memories of hikuri – don tomás and the oasis

At first sight I thought Don Tomás was blind. He is old, maybe reaching his 80s, but moves fast and with care. Ernesto thinks he can see perfectly, despite his eyes being a densely cloudy white. As though they possess a mystical kind of sight. He is much older than he appears.

We spent the last 30 minutes carrying our backpacks through the small town of Wadley asking for him – he rents small rooms on his property for 50 pesos a night – it’s the cheapest and most laid back place to stay – no party and no tourism. Simple rooms. Ernesto only knew him by name and we followed local directions until we found a lady who knew his whereabouts. It’s dead, the town. No one is around except for dusty dogs resting under dusty roofs and old ladies chatting outside their convenience stores. It’s a one street town, old western train tracks running through the centre.

We get to the property, a high walled garage on the outskirts of the dirt road, but he isn’t there. We drop our bags down in the only free cement block room, four walls and a window painted white with sketches and symbols of peyotes left behind by previous travellers. There are messages in English and Spanish, Buddhist phrases and permanent marker sketches of mandalas and lunar cycles.

Tomás arrives outside and Ernesto gives him 50 pesos. They talk briefly and Tomás leaves again.

There’s a tree, an outdoor oven, some taps and a small outhouse around the corner. We check the bed for spiders – a new habit after finding one in our motel blankets in Pinal de Amoles.

Bone weary from the trek down the mountain of Real de Catorce via 1950 Jeep Wheelies we collapse into dreamless rest until night. There are only two corner stores open when we go out, tuna and salad crackers for dinner.

Ernesto wants to find the goat herder who took him to the oasis last time (a point far in the desert with a man-made watering hole and three massive trees). We ask the people around the corner stores about any goat herders in town. They mention a few names.

One that produces goat cheese?

That’s probably Santana around the corner from the telephone booth up ahead.

A small gathering of maybe 12 people are listening to norteña folk music and dancing in couples on a side street. There’s a small disco light and people are drinking beer – supposedly preparing for the rodeo festival starting in two days.

The only light in the next street is coming from Don Santana’s kitchen. He greets us outside with excitement. He remembers Ernesto from last time as well. Lots of travellers from the world travel through Wadley. Italy, Argentina, France. He remembers them all.

He seems happy, Ernesto says. We hear the sound of a child from inside. The last time Ernesto saw Don Santana he was lonely.

He’s telling us about the rodeo in Wadley this weekend and how it’s the biggest event in town all year. About how to walk to the oasis and how to look for peyotes nearby – only pendejos pick the small buttons because it takes years for them to develop – he tells us where to look for the biggest cactuses. Wait, he goes inside and retrieves one he found days ago, take it. He tells us to walk to the oasis tomorrow and he will look for some peyotes to give us when he arrives at 2pm with his goats.

We create an offering in our room that night with jewellery, stones, notes, we’ve carried with us. I wrap the peyote in my red bandana, it’s the size of my palm and the formation of the buttons is powerful.

This is going to be a powerful experience, very psychedelic, Ernesto says.

Again we sleep, deeply, until late afternoon and we’re behind schedule. Manzanita soda and gorditas, a hurried stop for supplies – water, eggs, tortillas, bananas, tomatoes, coffee, onions, crackers, beans. That’s everything. Now a seven kilometre walk into the middle of the desert. We can’t get lost, though everything appears the same.

We leave the highway and two stray dogs follow us. It’s beginning to get dark so Ernesto decides that we camp beside a tree tonight in an abandoned corn field.

We set up camp and casually start looking for peyotes. Ernesto shows me how and where to look – it takes time for the eyes to adjust. Meditate. Be patient. Ask for the plant to show itself. Soon I start seeing small families. Then bigger. Ernesto finds two and I find one large peyote. All up we have four, abnormally large peyote buttons.

Ernesto muses, it feels like a blessing, to find plants this size.

At night it starts to rain, pour. The plants and desert dwellers soak up every molecule and we give thanks to the skies. It’s cooled the desert and given it more life. One of the dogs leaves in the night and goes back to Wadley, the female, Cajeta, stays. She doesn’t come in the tent when we open it for her. We feel her push up against the outside wall between the tree.

Ernesto feeds her some eggs in the morning from our pan and she eats greedily, searching for more, licking the dirt and pan.

The second part of the trek is more difficult. It’s rocky, uneven, spiky, dry. The sun is oppressive. Cajeta happily continues and drifts off occasionally, stopping with us when we take breaks for water and shade.

We see the trees in the distance, maybe another 30 minute walk away, so we take a shortcut that leads us through spikes, thorns, shrubs and barbed wire. The thorns dig into our ankles and palms as we force ourselves through the barrier.

Finally the area clears and it’s open grassy land, the waterhole is slightly green and stagnant but clear enough to wash our hands and faces. A young chavo is sitting on a tree stump. He’s got an old rifle and a big water bottle. He greets us and we sit talking for some while.

He’s a goat herder as well, though there’s none at the waterhole right now. They’re wandering in the distance eating. His herding dog Burbuja is wary of Cajeta.

The chavo’s name is Jose. Santana came by early yesterday and left us both a bag full of cactuses – he directs to the tree where they are stored. 10 or more large peyotes are inside. He’s been too generous, how are we going to finish all of these? This is way more than we had planned on taking.

Another couple, hippie types, arrive and greet us. Both were at the festival in Real de Catorce and are very chatty. He came down from Coahuila, she doesn’t say where she’s from. We leave to set up camp a bit further away and Jose leaves with Burbuja and his goats. We rarely hear the couple in the night and they are gone by mid-morning.

There’s a small man made stream the size of a pipeline that leads from the oasis up in the direction of the mountains, where it originates. We follow it to a clearing and set up, creating a circle around our space with rocks and gathering sticks, twigs, thorns to make fire.

The offering is set up and as the sun sets Ernesto tends the fire – not only for light and warmth but to keep coyotes away. Jose says he once encountered a coyote in a cave so hideous he became paralyzed with fear. Ernesto says there are lots in the area and he decides to keep the fire running the entire night.

Intentions and offerings set, with copal, lavender and ambar, we wash the buttons and begin with the cactus from Don Santana. The night sky is clear tonight, no rain will be passing today.

The intensity of the darkness, silence and brightness of the stars is magnified. The magnificent vastness and mystery of the desert is alive. I feel safe, tribal, enthralled and enraptured by the beauty of the sky, the desert, Ernesto, myself.

We begin our own internal journeys with the sunset, barely speaking except in small comments or questions. He tells me when he is going for walks for reconocimiento or for fire kindling.

I stay rooted on my rug by the fire. I feel more connected on the earth, touching the dirt with hands and feet. Cajeta sleeps against my side.

The feeling rises gently, the taste of the plant, bitter and drying my mouth, I nibble biscuits to mask the taste.

I feel calm, unafraid as I often do with other plants I’d taken. I look at the stars, peacefully, the mind wandering to reflect on family, lovers, old and new friends, grandparents and ancestors, enemies and lost ones. Passing through flitting memories and finding peace in all connections. Highlights of individual moments and encounters that the mind had stored away and hidden.

My focus stays rooted on the stars, the sky is exploding with the gravity of their presence. I haven’t seen this many stars before, aside from times in Australia. The Vía Láctea/ Milky Way is pulling me in. Transforming into Yoni, an Egyptian goddess, portals, into the Rainbow Serpent crossing the galactic horizon. The complexity of the cosmos overwhelms me, makes me understand in new forms, without words.

Animals start to take shape and forms within the constellations and begin moving across the dark canvas. Active, running, speaking to me. Bears, wolves, deer, owls, rabbits, eagles, coyotes, snakes. There is a profound Native Indian American spiritual presence above and around me.

Whenever I return to observe the fire I see fractals, mandalas, complex geometric structures glowing within the flames. It’s now in everything I see, the stones, plants lit up by the flames and changing colours and vibrating with energy and life. The desert is completely alive, moving, whispering to me, inviting me in. The plants grow bigger and the vines that reach upwards extend into the skies, like light beams.

When I hold Ernesto or Cajeta I pulsate waves of light and colour into their bodies through my hands. Creating warmth and passing my love, strength and energy into them. I see the light rise and spread through their veins, illuminating their bodies. Their eyes become Huichol, beaded fluroscent colours and patterns shining from under their lids.

I feel the weight of love inside me become overbearing, I cry silently and feel it press into my chest, shortening my breath. A love so powerful and innate that it creates pain within me. I acknowledge it, embrace it, this heavy force until I feel liberated and I can breathe again. I become aware, as I always have, that my greatest strength is my ability to love. Visions of childbirth, lovemaking, embracing others fill my thoughts. I feel relief. I feel entirely powerful in my feminine being, ready again to share my love to others and to Ernesto.

I am reminded of my connection to Cajeta wedged beside me, head hidden in her legs. I know she’s pregnant and waves of love for her flood me. I see her and I as one. As females, creator beings, animals of the land, surviving, nourishing, loving, existing. She is powerful, a defender of her young and us, she lifts her head, ears wide with any sound in the night. She walks around the camp every so often and returns to lay beside me.

Peyote has pulled my attention to focus on animals tonight and I spend the evening seeing them come to me in every form, calling my reverence, respect and understanding.

Looking back to the skies and stars, closing my eyes, the animals of Wirikuta come alive. Colourful deer, wolves, rabbits, snakes. All moving and swirling and changing colours. Moving with the animals of the constellations. They are telling me their stories. All animals appear in the skies, behind my eyes, within the fire, on the land.

Ernesto tells me he is leaving for a walk and takes a torch with him. He left the fire with plenty to last. The alien phosphorescent light drifts off into the distance until it becomes dark again. Cajeta stays with me always. I change my position and begin to focus on the mountains, still eating peyote buttons sporadically when it calls me to.

There is a small light visible in the mountains, a fire? A small town? I have no concept of perspective or scale. I only faintly see the line of the mountains until a gigantic spider made of fire crawls over the mountains from behind. It scales the landscape. It surprises me but I don’t feel scared. I think it must be the size of a small mountain, a small plane, it is so clearly visible to me. And it dances between the lights of the towns or small fires, overlapping and passing them.

I then become distracted by a green fluorescent light originating from the other side of the stream, an intensely dark side which I still had not investigated, by day or night.

From the light I see two panthers, both an acidic bright green. Like an Ayahuasca vision they are fluorescent glowing spirits. They see me and Cajeta by the fire and begin to stalk in our direction, their light occasionally disappearing behind shrubs and plants. I feel nervous and a little frightened, I try to sit up and look for Ernesto, ready to yell. A gentle panic slowly rises in my chest which wakes Cajeta. Yet almost instantly Ernesto appears again from the darkness and the lights fade again.

Sometimes we smile to eachother or make eye contact but mostly he comes back to maintain the fire and simply sit by my side on the rug, only touching each other lightly.

The entire time eating more buttons, I continue asking, sending intentions and my energy for a spirit to communicate with me, in the literal sense. I reflect on life, death, my spirituality and future, my past, time passes though I have no sense of it.

At some point in the night I do begin to hear a voice, feel another spirit in my conscious mind. It’s an old man, a don, like Santana I visualize him. His voice is deep and heavy, it sounds like a grandfather. I try to phrase questions in my mind but he rejects them, he won’t answer them. He tells me that I already know them and they don’t need to be asked. They are clear in front of me.

What have you learnt tonight? Tell me. What did you want to understand?

He tells me that now is time for me to rest, sleep, remember. His voice is gentle but forceful. I feel like his child, obedient to what he tells me.

He calls to all of the animals, the constellations in the sky, the animals of wirikuta and indians and swirling images of insects and reptiles that crawl across my vision behind closed eyes.

An enormous hikuri, peyote, the cactus given to us by Don Santana, appears in the sky. It takes over the form the the Milky Way galaxy, it covers the entire horizon. He calls the animals to leave me to rest, give me peace. And they begin to return to the centre, the flower of the peyote in the sky.

My body begins to tire, spirit weary. I crawl into the tent and Ernesto and I hold each other close. I pass my body heat but feel my own fading, convulsing in the cold. I relax to the vibration of his breathing, the pattern of his exhales and it calms me. Closing my eyes I still see visions, but softer. Colorful snakes, ants and twisting patterns occasionally pass through the subconscious until they no longer distract me and I drift into the unconscious world until the sun rises bright again.

 

 

 

Dark nights and the journey ahead

I’ve always had problems expressing my emotions (both to myself and others) and it took one especially bad experience for my heart to finally reach its limit and explode all those  thoughts into letters and words. This was the best I could do to describe it, maybe others have similar feelings sometimes…………

………..

I feel like I’ve finally come to the edge, to this point of darkness that I had been testing for so long that it came to a point where I felt as though I’d gone mad.

I think I did go mad for a moment, I was so confused.

Like the voice that tells me to get myself back together again, that this will pass, became lost and then I didn’t know which voice was truly mine anymore. I was drowning in myself and there was no-one to pull me out; not my family, friends, aya, just me, only even I abandoned myself for that moment.

alex-grey-the-bad-trip_670

Continue reading “Dark nights and the journey ahead”

Meeting Aya

The ceremony is being held an hour out of the city of Guadalajara on Don Luis´property. We get dropped off at the gate entrance and spend nearly an hour getting lost on the land, climbing over creeks and reeds. We find the cabins just on sunset and the sky is turning a reddish pink. It’s beside a big lake and people are setting up all over the place, on the grass, in hammocks, under the cover of the house. We set up in the giant teepee in the centre of the field.

Then we wait. We watch the sunset, talk, walk around the lake, meditate, pray, and listen to Norma and Luis’ sons play music around the growing campfire. I’m scared. Maybe I’m not ready for this. Maybe this isn’t me. Keep thinking about my mantra to stay focussed. Know yourself. Know Ayahuasca. Give back to the earth. Be creative.

The longer we wait the more nervous I become. It’s maybe 10pm now and we’re told the shamans inside are now praying. They’ve come all the way from Colombia for this ceremony. At 11pm we all gather around the front door in dark silence. Listen to them sing and chant. Then those who have experienced Ayahuasca before go inside one by one. Peter whispers goodbye.

Then the rest of the group goes inside. There’s maybe 15 new drinkers. On my turn I kneel in front of the shaman by the door. He pours a cup from a plastic bottle. His face is lit by candles. I take my cup and suddenly I forget what I am saying. I pray quickly then take the cup, drinking it all in at once. It’s unpleasant, strong, gritty like sand but it’s not terrible. The taste is strange and I need water. I sit by the fire and pray again and again. I feel strange, unwell so I walk around through the trees. The branches are like webs and the stars are poking through. The sky is clear. The moon is bright tonight. I start hearing other people retching, coughing. It makes me nervous. Try not to focus on that. I lie down in the teepee and behind my eyelids are small hallucinations. Spiralling. Swirling. Shapes like snakes. Outlines. Animals. Aztec like symbols I don’t understand. I feel the aya rising inside of me up to my chest. It’s time.

Continue reading “Meeting Aya”

Nothing makes m…

Nothing makes man so mutually hostile, nothing has a power to arouse them and bring them into conflict, nothing renders them so callous, as the preternatural violence of the forest. In the forest man rediscovers his primordial instincts. His most primitive animal impulses return to the surface, break through the delicate tracery of his nerves, reappear outside his veneer of civilised conventions and inhibitions in all their squalid virginity

Malaparte – In the forest, humans become more authentically human.

As I began to l…

As I began to love myself by Charlie Chaplin.

As I began to love myself I found that anguish and emotional suffering are only warning signs that I was living against my own truth. Today, I know, this is AUTHENTICITY.

As I began to love myself I understood how much it can offend somebody as I try to force my desires on this person, even though I knew the time was not right and the person was not ready for it, and even though this person was me. Today I call it RESPECT.

As I began to love myself I stopped craving for a different life, and I could see that everything that surrounded me was inviting me to grow. Today I call it MATURITY.

As I began to love myself I understood that at any circumstance, I am in the right place at the right time, and everything happens at the exactly right moment, so I could be calm. Today I call it SELF-CONFIDENCE.

As I began to love myself I quit steeling my own time, and I stopped designing huge projects for the future. Today, I only do what brings me joy and happiness, things I love to do and that make my heart cheer, and I do them in my own way and in my own rhythm. Today I call it SIMPLICITY.

As I began to love myself I freed myself of anything that is no good for my health – food, people, things, situations, and everything the drew me down and away from myself. At first I called this attitude a healthy egoism.Today I know it is LOVE OF ONESELF.

As I began to love myself I quit trying to always be right, and ever since I was wrong less of the time. Today I discovered that is MODESTY.

As I began to love myself I refused to go on living in the past and worry about the future. Now, I only live for the moment, where EVERYTHING is happening. Today I live each day, day by day, and I call it FULFILLMENT.

As I began to love myself I recognized that my mind can disturb me and it can make me sick. But As I connected it to my heart, my mind became a valuable ally. Today I call this connection WISDOM OF THE HEART.

We no longer need to fear arguments, confrontations or any kind of problems with ourselves or others. Even stars collide, and out of their crashing new worlds are born. Today I know THAT IS LIFE!

Ravi Shankar, the master

Ravi… the dream weaving sitar master and leading voice of Hindustani classical music in the 20th century. Ravi Shankar inspired the Western world of music and introduced the voice of classical Indian music to so many. One of my first musicial introductions to him was through the Beatles and the raga style that grew in the 60s.

This type of music, Hindustani…Carnatic… is one of the closest experiences I could compare to time travel, to escaping this realm of consciousness and abandoning the known five senses. I can feel the history in this music, in the sounds of the tabla, tanpura, the style originating in Vedas, the oldest Hindu scriptures. I can feel the LOVE.

I love meditative time with his melodies. I imagine walking barefoot in forests after rain, stepping on roots and soil, laying on carpets, palms facing upwards in the dark, the strong scents of tea, the feeling of colours, balancing and feeling my centre, I imagine spinning and moving and the sounds of rushing water.

I dream often of India, one day my collective of atoms will find its way into such a profound and ancient culture and environment. This place has so much to teach me and I cannot wait for its lessons.

Other musicians to dream to: Ali Akbar Khan, Tansen.

What’s my line?

I’m in a funky Van Morrison mood this week and this song is absolutely how I stand in life right now.

I’m happy cruising by, taking my time, letting my love grow.

Carefree.

And I come home to my music and books on zen,

Kerouac’s Dharma Bums and On The Road.

Spend my weekends sharing moments with friends and finding where I belong, and knowing love and building on it.

Van Morrison is the most romantic musician I know and how could life be anything but romantic?

I am absolutely forever struck down to my soul by And It Stoned Me,
My heart opens with Queen of The Slipstream, Warm Love, Slim Slow Slider, Bright Side of the Road, Sweet Thing, Dweller on The Threshold,
Astral Weeks transcends and takes me to other realms.
Those sax solos, MmHmm.

He’s taken me longer to discover in lifetime of music loving, but how much greater is everything with him in it?

Van The Man, the Celtic Soul, the richest voice, nostalgic dreams, lyrically excellent and complex, simple and natural energy, makes my life great.

And life is wild!

public transport moments of clarity

isn’t is odd the people you see on the bus, every day, are different, and each one you’ll never see again.

but every single person from that moment will continue on living their lives to all varying intensities, with love, fear, anguish, pain, joy, passion who will each pass countless others on their journey of life and death

and then to think that no one person is more meaningful than the other.

that once frightened me

here i am already so insignificant in the scope of the cosmos

a fraction in a dot

one day i turn to dust and no one will no who i am just as no one knows me now

what about legacy?

do i need to make my mark? am i inadequate if i don’t become established in society?

a professor, artist, teacher, scientist, revolutionary

some people do things so profound the course of humanity is changed.

those heroes in history become dust

and still there will be many more.

but i am happy living for a second.

unknown.

without a footprint. like most of those who have and will live.

it doesn’t scare me. the meaning is life. and that is enough for me.

life is everything

how lucky i am just to have lived to see clouds and grass and deserts and mountains.

taste and feel the world.

to see a sunset and sunrise. cried and laughed. climbed and fell.

that is all i need.

to feel.

A documentary on Charles Bukowski

A complex man with complex writing, this is a very interesting documentary which goes deeper than the surface of the renowned writer Charles Bukowski. I learnt a lot about his writing at university but never much about the man, that always teaches me far more. All life is madness and he had an interesting view on it.