Previously: Part 4, in which we journey into the jungle and I am afraid of water.
So, I feel like it would be fair to say up front that there’s an awful lot about the ceremonies I don’t remember.
I’ll wait in case anyone wants to storm off at this point.
Okay.
It’s not that I blacked out or anything, but what comes to you in those few hours is really an overload of… information? Images? Emotions? Yes. All of those. I took a notebook with me to try and write while I was in Peru, but by the time I was there my emotional state was so bad and then the experiences themselves so draining that I never wrote anything. And like a really powerful dream the further you get from it, the less you can recall most of the surrounding detail, and just the big images stick out. It becomes, like everything, a memory of a memory.
More importantly, I’m not entirely sure how to describe a good portion of what happened. I’m actually just sort of writing as I go and hoping by the time I get there I’ll be able to get something intelligible out. The funny aspect of how I’ve been handling trying to describe all of this is really kind of immersing myself in every bit of it that I’m able, to try and recreate as much of that mindset as I can. On my computer screen as I write I have Sarah’s posts that she had written shortly after the trip, along with an excellent piece written by a friend we made while in Peru (who was also there for the first time) and my fairly voluminous Flickr set from the trip. As I write I stop to reread a lot of what they wrote as well as re-researching a lot of things, all in an effort to feel connected to the whole affair rather than just describing it dispassionately from a distance. If only because I don’t think that kind of ‘view from above’ would help me convey it in any way. My point is, wish me luck.
As I said, the ceremony building (“building” describing a structure that seems too large to actually apply, but “hut” being similarly too small-sounding) was a large screened-in circular affair with a conical roof. Inside there was no central support pillar, instead the thatch roof was held up by criss-crossing beams. During the day, Mayan-style hammocks hung from the main horizontal beams but for the ceremonies these were wrapped up out of the way. The bathrooms (we made sure to note) were hidden behind a half wall in the back. Most of the rest of the floor was taken up with with sleeping mats, each of which came with a pillow, a blanket, a metal cup of water, a hospital pan and a roll of toilet paper. Around the outer ring of the room were fifteen or so lounge chairs, in the middle of which were three large office chairs and a small rug. On the rug was an enormous collection of various religious idols, Buddhas, crystals, marble spheres, a Lucky Cat or two and even a small statue of Yoda.
I know, and I’ll explain.
Part of what Hamilton is trying to teach at Blue Morpho is what he calls “Universal Philosophy.”
“It states that each human being IS the infinite universe, the one universe and each individual universe is the same, whole. In universality we are the same. You already know everything. You are already whole. You are already enlightened. You just have not thought it or experienced it yet.”
– Hamilton Souther
He makes himself available at times during the day to talk about his beliefs and some of the return visitors seem to follow these talks closely. But while in many ways it’s central to how he leads the ceremonies, it’s not an aspect he tries to push on visitors. As such, I’m not really going to get into it here since it wasn’t my focus. However, one aspect of the philosophy is the idea that all religions and cultural ideas are valid that are based on Love, and you can worship or focus on any belief that works for you, because in the end they’re all the same, hence the collection sitting on the rug.
The lounge chairs were meant for return visitors and the mats for newbies, since ayahuasca has such a strong effect they feel it’s safer if the first-timers are already on the ground, so we chose our spots. Slowly the rest of the group trickled in and the same nervous energy that seemed to infuse everything so far began to build a little higher. We’d already learned what the extra items were for… The blanket for the sudden extremes in temperature we might feel during the ceremony. The metal cup with a small amount of water was there to rinse out your mouth, if needed, but not to drink. The round hospital pan and the toilet paper were there for more or less the same reason: an inevitable part of the process called the “purge” which is exactly what it sounds like. How it decides to vacate your body depends on the individual, and some will be able to calmly be assisted to the bathrooms, while others might have a more misplaced faith in the efficacy of their digestive systems. Around us would be several native helpers with dim red lights in their hands, ready to assist anyone’s plaintive cry, “Baño… Baño, por favor…”
Through the screens I could see dusk was settling outside. Finally, Hamilton entered, followed by the shaman who had trained him, an older, smaller Quechua Indian called Don Alberto. For every bit of California charm that Hamilton exuded, it was surpassed by his mentor’s aura of vitality and wisdom. You knew he knew things, things you could never understand, or at least that’s how it seemed to me. They sat in the two largest chairs on either side of the small rug and pulled out two large bottles containing a viscous brown sludge, the ayahuasca, and set them upon the floor. Hamilton spoke briefly about the ceremony as the light outside continued to dim.
He and Don Alberto lit their mapachos, cigarettes made from an extremely potent South American tobacco, and began blowing the smoke over themselves as a means of cleansing before doing the same with both bottles. Mixed in with the smoke were the first stirrings of the icaros, the medicine songs sung by the shamans in order to call forth the plant spirits, to clear the room of dark energy and to bring on the mareación, the actual visionary journey we were all there for. The icaros at this point were not much more than a soft, whispery whistle, blown into the bottle of ayahuasca, and in the expectant silence of the room it was a compelling and soothing sound. Each shaman had a small tin cup he filled with the thick liquid and began the same process of blowing tobacco smoke and whistling into the cup before eventually drinking. Hamilton joked that Don Alberto had taken a “jungle dose,” a nearly full cup.
One by one, the process was repeated as each person in the outer ring of seats came and sat in front of one of the shamans to receive their dose. The maestro, a word they were using interchangeably with shaman, would pour an amount either requested by or which they felt sufficient for the person, blow mapacho smoke into the cup and whistle a soft icaros intended for that individual. The woman from the bus with the friendly face was one of the first to drink and as she received the cup she held it aloft and toasted, “Salut!” All of us responded.
Watching was like sitting in a roller coaster just as it leaves the station, and as each person toasted “Salut!” and drank you saw their car latch onto the chain taking them up the first big drop. Eventually, everyone on the outer ring was done and it was time for the first-timers on the mats to begin. Because of where I was sitting, that meant me. I went up and knelt in front of Hamilton as he poured about a quarter of the way up the tin cup, the amount he recommended for those who’d never tried it before. He blew the smoke and whistled and I closed my eyes and tried to sink myself into the moment, which was pretty impossible given the amount of expectation I felt. I accepted the cup and held it momentarily, looking down into the deep brown liquid, the acrid smell hitting my nostrils for the first time. Drink it or you never will, you idiot! I toasted the room and downed the cup, and a taste somewhere between bitter chocolate, dirt and battery acid went speeding down my throat.
I went and sat back down on my mat. My car had latched onto the chain and I waited for the floor to drop out from under me.
Next: I experience something amazing and have a literal dark night of the soul in the bathroom.