The Shaman Returns
–by Mario Crescibene
The shaman and I walked through the Amazon in silence, the stillness broken only by the distant call of a mochilero bird echoing from deep in the jungle. He walked in front of me, maintaining a rapid pace that was difficult to keep up with. The humidity clung to me like a second layer of skin, the heavy air making each breath a struggle. Sweat streamed down my forehead in a steady river, and I could feel my frustration rising.
The shaman must have sensed my internal struggle, because
he suddenly stopped in front of a giant Ceiba tree—the tallest trees that grow in the Amazon Rainforest. He sat down slowly, resting his back up against the massive trunk, and then said knowingly, “Tell me what’s frustrating you.”
“How did you know that I was frustrated?” I asked, as I gasped for air.
“I could sense it in your breathing,” he responded. “Cuéntame, hermanito”—tell me little brother.
“It’s the Guardians,” I started. “Just a few days ago we were making a run at the playoffs, closing in on the third wild card spot, and even catching the Tigers. Now we’ve dropped ten of the last thirteen games, and the season already feels over.”
The shaman lit a mapacho cigar, the sacred tobacco shamans use during ceremonies to cleanse energies. He smoked for a while, the jungle coming to life with the hum of insects around us. But all of a sudden, everything fell quiet, and the shaman began to speak.
“The season is over when the season is over, hermanito. And from what you have told me, the Guardians aren’t out of contention yet. Have there been lost opportunities? Perhaps…but a mistake is only a mistake if we don’t learn from it.
Although I trained in the Amazon during my formation as a shaman, I also learned from many other traditions. One of the most influential teachers I encountered was Don Miguel Ruiz, author of The Four Agreements. He comes from the Toltec lineage of Mexico, and perhaps their wisdom can help you.
The Toltecs believe that all of life is merely a story—a story that we are constantly writing. And while we cannot always control the experience we are presented with, we do have the power to decide how we choose to react to it.
You see, most of the suffering we experience is by choice. And that is particularly true when it comes to sports. Sports can make us suffer deeply. But that suffering is also a decision. Are the Guardians eliminated from contention? No. So why do you say the Guardians are finished? You are making assumptions about where the future is taking you based on where you are right now. And as Don Miguel Ruiz says in The Four Agreements, “Don’t make assumptions.”
Does it look bleak right now? Of course. Are the Guardians playing well? Not from what you have told me. Does that mean they are destined to fail? Only if they stop believing.
You know, even though I am from the Amazon, that doesn’t mean I live under a rock. One of my favorite spiritual movies is actually about baseball—Angels in the Outfield. It’s a beautiful story because it reminds us that belief is everything. And when we truly believe, anything is possible.
When you start saying things like “the season is over,” that’s when you’ve already lost. Because you’ve lost hope…you’ve lost your belief…you’ve lost your faith in the team. And that’s all this team really needs right now: your faith in them. Because just like in Angels in the Outfield, the team was only able to win the pennant when they saw every fan rise to their feet and start waving their arms like angels—They just needed to know that their fans believed in them.
But there is an important difference between faith grounded in reality and blind faith. Blind faith is believing that the Guardians will win because some magical force is helping them. But true faith is believing that although they may struggle at times, they will learn from those struggles and overcome.
You see, hermanito, all of this is simply a story…just like the Toltecs say. And there is no story that exists where the hero doesn’t have to face trials and tribulations. Oftentimes the hero must fail first, and only by overcoming those challenges do they learn the lessons they need to learn in order to eventually triumph in the end.
And as Don Miguel Ruiz teaches, we must choose whether to learn those lessons or not. But when we take that step in our evolution and decide to actively grow, an incredible thing happens—the story we are presented with changes.
Just look at this mighty Ceiba tree. Look at how tall it is. Its branches reach higher than any other tree here. And why is that? Because its roots grow deeper than any other tree. You see…in order to reach heaven, we must first walk through hell.
So, are the Guardians in a tough spot right now? It sure seems like it. Are they out of the wildcard race? Not yet. You just have to believe…like JP says in Angels in the Outfield, “It could happen.”
I breathed deeply, absorbing his wise words. But then another source of frustration rose from deep within my chest.
“But there is something else I need to talk about,” I said.
“After the game when Cade Smith blew the save, I saw a lot of negative comments online and the negativity gets to me. Apparently, it was so bad that people were contacting Smith’s dad and harassing him, and now his dad left X because he didn’t want to deal with it anymore. I mean, I get the frustration. I feel it. But I don’t understand lashing out at a player who is clearly trying, or going so far as to lash out at their dad.”
“Si…te entiendo,” he replied slowly—yes, I understand. Then he continued.
“The truth is that those people are already suffering in their everyday lives for reasons that have nothing to do with baseball. Lashing out at Cade Smith or his dad is simply their outlet for expressing the level of pain they are in because they wish their life was different. And rather than confronting their own failures, they take out all their venom on someone else because it’s easier.
But there is another important theme here: There is a big difference between being competitive, and being a competitor. Those people who allow a game to affect them so deeply…those are very competitive people…but they are not competitors. They don’t understand what it means to have a competitor’s mentality.
A competitive person gets wrapped up in the emotions of the moment. They put so much weight and importance on the outcome of the game that when they realize they are losing control of the desired outcome, they lose control of themselves as well.
But a true competitor maintains their center in the face of adversity. A competitor can make mistakes and commit errors, but they don’t allow those mistakes to control their state of mind. Mistakes happen. It’s a part of baseball. It’s a part of life. But the sign of a true competitor is someone who confronts those mistakes, maintains their center, and keeps going.
Did Cade Smith blow some saves? Yes. But did he blow the season? No. And you have no idea where this story is headed. You have no idea if those blown saves were necessary for Smith’s evolution as a closer. It may be that he needed to lose those games so that he could win a more important game later. So don’t get lost in other people’s ignorance and their limited mindset. Don’t get lost in one moment and lose perspective of the larger story that is still unfolding. Because that story hasn’t ended yet.”
“But they are now 5 games in back of the wildcard race and we only have a month of baseball left,” I shot back, frustration still evident in my voice.
“But the story isn’t over yet,” he responded calmly. “As JP said…’it could happen.'”
“Coach Vogt’s job is to make the lineup. The team’s job is to play the game. And the fans’ job…is to believe. That’s it. You think the Angels would have won the pennant if all their fans hadn’t risen to their feet at the end of Angels in the Outfield? Of course not. It was the faith their fans showed in them that made the Angels believe in themselves.
Just have believe. Enjoy the roller coaster ride and let the story unfold. You never know what could happen.”
I breathed deeply, feeling a deep sense of peace wash over me. I looked up at the tall Ceiba tree rising high above the Amazonian canopy. I looked down and marveled at its wide powerful roots that dove into the rich Amazonian soil. And then I looked again at the shaman.
“It could happen,” I said, feeling a lightness in my heart from a great weight that had been released.
“It could happen,” he repeated.
He got up from the mighty Ceiba tree and together we continued on, walking down the path, toward a destination I did not know.
