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A Journey into the Amazon of the Soul Note: Before reading this remembrance, please be sure to read Part #1 Ayahuasca JourneysAyahuasca is a potent psychoactive brew of
herbs indigenous to the Amazon Basin. Commonly referred to as the Vine of the
Soul, it is a combination of a basis of two plants: the liana vine and the
viridis, or chakruna, leaf. It has been utilized since time immemorial by the
tribal peoples of the Amazon for spiritual enhancement, treating dysfunctional
states of mind and addictions, and to gain immense personal insight into one’s
own internal psychic make-up. While the brew is available in secret enclaves in
the US and other Western nations, I myself had awaited the right time, place and
guide for my first Ayahuasca Journey. Careful consideration, prayer and trust of
the good word of a fellow Shaman who had experientially researched the
opportunities, and Ayahuasceros, in the Amazon, led me to accept this as the
right choice. I was to be affirmed of this many a time in the next few nights. Night fell. We were called to gather in the
larger tent. Carlos, the Shipibo Ayahuascero who is to be our guide, sits upon
the mat and blanket covered ground, setting out his rattle, tobacco pipe and the
sacred brew that we were to shortly imbibe. Gilber sat to his right, fetching
and observing, assisting us to find a place to sit so that we formed a rough
circle. There we sat: Carlos, then to his left, Alan, David, myself, Maitreya,
Stephen, D’Ann and then, making a full circle, Gilber. Gilber’s son-in-law,
Roberto, remained outside in a hammock. Carlos held a bottle of brew the color
of latte’, the color of the river running by outside our tent. He blew a
whistling sound across the jug, and then poured a measured amount into a cup
made of gourd. Holding it slightly aloft he spoke, in his native tongue, an
obvious prayer, then drank the brew down in a gulp. He then said, with Gilber
interpreting into English, that we should each, upon receiving the gourd; make a
prayer as to the type of experience we chose. Studying us each with a discerning
eye, Carlos then poured into the gourd an amount of Ayahuasca that he
determined, in his own mysterious manner, was the dosage appropriate for each
individual, whistling a prayer/song over each cup before passing it to the
intended person. I watched as the faces of those quaffing their drink before me
wrinkled up in a contorted gesture of distaste. I received the brew Carlos
offered me, held it aloft to the Spirits who take care of me, asking for their
participation in this sacred rite, asking their companionship upon this journey
into the Soul upon which I was to embark, then set the prayerful intent of a
beautiful experience. I drank the bitter brew, my own face contorting as those
before me had done, and then handed the empty cup back to the Ayahuascero. Each
in our turn drank, partaking of the sacrament that we had traveled so far to
imbibe. After each person had drunk of the potent hallucinogenic brew Carlos
knelt over our bent head and blew a puff of tobacco, drawn from his hewn wooden
pipe, into the top of each our heads, a prayer of blessing and protection, a
communion, given forth. When we had all completed the drinking of
the herbal brew Carlos called out “Now! Smoke your tobacco!” Those of us who
by choice smoke lit our hand-rolleds or pipes and proceeded to pray with that
most ubiquitous of indigenous sacraments: tobacco. Tobacco, when utilized as a
sacrament, assists one in establishing commune with the Spirits and carries our
prayers forth. Fervently we each prayed, as it is a most common experience for
any person, no matter how staunch and brave, to have some trepidation prior to
stepping into the always-unknown territory of the Soul’s domain. Just about
the time that our tobaccos were completed Carlos let us know that it was all
right to lie down. This was a welcomed instruction, as I was beginning to feel
the onset of the initial psychedelic body-felt sensations of life force
streaming through my body accompanied with a mental expansiveness and a definite
‘wah-wah-wah’ of sound pervading my awareness. A few of us went into the
adjoining tent to lie down, while some remained in the tent with Carlos and
Gilber. As the sensations intensified the initial anxiety slipped away and a
great awareness of goodness, of rightness, washed over me. I relaxed into this
state of well-being and floated along the stream of consciousness that opened
with it. Just as I felt myself being carried away in the current Carlos began to
sing. Such a voice! Sweet, clear as a silver bell, his song sent ripples and
shivers of ecstasy shimmering through my body, releasing a cascade of colors in
my inner sight that exploded into patterns, shaped themselves into tunnels,
warpings of time and space. Whoosh! Into these vortices I… wait, no longer did
‘I’ apply, somehow… into these vortices Awareness snowboarded through the
cascades of light beyond imagining, densities of form more distinct than the
forest around me. And all the while Carlos sang and sang, endlessly singing
Awareness into the dimensions of the Unknown. As his song (a mere few minutes in
duration!) faded into a whistle the experience of bliss in having come to this
place of being enveloped my Being. My stomach lurched, a slight nausea that
abruptly brought me back to the 3-D world. My eyes opened, and I felt the warmth
of the bodies next to me rustling as bodies moved and stretched, while mewlings
and moans unbidden escaped their throats, evidence of response to each their own
inner journey. The unpleasantness passed, my eyes closed once more and I was
plunged into the Nether World of Light immediately. I opened my eyes, the world
around me was chirping with the sounds of the jungle: unknown birds calling out,
an occasional monkey howling, crickets incessantly rubbing their legs into a
fevered pitch, the warmth of the Amazonian night air moist and comforting. All
seemed quite normal, lucid even, a unique but acceptable night camping out.
Closing my eyes again the patterns and rushes of sensation overwhelmed me. I
began to laugh in the joy of the discovery of this playful interplay between
eyes open and eyes closed. Dimensional crossover had never been so easy! Through
the portal I slipped with the slightest exertion of my Will. A few resonate
muffed chuckles followed as I shifted into the sincerity of the moment, the
purpose of the Quest: the exploration of these realms made available by the
ingestion of the Ayahuasca. The intentful shift from elfish mirth into an
equivalent depth of revelation settled about and within me. The lucidity that I
had known with eyes open became mine with eyes closed. But it was not the
lucidity of perceiving the forest and pleasant comfort of bodies nears mine. It
was a rapturous ken of the Other Realms. The once ever-shifting patterns of
geometric intricacies bound with light were understood now as the forces of
Creation that weave our world into substantiality. My stomach lurched… It seemed that a wave of nausea had swept
through our small group. I heard one member off in the bush releasing his
stomach, loudly. We had been forewarned that Ayahuasca has the tendency to cause
one to purge. This in mind, and the added incentive of yet another camp member
bolting for the trees and vomiting caused my stomach to churn. I lay there for a
while fighting the urge. I was in sheer discomfort. A realization came upon me
that there was absolutely no need to resist the urge to purge, indeed it was to
be expected and was, by the words given before we began, a good thing. The
release of the stomach’s contents was a mechanism to aid in the release of the
toxins that had been driven out of the cells by the potent brew we had drunk. In
addition, we were told, when we threw up we would also be dispelling the
negative forces that had overtaken our Soul, be they fear, aggression, grief,
anxiety, whatever we each unto ourselves had held onto in our lives. Enough! I
crawled from under the mosquito-netting tent and stood upright in the darkness.
I turned on my LED flashlight and immediately shut it off. The imposition of
something so… foreign… caused me to shudder and stumble. Roberto, lying in
his hammock, spoke a gentle word and guiding hand (no doubt so that I wouldn’t
crash on top of him!) and I found my way down the slight hill behind our camp. I
had traversed this terrain earlier in the evening, actually, in preparation of
just such an inevitability. I had even chosen a spot where I could safely kneel
on all fours, away from the layers of leaves that were to be found all about,
and, intentionally, a place where, therefore, those big stinging black beetles
were not likely to be hiding! Scuffing a depression in the soil I leaned forward
and released. I coughed. The cough rolled into a gagging roar. Then, from deep
within my belly something dark and malicious was discharged. My whole body
shuddered, shook uncontrollably, wretched more and expunged the Soul of a
harboring immensity of ill. Now, one might expect an explosion of colors and
intensification of the psychedelic experience to have followed. Not so. A deep
calm, a peace of ages missed, settled over me. I collapsed into a fetal curl of
extraordinary comfort and lay there for quite some time in the cuddling embrace
of the deep Amazon forest. Ahhhh! I
arose, fulfilled from the experience, and began to find my way back to the tent.
As I took my first few steps back up the hill I saw a large white spider-like
being come moving swiftly down the hill towards me! “Howdy”, I say. It is
one of our crew, attired as his momma had birthed him. I smile. Freedom. It is
wonderful to behold. I slip back into the tent, met with the caring greetings of
my fellow sojourners, asking if I am all right. Yes, just fine, I reply. The rest of the night’s journey was a
peaceful riot of color and soothing rills through my body, especially when
Carlos would sing, as he did throughout the ceremony. Uneventful is not a word
to be associated with Ayahuasca. Non-dramatic, perhaps, and just fine with me.
As the experience began to wan a joyful, even silly, interchange began to occur
between us journeyers into the Realms of the Soul. We could laugh with ease over
our challenges, and excitedly shared of our Visions. We had been engaged by the
Ayahuasca for about four hours in this 3-D world. This meant that it was maybe
1:00 AM (do you really think any of us had a watch?!). We, one by one, slipped
into a deeply relaxed and recuperative sleep, awakening a short time after
sunrise feeling fully rested, energized, and hungry. Breakfast was prepared by Gilber and
Roberto, a breakfast of fruits and coffee. Now, I must be clear on this: I said
fruit, then coffee, because Peruvian people do it that way, and simply cannot
grasp that we North Americans drink coffee before eating! Tents taken down, gear
stashed in the boat, we set forth upon our third day’s adventure in the
Peruvian Amazon. Our boat chugged its way up stream as we
settled into the pile of stored gear and wooden benches. The awning over our
heads protected us from the blazing equatorial sun. Even I, who have a skin
toughened by years of living outdoors, put sunscreen on. The cooling breeze
created by our movement upon the water prevented the ever-present mosquitoes
from alighting. We passed by, almost as a matter of course now, a myriad of
macaws, monkeys and butterflies. Gilber, always the gentleman, was ever at ready
to slow the boat for an astounding view, photo opportunity or to stop for a
shore call. We began to see others upon the river;
Shipibo men, women and children in canoes carved of a single trunk of palm.
The
distinctive Alan informed us that we had come here to
avail ourselves of the richness of embroidery and tapestries that are the
hallmark craft of the Shipibo people, and that the prices were very reasonable
here. He warned us, however, to refrain from purchasing any items from
individuals that might approach us as we wandered the paths of the village, that
we were to wait and purchase goods only at the tribally designated meetinghouse.
The Shipibo, he explained, have an almost childlike attitude, and therefore they
are very innocent in their outlook, but also very jealous and easily take
offense. Well, despite this guidance, of course, it was hard to resist the
approaches by these wonderful peoples holding out their cloths, and some
succumbed to the immediacy of the sale. As a consequence, by the time we had all
gathered once again at the designated meetinghouse there was an uproar of
accusation amongst the various craft sellers about those villagers who had taken
an unfair advantage and sold to the visitors before all had had a chance to
display their goods for sale. Alan did quite a fine job of assuring the
villagers that we were all intending to buy plenty still, that there was no need
to fret. Amidst the entire ruckus one of our journeyers asked aloud “Shipibo.
Shipibo. Somehow that name is familiar to me. Alan, weren’t the Shipibo
notorious as head hunters?” Alan, deadpan, replied “Yes, but there hasn’t
been a reported case in the last ten years.” A slight chill blew through our
group, bringing home the seriousness of not paying due attention to the cultural
customs of these peoples. Purple hands shuffled cotton fabrics before
our eyes, showing us the unique designs and skills of each artist. The Shipibo
use a dye made from the bark of the mahogany tree to paint upon their fabrics.
Continual preparation and use of the dye has stained the hands of the artisans a
rich and deep purple. The
embroidered cloths the Shipibo offered for sale brought an immediate smile of
recognition to our group. There, before us, woven upon the fabric were the very
same colorful patterns of our previous night’s Ayahuasca journey! With former head hunting Shipibo tribal
villagers who stood barefoot, dressed in clothing made of their own fabrics,
broad white toothed smiles, cropped black-haired bangs, purple hands holding
forth tapestries of Ayahuasca patterned embroideries, gathered beneath a
thatched roof next to the Ucayali River deep in the Amazon jungle; there we
were. Who was president, and why? Were there really drive-by shootings on the
freeways in some far away place called the USA? Did people really stress over
their neighbor parking in one’s favorite spot on the street? Already such
insanity seemed to be just a bad dream, and yet we were but three days life
lived away from the absurdity we had come to know as normalcy, a reference point
of ‘normal’ that was to be forevermore departed. We all sorted through the fabrics, some made
into pouches and carry-bags. Foot-square embroidered cloths; shawls and
tablecloth-sized mahogany painted intricacies were chosen and bought. The prices
set were gladly paid, without haggle. These people worked hard to produce these
fine goods, and the monies asked were but a small amount in comparison to the
value of these items in North America, were they even to be available at all. I
wandered over to a group of men who were attentively sawing a log into planks.
They had a Volkswagen engine with a pulley set on one axle, to which was
strapped a long belt that rotated the shaft of a large many toothed circular saw
blade. The men gauged the thickness of each plank to be cut by means of a guide
made of a length of wooden stake hinged to the frame with a nail. This
functional guide was flipped towards the log’s flat cut edge, insuring thereby
that the thickness of the plank being cut would remain of equal thickness, about
1.5 inches. The log itself was set upon rails made of wood, the log being
chained to the rail to prevent it from slipping. The men would push the log
bedded rail forward towards the whining blade. I was thoroughly fascinated by
the ingenuity born of necessity that these villagers had utilized to develop a
minor sawmill to ease the cutting of planks for the variety of their needs.
Everything from boat building to flooring required the use of these hand cut
planks. Okay, it is a guy thing, but an integral part of the Amazon experience
nonetheless! Re-boarding the Normita,
we now turned and went back downstream, passing by our campsite of the night
before. After an hour’s ride we
turned up the riverway from which we had veered the day before. Our journey now
took us up the river for another seven hours. Once again our boatman would steer
the boat through alleyways of swamp and channel, cruise upon the turbulent
waters of the river, through the wide swaths of calm and slow moving currents
and all the while pointing out the amazing features and unique sites of this
varied landscape on either shore. More pink dolphins joined us, and were almost
always visible at some distance from our boat. Gilber entertained us with
stories of mermaids said to inhabit these waters, of how they would grab the
hair of women bathing in the shallows next to the shore and pull them under
water, taking the women to dwell in their underwater villages. Other stories
were told of male dolphins who would shapeshift into human looking men, pale
skinned, that would come into the towns and villages and seduce the women,
leaving them to bear distinctive and strange children who were also pale of
skin, and these could even still be seen to live amongst the darker skinned
native peoples of the Amazon. The mermen still retained their breathing hole
atop their head, it was said, and so they could be discerned by the straw hats
they always wore upon their heads when they appeared in the towns. Hmmm… light
skinned, hat wearing men who mysteriously show up in town, seduce and impregnate
the women then just as suddenly disappear. I removed my straw hat when in town
after that! Afternoon brought us to our campsite for the
next two nights. We had long since been traveling up a smaller river that
twisted and turned with the vagaries of the landscape and carved channels of
eons of torrential rain. When Gilber guided the boat to shore it was upon a
sandy bank that had palm trees overhanging. We climbed the small incline and
stood within a small clearing. A dilapidated thatch roofed, open sided hut was
near buried in the weeds. This had been our intended lodging I later learned,
but Plan B was in effect due to its disrepair. The jungle is quick to reclaim
its own. Roberto and Gilber set to mowing the grass with machetes… an art in
itself, believe me! In short order they had cleared the grounds and set up the
mosquito netting tents. We camp
members explored the surrounds and discovered more thatch roofed buildings
further along the trail that led into the forest. These were on someone else’s
property, and were not to be ours for camping. The grounds on which we were to
camp belonged to a friend of Carlos, our Ayahuascero. The friend had given
permission for Carlos to utilize these grounds for such purposes as we were to
embark upon. The land, it seems, had once been a productive farm, growing
bananas and coca, but now lay fallow. Gilber and Roberto had set out to eat some rice and chicken and the ubiquitous short bananas that were a part of every meal served us. Bananas ricos, Gilber referred to them. The rich sweetness of their taste, especially after being fresh roasted inside their peel, was indeed a rich and potent flavor, as the name indicated. We were again cautioned by Alan to avoid eating much, if at all, so as to prevent later stomach upsets. I opted for having something in my stomach, in case of nighttime upheaves, rather than risking dry heaves, and so ate lightly, as did some others. Having eaten I went for a walk along the trail going away from the river. Again I scoped out a convenient location for calls of nature, should it be required during the night. A large stand of banana trees revealed amongst them a suitable small clearing. Evening fell swiftly, as it does in the
equatorial Amazon, where every day is evenly divided into 12 hours of light and
12 hours of dark, a land of perpetual equinox. We were told that, as the night
before, we would begin our ceremony about 9 PM. As it was only about 6:30 this
gave ample time for a nap, to which I availed myself. An hour or so later,
refreshed, I rejoined the other members of our group, some of whom were also
just awakening. We sat and smoked tobacco, chatted and joked about our
situation, anticipating the inevitable beginning of the night’s adventure. The
cry and call of the denizens of the deep jungle increased with the full darkness
of night. A beautiful symphony it was, and comforting. We heard Carlos begin his eerie blowing
whistling sound, and thus knew that the moment was upon us. We entered the tent
and once again repeated the ceremony of the night before. Carlos measured our
portion of potion and dispensed it to us each. One of our group chose to abstain
for this night. Gilber spoke regarding the sacredness of what we were doing and
encouraged us to be purposeful about our intent. This night, as well, when
Carlos began his singing, Gilber joined in, and even at times sung on his own.
We all smoked our tobacco and laid down at Carlos’ direction. Truth, Knowledge and Understanding were the
intent I had set for myself this night. The sensate experience of the onset of
the Ayahuasca washed over me. If, by analogy, I were to describe it, the
sensation was as of a loosely stretched rubber sheet with a marble placed upon
it. As the marble rolls around the sheet depresses. Imagine now that one’s
Awareness swirls, in a spiral fashion, towards the center of the cone-like
depression created by the marble. And now further imagine that the marble itself
is moving about the surface, so that one’s Awareness is in an ever-changing
state of flux. Now, as the depression extends into a funnel shaped tunnel,
Awareness, with ever increasing speed, spirals down and through the tunnel.
Consider then that this tunnel somehow curves back upon itself, as in a
torroidal doughnut, emerging into another dimension. This was akin to the
opening moments of sensation as the Ayahuasca carried me into its embrace.
Spectacular colors and patterns emerged, multi-dimensional geometric patterns
the color and hue of which is beyond human descriptive capabilities. Through the
suddenly appearing and transfiguring tunnels of perception, dimension to
dimension, Awareness flowed, dropping eternally, endlessly, through the myriad
complexity of pathways. There came stillness, a stillness that was more total
than the time I had spent in the lava tubes of Mt, Shasta some years before. The
silence and darkness were complete. Within this silence I began to notice, to
feel, the presence of… Others. Extrasensory perceptions honed in on the
presence of these Others that seemed to be lurking in the darkness, seeking to
discern their nature and intent. Klieg lights of psychedelic enlightenment burst
into being, revealing the Others in a manner from which there was no hiding: the
Others were myself. Every attribute of my Soul in its archetypal form was there
revealed. Each moment of love and pity and greed and joy were present. I was
standing in the presence of the Truth of my Soul. Once my attention was fixated upon any given
archetypal form that specific presence was made known to me. Every quirk and
tweak of my nature, all the fulfilledness of exaltation flooded into my
Awareness, respective of each inherent essence. Once my attention was focused
upon a given archetype, its contents immediately flooded into my awareness.
Where there was any emotionally charged content, such as fear, guilt and shame
or, conversely, joy, beauty and exaltation, I was fully engulfed in its
experience. And once released the powerful sensations and images, memories and
feelings were there to stay. Unless… once met, the discomforting and
dysfunctional negative emotions were contended with through compassionate
forgiveness, then the disempowering emotionally laden charges dissolved, and in
their dissolution, became waves of love and shivers of ecstasy! Not that this
was an easy task, to forgive one’s own self, nor was a mere whim of intent
sufficient to release the judgment and anger held towards those who had
transgressed upon one’s self. Sometimes it became an excruciating struggle,
knowing that I must release the attachments to be free of the grip, experienced
directly and in a sensate manner with immediacy, that had wrenched my Soul. But
once released, Oh! The flood of freedom and release that became my Being was an
inspiration to go forth with courage in meeting each archetypal merger that was
to come. My body shivered, muscles twitched, spasms wracked my tissues as the
release that had come spiritually now exited my flesh. My body jumped and
shuddered and then it was done. In the midst of the denizens of the darkness
of my own Soul I began to notice a peculiarity. There were a significant number
of archetypes that merged in presentation and yet there was no content therein.
The realization came over me that in those instances there was no negative
charge of emotions associated with that specific essence. These archetypes
integrated with ease and fluidity. It was then that I began to understand the
process that underlies the phenomenon. The archetypal forces were in a state of
motion, a movement released from the bonds of self-control that would otherwise
be maintained through repression and denial. Certainly not a desirable state for
every-day functioning, but then, this was far from the everyday world. This was
a world of deep self-reckoning, and it was an opportunity to dive in and do the
clearing of my Soul that was exponential in proportion to the quiet moments of
inner reflection that was, in the best of times, the daily recourse of dealing
with my ‘stuff’. I dove. Years of backlog purged, and yet I felt not
the slightest stomach lurch this evening. A pleasant comfort, this. After some
time of the archetypes rolling through my awareness, these too passed and a
beautiful peace came over me. I say ‘peace’. I mean something so beatific as
to be beyond words of mere description. And in concert with the spiritual state
experienced was a concomitant suffusion of colors and angelic music rippling the
very fibers of my Being in orgasmic rapture. Every sense was energized as if a
bolt of bliss lightning was firing the totality of my nerves into ecstatic
eruption. The Ayahuasca drifted away from the 3-D
world back into its most holy of domains. Looking
into the sky above me the stars were like dewdrops upon a spider web, each point
of light connected by a silvery string to one another. I recalled how, in the
midst of this night’s journey, there had been present throughout a sinuous
movement approaching, moving through me, being a part of me. When Carlos asked,
the next morning, if I had met the serpent, I had an immediate Ah-hah! And said
that yes, I had. He smiled and nodded his head. All us sojourners of the Soul
lay in the soft warm afterglow, sharing of our visions, laughing at the
slightest thing, a love pervading all. We had been into the Other Realms and
come back with our stories to tell. We shared a communion, even the same
experiences at times. Slumber came drifting in like a fog, and a deeper sleep I
could not remember. Morning, for me, came with the sun already above the treetops. We had somehow convinced the Peruvians that we North Americans really did drink coffee before eating food, and they complied with our strange wish. Ah! Hot black coffee, a tobacco and the brilliance of a new day, all enjoyed sitting on the banks of the river, chatting with friends and making plans for the day. Gilber and Roberto set off in the dugout canoe. They paddled about a dozen strokes, gaining speed, and then unfurled a home made net into the water. A few more strokes trolled the net fully behind them. They then brought the dugout to a halt, turned around and paddled back towards camp, pulling in the net as they did so. Once the net was pulled they emptied the load of slapping fish into the boat’s floor. Smiling proudly the men hoisted the fish to shore. A full days supply of fish for our meals, straight from the Ucayali, had been gathered in a matter of five minutes or less! Some of these were roasted upon the coals, along with the short sweet bananas, and there was our breakfast. Sitting upon a log eating breakfast, Carlos
comes and sits as well. He waits till I’ve finished eating breakfast, smokes
his pipe as I roll a tobacco, then says “Tell me of your place.” Hmmm… I
begin to describe Sedona, Arizona. The towering red rocks, vast deserts and
trickles of streams called rivers with a greenbelt extending a 1/4 mile on
either side of the water. He has a look of profound incomprehension on his face
and it isn’t just from my poor Spanish. Ok, I think to myself, what is going
on here? I put myself in his place (which I am, Those boots were to serve me well, still, that day. Antonio, the farmer upon whose property we were camped, came by and spoke with Carlos and Gilber. Old friends met well, it seemed. Antonio had come to tend his farm that was upriver a bit. Carlos asked if I wanted to go see his farm. You bet! A chance to see some of the local ways-of-being was always a welcomed opportunity. Steve, Gilber and I set forth along a trail that led upriver. At times the trail was wide and dry, other times it became a slog through swampy bogs, with occasional logs laid down to walk upon when the bog or water was particularly treacherous. Always on the lookout for snakes (I really was looking for them, hoping to see one of the renowned anacondas or boas of the district), a found pole in my hand to steady myself while walking along the log, or to probe the swampy trail ahead of me to gauge its depth, we proceeded for about two miles. Into a drier opening, obviously having been cut from the jungle, we entered the farm. There were banana trees in abundance, and pineapple bromeliads, some in fruit. Gilber showed me then some bushes, ten to twelve feet high, covered in a bright green leaf. “Coca.” He says, “Please gather some.” Steve and I gladly accepted the offer. Coca leaves are highly regarded by all the people of Peru. It is a nutritious food, a mild energizing stimulant and one of the most revered sacred plants amongst the Peruvians, chewed by one and all throughout the land. In the high Andes, where people dwell up into the altitudes of 16,ooo feet and more, the leaf of the coca is utilized widely for its alkaloid properties that make the blood more accessible to the available oxygen, necessary to maintain adjustment to the extreme altitude. We gathered, chewed and returned to our camp. Alan informed us, upon our return, that it might be best to limit the chewing of this particular leaf, as the year before the USA military had sprayed the region with dioxin containing defoliants as part of their campaign against growers of the leaf. This event had sparked massive street protests, emissaries of the Amazonian indigenous peoples went to the capital of Peru, Lima, to protest the destruction of their farms, the poisoning of their families and the resultant inability of the people of the vast region’s ability to grow their crops. Carlos brought out his gathered herbs and
vines. He began to pound upon the liana vines with a wooden club, mashing them,
breaking the bark apart. Carlos was quite a sight, dressed in his traditional
gown of cotton that The day had grown hot, the humidity squalid, aggravating our numerous mosquito bites. We had been using Amazon bug repellant; fresh lemons cut open and the juice rubbed upon the exposed skin. Mosquitoes, we learned, were primarily a fruit feeding critter, sucking the sweet nectar from the fruits of the region. To them we were nothing more than a blood fruit. The Amazonians have a distinctive manner of contending with the mosquitoes: they keep a handkerchief in hand, always swinging and swatting, creating a non-rhythmic field of movement, keeping the bugs from alighting. Afternoon came and the heat was stifling. We all, us journeyers, followed the trail to where, about a 1/4 mile away, there was the homestead of the farm set upon a beach of sand. Stripping down to our shorts we dove into the water of the river, relishing in its relative coolness. Swimming and sunning, swimming and sunning, we wiled away the afternoon. Not a care in the world, not even a word mentioned of the travails of terrorist nations battling terrorist groups battling innocent people around the planet. Ahhh! Our daily wear clothing had become rather dirty and sweat soaked. These were washed in the camp manner: worn into the river, then taken off and laid out to dry upon the branches of nearby trees. By ones and twos and threes we made our way back to the campsite. A light early meal of beans, rice and fish had been prepared. Some of us chose to eat lightly, then we settled in for naps and shade-covered respites. Evening set upon the land. With it came a coolness, but also a rise in the incessant buzz of mosquitoes. This was the dry season, we had been told. However, a major rainstorm had come through two weeks before our arrival and this had increased the mosquito reproduction cycle out of proportion beyond what was normal for April. As we each awoke, or returned from a swim or hike, we gathered, the camaraderie between us firmly bonded by the shared experiences of our journey so far, an adventure which still had mysteries as yet to unfold. Carlos’ whistling drew us into the tent,
there to embark upon our next Ayahuasca journey, the third of our Amazonian
sojourn. We arrayed ourselves comfortably about Carlos and his altar. Again he
sang the songs of awakening the Spirit of the Ayahuasca. The familiarity of the
ritual engendered a sense of peace, a calm acceptance; something unknown to me
before in my history of engaging psychotropic plant medicines. As the brew,
freshly made today, was gulped and prayer tobaccos smoked, setting intent for
the nature of this night’s journey, strength was born of the comfort. For
myself the prayerful intent set forth was one of coming to know the Spirit of
Ayahuasca and the embrace of blessings. Lying down with my family of fellow
frequenters of the sacred quest within the Soul, the sound of hungry mosquitoes
played like a symphony of cacophonic vampires upon my nerves. Only inches away
from our head, separated by the merest veil of meshed netting from our tender
flesh, the world of the pests was insistently louder and more voracious than the
previous nights’ visitations. Whenever a hand might move to a closer proximity
to the netting than usual the mosquitoes would vociferously increase their
agitated volume, seething and poising for the hoped imminence of contact with
exposed skin. We found that we could create a sort of rhythmic cadence by the
purposeful brush of a finger against the netting, causing the critters to
converge and probe with increased buzzing in those brief moments. The expectation of having, at any moment to
come, a swift shunt into the Other Realms brought a curious feeling of
anticipation. However, after quite some time had passed a few of us began to
query each other as to whether or not we were yet experiencing the onrush of
expected sensations that would indicate an imminent transition. Philosophically,
some felt that the lack of intensity of perceived sensations were perhaps the
norm for having sojourned twice already in the short span of the two nights
previous, and that the third would of course be more attenuated.
I had my doubts, but held my voice, each of us needing the assuredness of
our own convictions in such situations. It simply felt, to me, that the dosage
was insufficient. Some time later Gilber and Carlos came around, asking how we
each, by name, were doing. It is a welcomed consideration to have the ceremonial
leaders inquire in such a personal manner. When Gilber asked me what was
happening, I responded “Nada (Nothing).” He replied, asking if I had yet
journeyed. “No. Nothing has happened.” I answered. Gilber then asked if I
would like another cup of brew. “Yes!” I enthusiastically answered. This was
exactly what I felt was needed. Carlos poured another gourd of juice, prayed
over it, handed the gourd to me and I drank. He then squatted over me and blew a
large puff of tobacco smoke over my head, quietly speaking to the Spirits as he
did so. After attending to the others, offering more brew to each, some of whom
received, while others were okay with where the Ayahuasca had brought them
already, Carlos began his sweet and enticing singing, the sound of his gourd
rattle sharp and distinct in the jungle night; sch-sch-sch-sch -schah,
sch-sch-sch-sch-schah. Moments later I felt the familiar buzzing sensation of
the onset of the Ayahuasca coursing through my body. Wafts of color swept around me, swirling,
twirling in Mandelbrot patterns. Galactic
spirals rushed towards me. As they passed through me I was fully aware of each
star within the galaxy, and of each planet spiraling about each home star, and
of the Beings living there. Darkness, eternal Darkness, void of form engulfed my
Awareness. Realms of light, amorphous and infinite permeated my Being.
Distractions, that’s all these were, for all their beauty, mere distractions.
With this sensibility came a collectedness of perception. The tunnel effect of
previous experience drew me in. I dropped, endlessly, endlessly through the
torroid. Through this vortex I dropped and then came into the Stillness. Senses
fully engaged, I felt into the discomforts that were bubbling up from within
this state of awareness. I was acutely aware of the persistent niggling attacks
of fear that would run their course, like the Bulls of Pamplona, running over
anything that stood in their way. These particular fears had to do mostly with
my fatherly worry for the safety and well being of my children. Worry is just a
negative prayer, and even knowing this, still sometimes these fears, even if
minor and controllable, would well up from within me. Control of fear is not the
same as being liquid to it, however, and so I had been in constant attention to
clear the surges of worry at their first sign. But, their persistence was
annoying. Not necessarily neurotic or overpowering, just annoying.
There were also other niggling nabobs of negativity that would
occasionally surface. All these, while individually no big deal, in composite
comprised a sullen chunk of my Unconscious that therefore did not abide in
peace. It was time to deal with this. The presence of the Sacred Serpent made
itself known as I set my sincere intent on resolving these conflicted states. No
mere wiggling critter presented itself, however. Poised above me, towering, was
the immensity of this archetypal force that coalesced into the image of an
anaconda snake. Colors rippled, patterns singularized into the holding shape of
the Sacred Serpent. I spoke with the serpent, asking what could be done to free
myself of the aforementioned debilitations harbored within my Unconscious.
“Were I to assist you in their release,” he asked, “what would you have
take their place?” This question settled within me. Without a ‘’thought
process’, I responded: “The weaving of peace and harmony.”
The Serpent gauged me, his eyes peering into my very essence. “Send
your fear to me.” He said. I gathered together all the bits and pieces of the
nagging distortions, bundled them and tossed them up to the Serpent. He caught
the bundled fears in his mouth. It appeared to me, this bundle, to be as an egg
between his jaws. I was aware simultaneously of two things: one, that there was
a vortex, a portal into the infinite on-existence of being, next to the
Ayahuasca Spirit/Serpent. The other was that, somehow, what I had just offered
him was a paltry copy of the internalized fears, not really the fears
themselves. He spat the egg into the portal of infinite dissolution and spat at
me with his words. “I don’t want THAT.” He declared. “I want YOU!” I
backed away in utter disbelief and fear. “Now wait a minute!” I cried out.
“I didn’t agree to that!” The Serpent looked at me with a look of disgust,
and then said, “What’s the matter, don’t you yourself wish to be the
Weaver-of-Peace-and-Harmony?” “No, I have more to be and accomplish than
just being the one thing.” I called back. But even as I did so, I knew that I
was full of it, I was sidestepping, ducking and dodging. My ego, and its fear of
obliteration, was rearing its own humongous head, putting forth rationales and
justifications for not stepping up to the plate. I knew that I had just been
called on my BS. Still, I struggled in the grasp of my ego’s iron hand for
perhaps a half-hour, my body twisting, writhing, and shuddering in reactive
disavowal of the obvious truth. Finally I could bear it no more, I was
exhausted, broken, no excuse put forth led out of the predicament the Serpent
had placed me in. Crumbled, humbled, I accepted the requirement of the Serpent.
“Yes, I give myself fully.” The Serpent leaned down, grasped me in his mouth
and swallowed. I slipped into the vast Nothingness of ego-obliteration. Peace.
Harmony. Yes. My mind kicked in. “Now wait a minute. How
do I know if this is really real, that all these fears have been dissolved? How
do I know that this isn’t just a trick of the mind to avoid having to deal
with these imbedded nagging worries?” Geez. Okay, valid point. How do I know?
I tossed this about for a bit, then went to the Serpent once again and presented
the quandary to him. He looked at me with a disdain and an exasperation that a
parent may have for his recalcitrant child. As he looked at me, piercing me with
his gaze, an awareness flooded my Being. There was a star of the most intense
and vital blue. And this star was a flower of the same color, brilliant and
blue. And the flower was itself indistinguishable from the single drop of
nectar-essence that dripped from the blossom, the drop of fluid the same
intensely beautiful blue as the star and flower. It fell towards me. I know, in
a manner that I did not know how I knew, that should this drop of nectar touch
my forehead, that I would reside in the absolute knowingness of the veracity of
the experience. In that same moment the star/flower/nectar touched my forehead
and… the tree under which we were camped ‘squished’, an audible sound, and
we who lay upon the ground were sprayed with the liquid released from the
tree…at one and the very same moment as the nectar, in the Vision, touched my
third-eye! My body sat bolt upright with a loud
exclamation of “Whoa!” I excitedly communicated with my fellow sojourners
what had just transpired. A keynote of Shamanic ‘magic’ is the convergence
of the internal and the external. While it is not an experience that, in our
Shamanic practice, is rare, it is always profound, each and every time.
Meanwhile, we were all wondering what had caused the splashing we all had felt
upon our bodies. The stars were clearly visible above us, so rain was out of the
question. We had each heard the audible squish, but had no way of accounting for
even that. Some thought that maybe a monkey troop had moved into the tree and
had urinated upon us. We even searched the tree. No monkeys were to be found. As
we were searching for an answer, the there was the squish once more, and another
shower of liquid upon us. I tasted the droplets upon my skin and found them to
be somewhat sweet (definitely not monkey piss!). The mystery remained a mystery,
welcomed and somehow comforting to us all. Throughout the rest of the night the
tree beneath which we lay continued to splash us with its sweet nectar. As we lay there in the mosquito webbing tent
we each continued along our own and unique pathways of self-discovery,
transformation and bliss. At one juncture I asked Alan, who was stretched out to
my left, how he was doing. He responded that he was searching for the way to
effectively release the ‘Little Alan’ (we all know the “Little Me’, the
one who is insistent in driving one’s life based in old patterns and fears).
He then asked if I had any suggestions. I replied rather blithely that once I
had figured out how to let go of the ‘Little Jade’, then I would let him
know. This, however, was, in my own estimation, not a response worthy of the
sincerity of my bro’s request. And so I next said to Alan “Hey. Call upon
the Bear, or Snake, or whomever you have relationship with, and feed the
‘Little Alan’ to that one.” Alan lay there silently for a short while,
then chuckled and said: “Yeah, that’s Jade for you. If something is
bothering you, feed it top a wild animal!”
I laughed uproariously along with everyone else, for it is in essence
true, my own way of transforming the demons-within. By this time we were all in the rather
mellow and easing-off phase of the Ayahuasca journey. Having been limiting of
the amount of food eaten for three days, and this being the culmination of three
nights of ceremony, a few of out fellow travelers got up and rummaged around the
camp kitchen for food. Alan slipped into a dugout canoe and went for a paddle in
the river. A few others of us slipped into a deep and peaceful sleep that lasted
till just after sunrise. Upon arising we feasted upon a breakfast of roasted
rico bananas, fish freshly caught from the river.
Now, these fish are whatever happens to come up in the net. On this
morning we ate piranha! I am sure you know of the notorious piranha, that in
vast schools will strip the flesh from an animal in mere minutes, leaving only
bones awash in the water. Well, it was these very same fish that we feasted upon
this fine morn. They are a very tasty, firm yet flaky white fleshed meat.
Coffee, hot and black, finished off our morning’s repast. As camp was being packed away into the boat we each said our final farewells to the campsite that had become our home, a place of sacred domain. Carlos approached me and asked how the journey of last night had gone for me. I told him of meeting the Serpent. He smiled handsomely, such an experience being the epitome of the Ayahuasca journey for the Amazonian peoples. I then told him of the tree spraying us throughout the latter part of the night. Carlos’ eyes got as wide as his smile, saying that we were blessed by the sacred act of the tree. Though we, in our limited ability to communicate (as my Spanish is only minimal), did not go into this further, it was clear that the experience of being splashed by the tree’s nectar was a sign of great import. As we sat there, talking and drinking our coffee, I passed over to Carlos the rubber boots that I had promised him. Carlos nodded his head in appreciation and slipped the size 10 boots over his much smaller feet. The return trip down the river was much the
same as the journey upriver; troops of monkeys, macaws splashing color about
with their plumage like an abstract paintbrush dappling reds and blues and
yellows amongst a palette of lush tropical greens, the simple beauty of the
Amazonian people carrying forth their daily activities on the river’s shore.
Gilber spotted someone on the banks of the river, standing silently, unmoving. Continuing down the river we sat and watched
the scenery, now seen with eyes of reverence and appreciation A few more hours brought us to La Perla Bed
and Breakfast where we resided that night. An exhausted and yet empowered group
of travelers we were. A wonderful meal, much laughter and reminiscing concluded
our evening. We slept a sleep well deserved. Morning arrived and we set forth by
boat once again for the village of San Francisco. There we were greeted by the
villagers. They led us to their Main House where the various artisans and
vendors had set their wares to be sold. Woven and dyed cloths, pottery, wood
carvings, paintings and beadworks, rattles and flutes, embroidered cloth, items
of clothing, all laid forth for our choice. And what a choice it was! The
plethora of unique art and indigenous materials were each so tempting, the
prices so worthy, that our main problem was limiting our purchases to what our
already over-stuffed baggage could pack. Carlos brought his family to be
introduced all around. He was still wearing those boots. As we began to wander
back to the dock to board the boat individuals of the village who had other
items for sale approached us many a time. I asked one woman if she had for sale
any of the bright and colorful satin blouses, ruffled and sleek, that the tribal
women were so fond of wearing. A light went on in her face (as if the
realization that anyone had an interest in their own garb had never occurred to
her before!). “Si! (Yes!)” She replied, and ran off to her dwelling. In a
moment she was back again with two blouses. I had in mind a gift for my
daughter, and so chose the one that was most her size. A swarm of women
descended upon me, each now offering the blouses, clearly of their own
possession, that they brought from their domiciles. I demurred, as I had already
purchased the one I wanted. Once more on the boat we headed to the city of
Pucallpa for some more citified shopping, purchasing such things as mapacho (the strong black native tobacco), machetes, herbs such as
Una del Gato (Cat Claw), Palo Santo ( oh! such a beautiful smelling incense
wood!) and… more bags to carry our goods. After a meal we returned to La Perla
for a final night’s stay. Arising in the morning we packed our bags
for the return flight to Lima, then on to our next destination: the Andes
mountains, Machu Picchu, Cuzco and a whole new world of wonder! But that must
wait its own moment of telling… Jade Wah’oo Grigori August 30, 2005 This remembrance is in the sole caretakership, intellectually and spiritually, of its author, Jade Wah’oo Grigori. It may not be reprinted or distributed in any form without express written permission of its author and must include this addendum as well as a link to this page and the email address of the author: JadeWahoo@Shamanic.net If
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