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      I want to be La Llorona for Halloween, I told my grandmother after watching a Mexican movie.           

      Sacrilege, Abuela said, she is a murderess!

       At eight, I was used to my grandmother's threats when I misbehaved: La Llorona will take you away.

       The myth of La Llorona conjures up strange effects on Latinos.  Most children scream after hearing her name.  Many women cross themselves, saying "Ave Purisima," after mentioning her name.  And yet, some women—like my grandmother—smile after summoning La Llorona. The Weeping Woman did not scare me; instead, she fascinated me.  I suspected that La Llorona had a secret. Perhaps, if I dressed like her I could uncover her mystery.

Who is she, I asked Maria.  My husband Fred and I were at Maria's studio during our visit to Belize.  We had made a special trip to see her work.  Maria gazed into my eyes and asked: You don't recognize her?

Not answering, I carefully studied the statue--an old woman with a serpent headdress, wearing a skirt decorated with crossbones, and carrying an upside-down water vessel

She spoke to me, I finally said.

You're a healer, Maria said.

I'm a psychologist who sees herself as a seeker.

Healer and seeker are the same.  Both want to heal themselves, Maria replied.  Both want to heal the world.

Can I hold her?  In response, Maria placed the statue in my hands.  As I caressed the figure, Maria looked lovingly: She is IxChel, the Maya goddess of healing, medicine, and midwifery. She is our Mother.

I had gone to Maria's place to see her sculptures. But I found much more than art.

    I'll go with you, I told my friend Lola over dinner when she mentioned her desire to do El Camino.  Struggling with recurring cancer, Lola was courageous and confident about taking on the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela. My hometown priest used to talk about El Camino during Catechism class. Your sins will be pardoned when you arrive at the Santiago Cathedral, he used to say. As a child, I questioned whatever the clergy said, earning their accusations of being a Doubting Thomas.  Even though I did not believe the sin absolution story, the idea of walking El Camino intrigued me.  But I did not know why.  Did I have a secret sin that needed forgiveness?

My family name, comas diaz, means death and or dying in Spanish.  As far as I can remember, I have experienced a special relationship with death.  You see, death communicates in a strange way with me.   That is, it lets me know when a loved one dies.  For example, death speaks to me through premonitions, dreams, and physical reactions.  My first memorable encounter with the death of a loved one was during a lucid dream.  Dressed as a surgeon, I tried to save the life of a young man in an operating room.  “I hope no one died in Puerto Rico,” I told my husband Fred when I woke up.  “This dream was strange, ” I said.   “Dream?  That was no dream, you had a terrible nightmare all night long,” Fred replied.  The absence of messages from family that day relieved my anxiety.  When night approached, my cousin Alberto called.   “Our young cousin Chalito was in surgery last night after a car accident, “ he announced.  “Unfortunately, the doctors could not save him,” Alberto concluded.

     In the middle of lunch, my father looked into my eyes and asked who I was. This question stopped me in my tracks. For a moment, I forgot my father’s illness.   Instead, I remembered that he was responsible for naming me.

I grew up on a farm in Puerto Rico where I experienced  the full cycle of life.  My days were filled with domestic dogs, cats, goats, pigs, hens, and rabbits. As I took care of these animals, I learned to love them.  In particular, I welcomed the miracle of life with every new litter of animals.  I also encountered grief as I mourned the creatures when they died.  Amazingly, my nights were filled with different entities.  Lions, cheetahs,  giraffes, leopards, elephants, monkeys, and many other exotic animals visited my dreams.  Since childhood, I have been dreaming about the African wildlife.   Until now.  

I like to travel several paths. As a seeker, I know that I am not alone. I welcome you to this blog and invite you to journey with me. Our paths may be different—or maybe not. I can best introduce myself as a traveler. Although you and I may be different from each other, perhaps we travel the same road.

Curiously, I like to be in the borderlands. Between here and there. In such crossing spaces I feel both like an outsider and an insider—familiar, and yet, stranger. This duality has accompanied me all my life. At first, finding my way was difficult. When I was a child, I tried to believe what I was taught. However, my religious education fed my mind at the expense of my heart. I was thirsty for something that I did not know. It was not until I became a woman that I found myself. Spirituality, instead of religion, seemed to quench my yearning. My forebears’ teachings showed me the way. Mind, heart, and body connected when I remembered my ancestral knowledge. I am indebted to my ancestors’ exploration.