It is perhaps one of many paradoxes of psychedelic use, that what conservative majority within our societies considers as drug escapism into hedonism, and away from duties and commitments of the world, can often lead – and it has led in my experience, to quite conservative view of life and values. It is not angry fanaticism however, rather is accompanied by acceptance of other paths and options – while pursuing simplified, quieter version of previous, greedy life. In my case, a trade off from solitary adventures, devouring the world in form of exotic, extravagant adventure and millions of pixels accumulated in my memory and camera, being everywhere, and wanting ever more, and yet not fulfilled, now left behind and exchanged for simplicity of family life, modest nest, in very rustic conditions of a backward middle-of-nowhere corner of Amazon forest.

I would lie if I said that looking through years worth of accumulation of stories and photos on this blog does not evoke some kind of nostalgia for the road, other lands where grass is if not greener, at least different. But one enduring lesson from the vine of death, even if at times we try to suppress it, is about mortality. I see clearly that greed of the world, no matter whether consumed in form of material goods or experiences, is a manifestation of underlying deeper anxiety about inevitable end of it all being quite near. The solution, again and again life shows to us, is never forward, faster, more, but actually less. We can not have all the women of the world, all the money, all alternative career paths. We may as well learn as soon as possible, that it applies to all aspect of life, and just we find happiness with that particular person, so let’s try to find peace in that particular place, ability and flaw we are given. Surrender, hardest of victories, to be gained daily, isn’t that the teaching of Christ refusing temptation of the world in his 40 days retreat to the desert?

To me, it does not mean that the world is evil, and that Satan is its owner, it means that unreined desire for it is hell in itself.

I started my adventure with ayahuasca not by any kind of extraordinary psychedelic, visionary experience, but as concrete physical healing, one not separable however from intellectual and emotional understanding. I had stones in my kidneys and associated pain while pissing, during nearly whole winter, in period that separated two first ceremonies and then until I went to Brasil. Finally, there in the jungle, standing in toilet, watching rain pouring outside, I realized that I am urinating without any problem, just as the rain in front of me.

That flow, circulating movement, is life. When it is broken for some reason, when the circle is not complete, when our blockages, stiffness, our lifestyle choices affect it, decay and degeneration begins. There is no flow in death, no juices running in dry stick.

Same thing applies to any nature, the one in us and the one “on the outside¨ alike, this is for example why often great wave of purge runs through the ceremony, pushing people down to their buckets, right when long accumulating throughout the evening clouds finally burst with tropical rain.

We go through same circular journey, harvesting, smashing, cooking hundreds of liters of murky brew, then concentrating it, drinking in the night and puking it out with what needs to be purged, emptying those buckets afterwards under trees where new vine grows.

Some have it hard. Having read a lot before coming here, they are suprised to have several ceremonies without vomiting, without visions appearing. The block is strong in a culture so focused on strenghth and fixed truths rather than surrender and flexibility.

Now the dry season should already be over. And yet our tanks are empty, water shortage, distruption in the cycle. We have giant pots of ayahuasca drying out, waiting to be cooked, and no water coming. In the time of climate change, the ones to first feel its effects are those who live like us, in tune with elements, not sheltered from them by brute force of money and machinery, petrol and pumps, able to postpone the direct consequences.

This happening in the very same period in which we are supporting indigenous Achuar communities fighting consequences of petrol contaminating their waters ( https://web.facebook.com/notes/psychonauta-foundation/to-give-back-petrol-contamination-in-amazon/2451079018477235/ ) shows us clearly, Standing Rock is here too, and it is coming to you. It also shows again the meaning of the medicine work.

If you are able to see that and do the work in the internal universe within you, you will have no doubt what matters in the world out there.

“Taussig wrote that the perception of the shaman as the creator of order from chaos mirrors the romantic notions of the Western imagination rather than the reality of shamanism. The anthropologist pointed out that the very talk about the shamans’ mystical trips to the heavenly spheres and their organic unity with their tribes is an example of a ‘‘fascist fascination.’’ This is clearly a reference to the scholarship and intellectual background of Eliade, the classic scholar of shamanism studies, who paid tribute to nationalist soil ideology during his early years. The anthropologist simultaneously took on those of his colleagues who associate order with good and disorder with evil. Taussig saw in the anarchy and disorder of Amazon ayahuasca spiritual sessions a helpful antidote to the Western ‘‘fascist’’ order, which is rooted in the European Enlightenment with its logic, rationalism, and discipline. According to Taussig, in this spiritual anarchy lies the liberation potential of shamanic sessions. If we are to believe the anthropologist, one of the Putumayo shamans he met directly pointed out to him, ‘‘I have been teaching people revolution through my work with plants.’’

…

“Taussig pisał, że postrzeganie szamana jako tworzącego porządek z chaosu jest odbiciem romantycznych koncepcji z zachodniej wyobraźni a nie rzeczywistości szamanizmu. Antropolog wskazywał, iż samo gadanie o mistycznych podróżach szamanów do niebiańskich sfer i ich organicznej jedności ze swoim plemieniem to przykład “faszystowskiej fascynacji”. To jasna aluzja do prac i intelektualnych korzeni Eliade, klasycznego badacza szamanizmu, który oddawał hołd nacjonalistycznej ideologii ziemi podczas swoich wczesnych lat. Antropolog jednocześnie uderza w swoich kolegów, którzy łączą porządek z dobrem i chaos ze złem. Taussig w anarchii i chaosie ayahuaskowych duchowych sesji widział przydatne antidotum do zachodniego “faszystowskiego” porządku, zakorzenionego w europejskim Oświeceniu, ze swoją logiką, racjonalizmem i dyscypliną. Według Taussiga, to w duchowej anarchii leży wyzwalający potencjał szamańskich sesji. Jeżeli mamy mu wierzyć, usłyszał te słowa bezpośrednio od jednego z szamanów z Putumayo : “Poprzez swoją pracę z roślinami uczę ludzi rewolucji”.

[ "The Beauty of the Primitive. Shamanism and the Western Imagination", Andrei A. Znamenski ]

I am often asked, why not publish a book about my experiences? It for sure would be more effective in spreading knowledge about certain things and issues than this blog or random articles somewhere. But I came to believe that certain things are more important than “effectiveness”, like truth and honesty, and we all shift our values from latter to former, that unreigned beast called progress could be introduced to his potential fiancee, harmony.

First of all, I love how my life became in ways, let me use this fashionable word, organic. So I think it perfectly fits the style, if I pass certain observations, insights to individuals gathered together, going already through similar process, hence willing and ready to receive, by direct conversation. It fits the style of off- grid living, rather than jetting around the world of my days before. Feels right when it’s done while scraping the medicinal roots, so far removed from extracted single compounds, in bottles listing countless side effects in tiny sings called print.

Because it is not only about romantic fancy of stepping back into oral culture. I think that is not a coincidence that now, when we are recreating / rediscovering ancient techniques of communication with the spirit world, reviving the mythical, that alternative to print ways of communication become important. There is much more than words that direct, oral communication can convey to those who are prepared to hear it, going through initiation, open and present.

Word is like a seed, and it has to fall on fertile ground. Of course, one can scatter it in thousands of copies, hoping that some of them trigger something more than intellectual understanding, or worse, blind quasi religious following.  But we have wasted already so many trees, and besides, there is a risk of devaluation of the message but making it too public too quickly. Many initiatory traditions understood it, most likely long before Al-Halaj has been executed for his too enthusiastically shared revelation.

The other risk is of inflating one’s ego, enamored with sound of own message, its impact, influence, income it brings, and in the meantime, its readers, always happy to receive instructions from the exterior, live in the description rather than in the experience itself. Despite “those who know are silent and those who don’t know, speak” there has been too many Oshos, producing countless volumes, financing their limousines, and binding thousands of believers in stupor of attachment, while both the herd and the shepherd lived far from what was preached.

Word can be countereffective. It can be based upon and point to the example of someone’s experience, and then negated and opposed by the one who doesn’t have such an experience, and therefore block him from it. Word is dualistic discussion, constant monkey chatter, that scares away many more subtle messages present in the cosmos of the forest. And it is through the forest that I am learning in recent years. It is good to silence oneself there to hear more, especially in the path of medicinal dietas, path of vibrating with the plants. When one reveals secrets too soon and open, not only they loose their potency, but one may be blocked from receiving more. Better to keep tuning in, refining that shared vibration frequency, and then enable others to join in the song, in full presence and participation, until truth and harmony is so clearly visible, heard and felt that it needs to be discussed no more.

There has been a lot of doubts on my path recently. About choices, about effectiveness. We left the jungle to see, after a year of sedentary lifestyle, if road will bring solutions. Less control for sure, that ever relapsing disease. Surprise, opening to something new. After continuosly working with Shipibos for such a long time I needed to step out of this beautiful but narrow format, to be able to open more again to intuition, less to tradition and routine. Routine, killer of joy, didn’t reward me in exchange with some extraordinary technique improvements, so I decided this ain’t a fair deal.

So we arrived in the mountains, into fairy land, some call it happy gringo bubble, but this time I came more mature, not as a seeker of illusionary unknown and rare, not as explorer who needs to go, with this characteristic modern western obsession, where “no one” has gone before, but as someone who acknowledges that he is a gringo and just wants to live. So free from internal obligation to produce images ( freed, in some extent, by their excess today, as well as eyes that are not of a young man any more, these small things that help to naturally shape fate, in the face of indecisiveness and hard letting go ), I was able to land in the Sacred Valley as in a substitute of home I am barred from. There is entertainment, there is more choice of food, more diverse characters to meet. Perhaps not so many as in London or Warsaw, but that is even better, not to go so straight from hermitage into supermarket. People are calmer and nicer than in my homeland, and so is the weather. Place to enjoy, to live. But of course as an addict of action, I decided to use the opportunity to continue a bit the photo / guide project, and when I saw post about ceremony with William Koroskenyi, a gringo healer I already heard about in Iquitos, I wrote to him. This was also symbolic, to break my time with the indigenous culture by drinking with a foreigner, as if I were back in the good old Europe. I came with the intention of being once again a documentalist, but shitty low light in the place and great medicine both ruled that my input and my experience will be of a different kind. So there are no great images here, perhaps, but the experience was a great one, and that is perhaps more important and another sign about the path to follow.

To drink in the mountains is a whole different game than in the jungle. In some ways, more challenging, as ayahuasca doesn’t really like the cold, but people not used to heat and mosquitos appreciate cold air one can sip when things become to dense inside. For me this cold breeze is also refreshing these days and brings back the scent of first ceremonies on the other side of great ocean. It feels fresh, it feels clean. I don’t think of sneaky spirits of the jungle, of devils and brujeria, I think about fast brother wind, that always was close to my soul. Sacred Valley is all about “hanan”, the high world, the Father Sky, condor and flight rather than snake and chtonic ambiguity of the lowland forest. I was always rather weary of these upward gazes, feeling they often conceal unresolved issues, smelling of priests, of religion, be it our own pious men in black, spiritual functionaries of Inca empires, or any other men of the high pulpit. I have always liked the doubt, the trickster, but trickster teaches the value of change, and I have grown weary of my doubts. So when I step into the maloca for ceremony with William, I don’t think it is a coincidence that I am walking the tree of life, from the trial of fire and snakes, towards the higher realm.

William works together with his partner Pamela. He has been studying Amazonian shamanism for years now, very thorough but also open to intuition, to being guided by plants and experience itself, rather than only dogma of the culture. Pamela seems to be more of a fusion of different healing modalities, of feeling, flow, touch and direct contact with people. William creates the space, the steady rhytm, upon which others can experiment, open up, and Pamela sneaks around with her energy. They complement each other in the performance, but more important perhaps, show the integration of this medicine, so necessary in this world of many gurus who claim to love the whole world because they are unable to hold balanced relationship with their nearest person.

There is a lot of setting up the space. Preparation, grounding, talking, explanation. Cleansing and calming.  Step by step, with no hurry, with all and each and every one in proper order. It builds the climax, it prolongs the session, it gives it added value, regardless of our belief about actual value of certain gestures, such as tobacco sopladas. This is good inspiration for me, often carried away by my impatience, by inner fire, dismissing the uncessary.  Ceremonial structure can teach about that – we can either slowly dismiss everything as superflous, superstition, just take our psychedelics with Brian Eno’s smartphone app and in doing so discard all tradition, all need for human presence and interaction. But by doing so we desacralize all world, bring everything down to utility and end up in the same loneliness and despair we tried to escape in the first place with aid of plant medicines. Yes, it is cheaper, maybe even faster to do our shopping in cashierless supermarket, but I enjoy wasting time with campesinas in mercado of Pisac. Yes, I could just get my potent brew online and drink it with unlimited diversity of Spotify soundtrack, doing away with mapacho smoke, but I want to feel William’s breath in the palms of my  hand. I want everything to have meaning. To appreciate. To live for the process, rather than just the outcome.

Not only with chill of nature around us I am closing sentimental loop to my first ceremony ever. Since we came from the jungle my sinus is blocked again, eternal problem since early colds of my youth. It subsided in the tropics, but here it is again, justifying ceremonial rape, medicine that likes a good reason for its use, and without it can easily turn into another mindless habit. A round is served, and we are ready to start.

Brew was very tasty, rare thing, but not impossible, when one knows how to cook. Mostly chacruna providing light, but some huambissa too, which I could feel, it is always more physical/medicinal in my experience. The first cup, full one, started coming up strong,  I purged, apparently trying to avoid harder work, and of course then regretted it as I sat just listening to icaros, feeling a little buzz. I was in a different position however then during most ceremonies of last year, when I had been in charge of the show and somehow responsible for it, this time as a guest I could really accept whatever happens. When the time for second round came, I was of course one of the few to take it.

William sings classical ribereno style, mestizo Spanish icaros, with rich, deep voice, long, stable, he walks around with his chakapa, sometimes sits down with a particular person. Pamela is more random, less predictable, her songs can go through different, sometimes unpleasant, sometimes touching, freaky registers, which for me is always more inspiring, closer to the primitive, improvised shamanism, far from mind and memory, closer to the moment. They asked in the beginning to keep silent, not to join them, which was a good lesson of patience and somehow allowed me to save breath for a right moment, when it came. Out of difficult time, as usually, out of sickness and crisis comes the best singing, always been like this, almost as if this was to teach something about paradoxes of life. And these icaros are from gift from the source, rare time when my plans disappear and my mind takes a back seat. It was a release I have been waiting for a long time, maybe even months of routine and rising feeling of resignation and pointlessness. It was also a powerful lesson in gratitude, some hints about healing with it my greed, all these things I know from my path, all these humble-yourself-and-jah-jah will-guide-I, that I keep losing, in my hunger for more. Make amends, ask little, and the right times return, in fact they are here already, just wake up to it, Mundo.

There are challenges ahead, but this kind of ceremonies gives strength to continue. Giving thanks, not only to the captains, but to all the crew who participated, co-created, even just by their presence, more so by kind words, smiles, gratitude. It all builds the house we want to live in.

The spirit is back.

You can find William and Pamela mostly in the jungle, not far from Iquitos, Peru, where they run Avatar centre ( https://www.eywainstitute.org ), hosting retreats and dietas, and where, is Jah permits, I will be able to visit, to develop this one night stand into something deeper.