework. Anytime I would try to sit at the dining room table to do my Spanish work, my mother would tell me to “Stop that, you sound like your father.” So I would go to my room. I would practice from my room, and my step-father would come into the room and yell at me because “your mother told you to stop that.” ~ This was a special kind of ironic cruelty because I frequently would get punished if I get less than A’s on my report card. But this took something I already felt so awful about, and added on the feeling of sounding like my dad is clearly a BAD thing. I felt like I must be bad for speaking my dad’s language, and sounding like my dad.

Between them, I got the overall feeling that I was in a competition that I didn’t consent to join, nor did I know the rules, and I had no basis to start. By the time I had a chance to start learning, my only stable adult figure told me that I sounded bad for trying. But I was still so persistent on learning because I was so excited to know my family better, and my teachers were so amazing. I remained quite conflicted.

Then there were times that I would travel. I have been to several Spanish speaking countries. And each time I tried to speak Spanish, it was like I had to have an internal duel with these voices cutting me off to correct what I was saying, tell me I was bad, and that they people wouldn’t hear me anyway. As I had the accent, and clearly look hispanic, people would look at me like I was really stupid when I would start speaking, and then not know a very basic word. This amplified everything.

I continued taking Spanish classes. I got to the point where there was nothing new I was learning in the classes. I knew all of the words, but couldn’t speak. I didn’t realize that I was blocked, only that I couldn’t do it. (This is probably also amplified by the fact that I am dyslexic and I always simply assumed I was dumb with learning.)

Continued learning. I had a 500 or 600 day streak on DuoLingo until something glitched and my streak went away. I gave up, I picked up again a year later. Got a 365 day streak. I started to see how the errors I would get in the lessons were not because I didn’t know the words, but they are the same errors I would make on a test in my native language, and I lost it again. Then I noticed all of the “once funny” emotional manipulation that the stupid application and icon gave me. I simply deleted it from my phone. And I gave up. I refused to try any longer. And when I say I gave up, I mean that despite trying to learn Spanish for almost 35 years, I am just not trying anymore. I can accept that I will never speak to my family, I can accept that I will not be open to all of those connections and relationships that I want because I am simply too angry and hopeless.

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Now, I cannot teach you to read a Misa. Reading a Misa is a skill onto itself that is learned through the process of becoming a Paq’o. But this particular Misa is built with and from me and my experiences. It speaks to me on a deeper level than it can others. Reading a Misa is most often a process of starting where I am drawn in the Misa and starting to explain the pieces I understand from looking at each piece, how it is connected to the rest and where energy appears to be flowing to tell a story. With this reading, it was almost like it just told me the full story. I guess this is kind of like when you first learn to read, you have to look at the letters, sound them out, and then understand there is a word, and then put the words together to form a sentence. Up to when you look at a page of text and scan to get the contents so you can quickly get to the next page. But let me break out the smaller pieces to help the you understand. I would like to start in the south of the reading. (Bottom of the image above.)

The relevant stones we see here are:

• (1) Anger Stone (Lapiz Lazuli)
• (11) Love/Condor (Blue Peruvian Opal)
• (13) Mystery/Jaguar (African stone)
• (18) Persistence (Amethyst Crystal)
• (C) Younger child/Student/Mentee (Stick)
• 1 leave of the Kintu (prayer leaves) increasing energy towards the stones
• End of the beaded cord. (Divider between in-body and celestial affect)

From this, I read: With the increasing energy flowing from the center (Cuzco), the connection to (C) those who need the skills I have to use and teach is helping to heal the (1) anger and (13) pieces I don’t understand about language and connection to the greater world (physical and metaphysical) through (11) love. I read this as directly, my family here with my on this trip, and less directly, those mentees and students I have, any members of our coven that wish to learn from me, and all of the possibilities beyond are working towards opening up while I battle the shadows I have around language.

With a flash back to the EFT session I noted above, I saw that this process was working towards allow me to release this shadow. (FINALLY!) From here, I looked to the north where the Release Khuya was sitting to read the north.

The relevant stones we see here are:

• (15) Release Stone (Pink/Black Jasper)
• (16) Stress/Anxiety (Obsidian and Quarts)
• (9) (In)visibility/(In)vulnerability (Blue Appetite)
• (5) Victim (Jet)
• (2) Relationship (Black Tourmaline)
• (A) Uplifting (Larimar)
• (E) Mentees/Students/Children (Toy Saxophone with world marble)
• 1 leave of the Kintu (prayer leaves) increasing energy towards the stones
• End of the beaded cord. (Divider between in-body and celestial affect)

The energy is slowly flowing to the (15) Release stone because clearing this shadow is rolling a bolder up hill and nothing in a person WANTS to do that. But where does the energy come from? (9) Vulnerability has been conflating (16) Stress/Anxiety energy for a long time. But with the energy from those (E) who need me, (9) Invulnerability is allowing (2) Relationships to help diffuse (16) Stress/Anxiety and as that is abating, the energy from this teaching and divine space is starting to flow slowly to the (15) Release stone. The (A) Larimar is helping to uplift the efforts of all of this from a teaching space, to a divine space, where it used to simply be a blockade to that energy.

This two above really illustrate 90% of the message, but most of the remaining Khuya that were part of this reading were in the East.

All of this goes back to the basic reading I had initially. You now have the capacity to deal with this shadow, and with the EFT I released it. And this is a huge step towards helping me, my immediate family, my greater family, and the world in which I choose to offer up my energy.

Well played, Misa, Well Played.