Jumping on the Jungle Juice
A shamanic experience in the jungles of Peru.
(Apologies to those who have read this before - I'll work on some new stuff soon).
Ayahuasca. Say it. Now say it again, slowly. Eye-ah-wass-ka. Sounds dark and mysterious, doesn’t it? For me, it’s always conjured up images of moonlit jungle clearings, with eyes wide in firelight and sweat streaming from tattooed chests as the Shaman throws back his head and chants in time with the thump thump of native drums. Now, deep in the jungles of Southern Peru, I see by candlelight the Shaman approach, holding the bowl like a penitent, and extend his arms to me in invitation. Drink. It’s pure native Ayahuasca, and it’s my turn.
--
I’ve only ever smoked one cigarette in my life. Didn’t like it. Never felt the need for weed either. Figured cocaine was for merchant bankers. Steroids? Nah. Drank a fair bit, I suppose, but it never really did ‘it’ for me. So, I’ve never been a drug kind of guy, but the chance to do Ayahuasca in a proper forest setting with a real native Shaman sent a real thrill down my spine. Ayahuasca, the spiritual medicine of choice for just about every rainforest tribe in the Americas. A powerful hallucinogen, it’s a soul-cleansing, mind-bending, take-you-into-the-spirit-world-and-find-your-guide type of experience that really would be churlish of me to pass up. Let’s face it; opportunities don’t come along like this every day…..
…but if I thought this was going to be just another fun tick in the box for my own ‘experience-collection’, it comes with a warning. Don’t Try This At Home. This, says my guide (tour, not spirit!) Omar, is ‘serious shit’. Such is the chemistry of the drug, it puts people into a position where they can get deep into their unconscious minds, and not everyone will like what they see. One can expect a long and intense ‘vision’ where all long-suppressed emotions or traumatic events lay in wait, and as such, it can be very scary. This is why the Shaman himself will take the drink also, so that his mind can connect with yours in the ‘beyond’ if you start having a bad trip, and guide you through the experience….
It starts to occur to me that this is not fun. This is not an exercise that one undertakes to merely boast about at dinner parties (guilty!). This is virtually an exorcism – an expulsion of demons from the body. One imbibes Ayahuasca in order to confront the demons that lurk in the depths of one’s own soul, where you face them down, and then expel them through extended periods of vomiting. The more vomit, the more dark matter is present within. This isn’t known as a cleansing ritual for nothing, and it’s at this point that I start to feel the oily snake of trepidation coil itself around my gut.
--
Midnight. We are taken to a cabin set back away from the main camp. There will be three of us taking Ayahuasca, myself and two Americans. The Americans, being Americans, have brought along their wives, who start screeching and asking to pose for photos with the Shaman, and hover over him while he’s making the final preparation for the ceremony. The flashes from their compacts make me see spots in the dark. I look at Omar on the next bed, who rolls his eyes. Americans! Eventually, the wives are removed and we are alone, Omar, myself, and the two Americans. We lie down on our bunks and cover ourselves with blankets to keep warm – the ceremony will last for about three hours. I try to relax and control my breathing – am I ready to face whatever is in me?
The Shaman comes to me after the two Americans. The cup is small, and the liquid inside a cold brown sludge – it tastes vile, a thick bitter coffee that makes me gag, but I down it in one. Ok, that’s it. No going back now. Bring It On. I lie back on the bunk, buckle up and wait for the ride. The Shaman returns to his bunk, blowing fragrant smoke from a home-made cigar in preparation for the calling of the spirits, those spirits that will help pull the demons from our souls. A few minutes later, the American on my right starts whistling the battle hymn of the republic (my eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord….), which somehow morphs itself into the theme tune to the Simpsons. The Shaman starts the native chants, calling out the spirits. I open my eyes, and the world has turned green. I can feel every heartbeat pulsing behind my eyes, and I can see every splinter in the roof beams above. I am a dead weight, and everything is so heavy, the bunk below me is growing around me…and then all Hell breaks loose.
--
A kaleidoscope spinning, spinning, a man in a jaguar mask looking me from behind a tree, a snake’s body coiling itself around and around, I can’t see the head, just the thick body moving, the jaguar man breaks cover and lopes away, while the kaleidoscope spins on. There is thunder, lightning, I see my girlfriend standing over a baby in a crib (shiiiit!), The baby’s name is Ava. I hear the voices of friends dead and gone, and all the time the kaleidoscope keeps spinning, spinning. Colours flash and pop, the earth moves under me, I no longer hear my breath or feel my heart, I am no longer heavy but weightless, floating and spinning. I open my eyes and sit up on the bunk to find my body still laying down. I look at my hand in front of my face and it seems a long way away, and on the Shaman’s bunk, the man in the jaguar mask looks back without expression. For some reason, I begin to cry, the tears feel like quicksilver on my face…..
--
A hand on my shoulder wakes me. Omar, wrapped in a blanket, lifts me to a sitting position. I am back within myself, cold and thirsty. It’s time to go back now, he says. I nod and stagger to my feet, weak. At least I haven’t vomited, I thought, a fact which I mistakenly think of as strength, but the Shaman would in fact recognise as suppression and therefore weakness. Not to worry though, as we get outside, I stagger up the path like a drunk, the aftershocks of Ayahuasca still reverberating through me. As soon as the cold night air hits me, I feel the bile rise in my throat, and up it comes. Despite fasting since lunchtime, the vomit just keeps coming, probably just the Ayahuasca liquid itself, thick and black. There there, says Omar, it’s alright. Let it go.
BLAAAAAH, I say.
--
5am. We rise for a dawn jungle walk. A shower has just blown though and the forest is damp and silent. I sit outside my hut waiting for the others, calm and at peace. I don’t feel sick anymore, maybe just a mild hangover feeling. I know it’ll take some time to put into context the whole Ayahuasca experience. A lot of time to meditate on it, to formulate exactly where I stand and what I believe. Do I believe in demons? Have I really collected demons on my travels? Do I believe that Ayahuasca has cleansed me? Have I seen the future – will I indeed have a daughter called Eva?
Of course, to the Western mind, the hallucinations I experienced are merely a cause of the mind’s natural creativity and buoyancy, released by the chemicals in the brew. Just dreams. Dreams on steroids, if you like. Does Ayahuasca have genuine healing properties? Let’s face it, people practice Yoga, or acupuncture, in order to re-align their chi, or prana, or life-force, whatever you want to call it. The only difference is that these people believe that these kinks that need ironing out are caused by other factors, whereas Ayahuasca initiates believe that our negative energies are caused by those evil little demons that we pick up in life.
And my conclusions? No idea. I quite often sit at home though, re-living the Shamanstic experience with a great joy. And Eva is a really nice name, isn’t it……
View all Experiences from this member
Previous Next