by alex seymour
We stood there on the riverbank for a long time, speechless. I had never seen stars shine and reflect in water before. It was like lights from a festival had been waterproofed, strung out, and submerged as far as the eye could see. Ben urged us to board the canoe. Once we were all aboard, the canoe drifted from the riverbank out into the huge expanse of the river, which must have been two miles wide. As we moved away from the land, the true awesomeness of the spectacle became even more apparent. The entire surface of the mighty river reflected the glittering stars in all their glory—the only sight I have ever seen that appeared to be of biblical proportions. It had a powerful emotional impact, genuinely otherworldly. As above, so below. If we had been entranced before, we were now breathless. All I could hear were people shouting, “Wow. Wow, wow!” Like a scene from a gigantically budgeted 3-D science-fiction movie—only much, much more impressive. To this Englishman, it was way beyond cinematic. More and more I was feeling that the Amazon is a gift—preposterously beautiful and enchanting. The river’s majesty undeniable, equal companion to the jungle—its absolute and unmatched partner. The power here was palpable.
The canoe trip back to the ship took only ten minutes, but it was far and away the most memorable ride of my life. When you are floating on a small boat on a river that’s at least more than a mile wide and the sky becomes everything in your field of view, especially when the black glassy river below exactly mirrors the sky above, it is possibly the closest terrestrial sensation to actually floating in space. Twenty sets of eyes gazed upward in mute astonishment. I didn’t want to move my eyes away for a second more than necessary, but I was also desperate to glance again at my companions’ faces. All of them were shaking their heads in wonder, almost everyone’s mouth was agape in a literally jaw-dropping response. Everyone was quiet now, struck dumb with the original awe.
We got back to the riverboat and scrambled aboard, people taking a moment to hug one another. Some argonauts were wobbly on their feet and had difficulty transferring from boat to ship, so Ben stayed back to help them. I was last off and grasped his hand to steady me as I jumped aboard the larger vessel. As we said good night, I whispered in his ear, “You get a triple-A rating for tonight’s ceremony and nature show. Man, that was truly amazing! Thank you!”
“Well, I’ve no idea what that means,” he said. “But I’ll take it, thanks all the same.”
Of course this had nothing to do with a triple-A finance rating. Triple A had taken on an entirely different meaning for me during the ayahuasca ceremony. At its visionary peak, when the feelings were most intense and the singing from the Shipibo women was at its most exquisite, I had felt a symbol as a shaft of energy: AAA—Afghanistan-Ayahuasca-Amazon. The trinity that represented my recent life. Neat, clean, and true.
I went up to the top deck after dumping my kit in my cabin. As I climbed the stairs, I could see the usual suspects were already there: Sophie, Pietro, Anna. They were smoking cigarettes, but their faces were still agog in rapt amazement, their heads craned as far back as possible, mouths wide open.
“Look!” they said, as my head appeared through the opening from the lower deck. Jeez, what could possibly top the treat we’d just witnessed?
I climbed out on deck and looked up. The moon, utterly dazzling and easily twice its normal size, was encircled by several bands of colored lights that merged like a rainbow! I had never seen anything like it: the moon with colored rings! The stars surrounding the moon were all similarly encircled with a single band of bright white light. This could be what the sky on an alien planet might look like. So beautiful, so powerful—I simply had no idea that the moon could shine so brightly, like a laser beaming wisdom. We squinted and practically needed sunglasses to hold our gaze. It was as if all the atmospheric conditions that normally shield the moon had been lifted at last, a veil swept aside to reveal the real moon.
Pietro turned to me, smiled, offered me a cigarette. Very deliberately and slowly he said, “Alex, welcome . . . to the full moon. Welcome to 11,11,11. Welcome to the illumination.”
I looked at my watch and checked the date. He was right! It was November 11, 2011. An exquisite synchronicity. I laughed and had to stop myself ranting like a bad impersonator from Monty Python’s Life of Brian, “It’s a sign! It’s a sign—a celestial promise! All is Oneness. Everything is one, everything connected to the same single source! One love.” I was shouting the words in my head.
In some small way that night, we had become illuminated. In some small, significant way, we had all been changed forever—a spark ignited. The time-bound symbol of 11.11.11 encapsulated a perfect moment; that right here right now with these people bathed in the light of these stars and this moon in this forest was the closest I was ever going to get to experiencing heaven on Earth. As above, so below—this is heaven on Earth.
The remnants of the jungle brew coursed through us. We stood staring, reduced to silence. What more was there to say?
19
Evil Exists, Confront It
I stumbled down to the cabin. Panos was lying on his bed muttering under his breath, eyes shut. He began to sing and chant softly to himself, engaging in his now-familiar ritual of tapping his midriff with his eagle feather.
The next morning, curious about his ritual, I asked, “You know the Erebus that lives inside of you, the darkness in your stomach?”
“Yes.”
“You know . . .,” I said slowly, making sure he could see me looking at him, “it may not really be there . . . Have you thought about that? This could just be a belief, a superstition. Perhaps you could choose that it doesn’t exist. Have you tried that? If you choose to disbelieve in it, you might find that the pain will go. Or you could try a doctor . . .”
He looked perplexed, no doubt thinking if only it could be that simple.
He wasn’t the only person who believed an eagle feather had healing properties. Months later JJ told me that he and thirty wounded British soldiers and marines—many of them amputees—had been funded by a charity to visit the Grand Canyon. They had taken part in a North American Indian healing ceremony. A medicine man had gently tapped each man’s injury with an eagle feather, explaining that traditionally this was how his ancestors had helped heal their warriors’ wounds after a battle. The feather helped to carry the pain back to where the injury had occurred, leaving the wounded man free to go forward. JJ said that he had found the ritual extremely moving.
The morning after our incredible night, after breakfast, we gathered in the dining room for a workshop. Andreas kicked off the proceedings, roaring, “Good morning, argonauts! Welcome to another beautiful day of the voyage. I think we can all agree that last night was very special. Many of you, I know, plunged deep—felt connected. In some way many of you have evolved. So I’d like to invite you to speak about your experiences. Is there anything that you’d like to share with all of us?”
I was first to my feet. Ordinarily, I would be shy about being the first to step forward, but the message from last night still chimed like a tuning fork. Once on my feet, I said, “I felt I was sent a very precise message. I don’t know where it came from, but it arrived very clearly, like a voice. The message was ‘Have no fear. ’”
Still inspired, on a roll, I continued. “And last night I realized that fear is just a motivator. And now I really feel like I don’t have any unnecessary fear—and I am grateful. Someone once told me the letters F-E-A-R are an acronym meaning ‘false expectations appearing real.’ Now I believe it. Thanks.”
I sat down, expecting contagious approval, people leaping up, parodying “I’m Spartacus,” each person declaring boldly, “I too have no fear!” But the imagined crescendo of agreement wilted to an avalanche of apathy. No one responded. No cartwheels, no joy. It was clear that we were all on different odysseys. No one but Andreas knew I’d arrived from Afghanistan or had in any way been connected to the war. They had no way of knowing that the no-fear message had significance because I’d spent much of the previous
year in a fearful state. Fearful an insurgent would lob a grenade that would roll into a tent. Fearful the chopper flying us between tasks would be blown out of the sky by an RPG. Fearful that when I stepped outside the fort, I would be blown up or shot. Fear that while checking a man’s ID, he would detonate a suicide vest. No one apart from Andreas had any idea about any of this. The message that night had been only for me.
Yet there was the realization that I was freed from fear. I was safe, away from the war and more tours of duty. Another way of interpreting the message was, “Have no fear anymore.” Irrespective of whether it was my subconscious or ayahuasca that sent the message—the messenger was irrelevant—I had had another epiphany and could move on.
Eddie stood up next. “Good morning, everyone. Last night I kept getting this incredibly warm feeling of brotherly love for Robert.” He paused. “I could feel an undeniable physical sensation in my heart.”
Others stood to follow suit, sharing their experiences. Some women had had a difficult time during the ceremony and were tearful as they recounted their stories. Then Panos stood to speak. “Yesterday, I had an encounter with an eagle. He flew nearby and settled on a branch nearest to me from the bank when we were moored. I felt connected to it. He wanted to communicate. It was beautiful. When I slept last night, I felt like I had become an eagle. I flew high enough to see everything! Everything is clearer now.”
He sat down. The daytime eagle had been real enough. He had called me over, excitedly pointing it out on the branch on the riverbank. He still possessed his impressive eagle feather, and last night his “power animal” had shown up in his dream. I noticed for the first time that he was not wearing his glasses. For the rest of the voyage, he abandoned them.
As night fell I prepared my kit. The strangest ceremony yet was about to be unleashed.
Andreas suggested an intention that I might want to use that night. Instead of choosing one that made sense or was reassuring, he suggested that I ask ayahuasca to “Show me something that is not perfect.”
Show me something that’s not perfect? Really—why bother? What good could come of it? But I decided to go with it—what was the worst that could happen?
The witching hour approached. Before long we were back in the jungle lying on our backs with a gut full of ayahuasca, waiting for it to kick in. I couldn’t hold the visions at bay for long; they came in waves, and I went under, drawn into the swirling vortex of texture, shape, and color.
One of my original intentions had been: How can I come back from the war and stay inspired? I had to push that question aside and focus on the intention Andreas had given. It was a struggle. As the visions rocketed I went through another gratitude list. Stay centered, I told myself. Everything seems perfect. Everything as it should be. I was reluctant to invoke the intention that Andreas had given, but I had to assume he had given it to me for a reason. So intoning inwardly, eyes still shut, I finally muttered, “Show me something that is not perfect.”
Almost immediately, I caught sight of the silhouette of a figure moving like an apparition around the edge of the clearing. As it came nearer, I could see it more clearly—the blackest black I had ever seen. Beyond darkness—an obsidian portal into a black hole, as devoid of light as the farthest reaches of outer space. Almost hypnotized, I strained to make sure that what I was seeing was real, staring at the specter with wide-eyed alarm. It crept closer, and within the expanse of its blackness was an intricate geometry of quivering color—a circuit-board pattern of shimmering energy. The specter crept closer still. When it was almost on top of me, it paused and knelt on one knee beside the person lying to my left. The specter was Ben! I felt immense relief, but I also was shocked by his transformation into a kind of energy being. I heard him whisper into the person’s ear next to me. Then he stood up. He was spectacular. But no—this could not be true! He had donned a hooded black mask and now wore a cloak made of the thinnest gossamer. The cloak had a wispy silver tinge, so very thin it draped over his head all the way to the ground like a man-sized cobweb. I could still make out his muscular build through this filigree cloak. Holy fucking mother of God, he has actually changed into a superhero’s outfit! The mythic voyage had gone too far now. Andreas stepped over the line and into the ludicrous, taking the event way over the top, enacting a crazy pantomime, complete with costumes.
Ten minutes later Ben came over to me, and he was, of course, completely normal. The stage-show light costume was gone. He was dressed in his usual cargo shorts and a dark maroon vest. I had to have a quiet word with myself, embarrassed somehow without even speaking at the sheer overblown ridiculousness of the hallucination. Right sunshine, you’ve been hallucinating very powerfully indeed. Get a grip!
Half an hour later, still lying on the mattress, I was startled by the sound of footsteps directly behind me. Twigs snapped, leaves crunched—someone was standing inches from my scalp. A shape swooped, momentarily blocking out the trees and night sky. It was Ben again. He leaned down, placing one hand on my chest, over my heart, pressing firmly. Then he whispered so that no one else could hear. “Absolutely fantastic. So, so good.”
Elation swept through me like a rush of warm water. This was completely outside my experience of manhood. Marines never did this to each other—overtly displaying sentiment like this—and I felt an entirely different level of brotherly love.
A little later I heard footfall behind me again, the crunching heavier this time. A huge mass blocked out the canopy. Adrenaline spiked as the looming shape squatted, and I felt the weight of two mighty hands pressing on my chest over my heart. It was Andreas. Without speaking, he put his mouth to my heart and sucked loudly, with all his might. The inhalation lasted several seconds before he lifted his head, exhaling noisily, spewing out air up to the canopy as if it contained a foul toxin. I was mystified but felt better for it. Then he crept away quietly without saying a word.
Soon Ben crept up again. He put one hand over my heart and whispered in my ear, “The child that is the real you inside will forever and ever keep you young. Forever and ever and ever and ever and ever . . .” Then he melted back into the darkness.
Belinda, one of the young twins, was lying on the mattress on the other side of me. She had cocooned herself in a sleeping bag to keep the mosquitoes off and feel secure. We were a couple of hours into the ceremony, and I hadn’t noticed her move. No fidgeting or sighs, no purging—nothing, as silent as a pharaoh in a sarcophagus. Very odd. She must be cooking—it had to be 100°F in there.
As if reading my mind, she ripped open the sleeping bag and scrambled out. She was wearing several layers and a baggy jumper. She repositioned herself on top of her sleeping bag and began to make ahhh sounds. I’d grown used to them by now. Hearing the strange elocutions of what sounded like mystical ecstasy had taken some getting used to but by now were commonplace.
Belinda sighed softly, “Ahhhhhh.” Then the sound became more frequent, increasing in volume and urgency, intense and insistent. “Ahhhhhhhhh!” Loud enough now to properly disturb the entire group, the sort of sound you’d make if you stubbed your toe or were being pinched.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
Then she screamed, long and loud! It must have been 120 decibels, violently piercing the air and shattering the peace. She screamed over and over. I was shocked out of my wits, realizing instantly that I’d never before heard an adult woman scream right next to me. Ben hurried over, made a quick assessment, then squatted next to her. “Belinda, go inside! Be quiet! Go inside!”
But she wasn’t listening and started sobbing. She got up on her knees reaching out, trying to hold him.
“No, Belinda!” he hissed. “Lie back down—now!”
Every fiber of my being was straining with the urge to leap up and help, to offer some kind of comfort, but I stayed put, as did everyone else. We followed Andreas’s admonition to not help when someone was in distress—leave it to him and his crew.
Ben held Belinda’s wrists and guided her back down
to a prone position on the mattress. As soon as he touched her, she began to giggle hysterically.
“Lie down and focus on your intention. You know who you are. Go inside!” he urged.
The noises that emanated from her next were truly disturbing. Hysteria morphing between laughter, pain, and terror, circling back to unsettling laughter. I couldn’t shake the feeling that while Belinda had been cocooned in her bag something had entered her—a disembodied entity, a bad one, and it was now wreaking havoc. I had no personal experience, but I’d seen enough films to get a hunch something demonic was among us. She was up again now on her feet, wailing in anguish, the pain she was suffering obviously a torture.
Was it true that in this environment, with this dose of ayahuasca, and with all of us being so open to all possibilities, our intentions could have an effect not just on us but on other people, too? Perhaps intentions weren’t mere thoughts or only thoughts. They had their own form. What kind of sorcery was this? For the first time I believed I was witnessing something blatantly paranormal.
We now had a full-blown crisis on our hands, hurtling from bizarre to shocking. The Shipibo shamanas had stopped singing and moved as a group to huddle around Belinda, a few of them attempting to lay her back down. They were chattering loudly, their tone full of urgency and concern. Andreas and Alfredo appeared, followed by César, the head ayahuasquero—now a dozen or more people huddled around her.
With a cold horror I realized that there was a pattern emerging. Every time I had been next to a woman during an ayahuasca ceremony, the woman either became catatonic (as Miley had at La Kapok Center) or appeared to become possessed. Was I the unwitting host to bad energy brought back from Helmand?
Belinda’s groans sounded utterly inhuman. I was sure that something malevolent was among us. Ben tried to get her to drink some water, but she snatched the bottle, sucked the fluid, and then spat it over his face, laughing hysterically. Poor girl. I pleaded inwardly, gravely worried, Please come back. Please.