I first met him, the shaman named Itzhak Beery, on a wet, cold NYC winter afternoon. I suffered from what western doctors diagnosed as asthma though it didn't seem like that to me…

I enter the small concrete block shed with several other curiously expectant people in my group. Dark, damp, fragrant flowers, swirling dizziness nearly sweeps me to the dirt floor beneath me. I sit on one of the benches that surround two walls of the small sacred cave-like room. As my eyes adjust to the low light, I make out the altar filled with interesting objects —  flowers, plants, bottles of potions, candles, smoking incense and pictures of religious figures. I strip to my underwear, as is the custom when receiving La Limpia…