Good Morning, Don Jose' and everyone. Boy, I have a couple of stories that have changed my way of looking at life (and, thereafter) and reflect on often, in awe. One, in particular, was when my family rented a very old (300+) home for us to stay in northern Mexico for the summer. In traditional hacienda style, the rooms were separated and peered out to a nice, flowery bougainvillea laced courtyard. This was over 25 years ago. Although the home had been empty for sometime, it was maintained quite well by a shy, hard-working woman by the name of Rosario. She rarely spoke a word. This is an important feature for later in the story. Well, life was relaxing and quiet and slow, filled with books, nice ranchero music, dogs barking in the streets, and roosters crowing in the early morning. Nothing out of the ordinary. Mañana time was a super reprieve from the University life. It was hot, though. Hot! And, when the monsoons began to arrive, I was excited, as I love a good storm, and it cooled the warm air. One particular night, I awoke to a lot of loud clapping thunder and bright lightning. Rain was literally pouring down the canales, whooshing! I got up and pushed apart the curtain to watch what was happening, after lighting a candle, as I realized there was no power. What I saw that night, in particular, will stay with me forever. On the other side of the courtyard, it was still pitch black, mind you, aside from the frequent lighting, was a figure. The distance between myself and the other side was long enough that I could not quite make it out, at first. I thought it was my dad, at first. Possibly checking the generator? Upon closer view, I knew it was definately NOT him. He was in a gown of some sort, with almost a pointy hat. I was confused. And, mind, you, I do not drink, so it was not the Mezcal making this strange hooded man appear, even quite airy looking, from across the way. What he was doing, confused me, even more. He repeatedly bent down and up, down and up, with something in his hand. The same motion, for some time, over and over. I drew what I saw. At that time, I had no cell phone, and there was not a land line in the room. I wanted my sister or my parents (ANYONE) to see this. It seemed crazy. But, for some odd reason, I did not feel afraid, just profoundly curious and amazed. The next morning, even before that first rooster crowed, I grabbed my family and met at the breakfast table, telling them, excitedly what I saw. Rosario, was at the sink. Quiet, as usual. With question marks and smiles on the faces of those around me, Rosario (knowing very little English), obviously caught on to a few words I had shared. She walked to our table, with a pitcher of fresh orange juice and smiled. She told us what I had seen was TRUE! She had seen him too, many times, as she had resided there, to watch over it, when there were no renters/visitors. Where the vision was, turned out to be next to the residence' well. We were new in this town, and luckily enough, found the town historian at the museo the next day. Reluctantly, I shared the story, and he patted my shoulder, and told me I was very lucky to have had such an experience. He said where we were staying was previously a silver mint, way back in the day. He said there were tunnels underground, that led to the church nearby, and we're only accessed by the certain wells. He said, the one we were at was, in fact, one of those. He shared his stories that were passed down from generations of his own family, that knew of the Jesuit Priests, who used to help serve/protect the treasures of the mint. That, he said, might explain the robe-like, hooded features of what I saw he was wearing. The strange up and down movements with the thing (I drew it) in his hand, was, he said, an olla or ceramic vessel that one could put coins etc into. He said the vision was special, and perhaps he was showing me that there was treasure in that well and perhaps needed to be returned to where it belonged-being the church. So, yes, it was a dark and stormy night. And, I will never forget it!
Hi Mastiff4me: Great Story! Thanks for sharing that, 
(Pensando), I favor the eye witness. It really doesn't matter whether he was a Jesuit Priest, or not. What really matters is that he was showing you where a treasure lies. Suerte Guerita.
