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Tuesday, 26 April 2011

Vine of the Soul: Ayahuasca - Page 2

Written by Chris Perkins
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About three and a half hours into the ceremony we came to one of these breaks.  I got up and sat along the ledge circling the maloca.  I noticed a spark as Manuel, one of the shaman, lit his mapacho cigarette.  In the blaze I saw what was more than the face of a man.  It was the face of an ancient majestic healer.  I could see this innate knowledge written throughout the lines on his face.   As the spark faded we were left in darkness once again.  As Manuel started to blow an icaro into the air, a slight drizzle began.  Tones of breath gave way to a whistle, and the rain seemed to fall a little harder.  Just as he broke into full song, the bottom dropped out of the sky, and the rain poured down to the ground.  As it hit I could feel the energy being pushed through me and into the center of the hut.  At that moment in time it seemed like he had ushered in the rainstorm for a cleansing. 


I began hearing the screeching of what sounded like hundreds of bats circling the maloca.  Manuel was now slapping a cloth over his shoulders to the rhythm, and the harder he sang the harder it rained. I could feel the vibrations of the icaros radiating out and permeating my being, then reverberating up and out.  Up to this point my body, mind, and spirit have never felt so light and in tune.  I was a completely clear channel.  Every cell in my body felt like it was vibrating.  The notes rose higher and higher eventually bringing the ceremony to a close, and the rain began to dissipate.  The three candles were lit in the middle of the floor and Manuel came around to give everyone a hug and make sure that we were doing alright.  The girl across from me jumped up for the embrace with tears streaming down her face.  Everyone was grateful for what they just experienced.



We all got up for our trek back through the night time mist to our huts to try to get some sleep as we were all pretty exhausted at that point.  Lying there in the darkness the sounds of the jungle started to fall into their synchronistic rhythms as they usually would at night.  The rain was starting to fall again, and I could almost hear what sounded like a faint icaro being blown from the middle of the woods. The rhythms started to take on the sound of drums, and the patterns began to emerge in the darkness once again.  I watched as the patterns turned into feet pounding the ground to the beat of the drums.  It was a shaman wearing a multicolored cloak made of leaves and feathers performing some sort of ritual, dancing to the beat.  He stamped his foot and pulled the cloak over his face turning into a birdlike creature flying over a beautiful landscape eventually landing, only to blend back in with the scenery.  Engulfed in the rhythms, the vibrations, and the patterns of the jungle, I drifted off to sleep.

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©Chris Perkins

(Page 2 of 2)
Last modified on Sunday, 16 December 2012

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