by alex seymour
I went to César to explain, and he set about preparing a pungent plant potion with various leaves that he had at hand. When he was done he called three of the Shipibo women over, and the five of us went over to Anna, who was still sitting with her hands over her face, her body rocking back and forth. As we stood in a circle around her, she pleaded, “Get it out! Please get it out!”
The shamanas muttered among themselves for a moment and then sang. While they sang one of them stopped and flicked liquids over Anna or blew tobacco over her. This went on for about five minutes. I left them to it and went to Andreas to let him know how things were going. He wasn’t perturbed in the slightest, sitting like an emperor on a throne, composed and unruffled. As far as he was concerned, exorcisms in the jungle were to be expected. When a possession occurred it was merely something to be dealt with.
By this time I was certain that everyone must be feeling the same—spinning out in psychedelia, a phantasia of colors, an irrefutable sense that magic was happening.
Abruptly, Andreas grabbed my shoulders, his voice cracking with emotion. “Alex, I want you to go and get Josh and bring him to me. It is time for him to receive his blessing.”
A blessing? What kind of blessing? Isn’t that what priests do? The nearest priest had to be at least five hundred miles away! I stumbled over, coordination in bits, gently shaking his shoulder. “Josh, Andreas wants you to receive a blessing.”
He sat bolt upright, then stood up unsteadily, and I escorted him over to where Andreas was sitting.
With all the melodrama of a king relinquishing his throne to a firstborn son, Andreas said with the utmost solemnity, “Josh, you have been chosen tonight to receive a blessing from the shamanas. Are you ready?”
“Yes, Andreas.”
Guiding Josh by the elbows, Andreas and I walked him over to where the remaining Shibipo women—the ones who weren’t ministering to Anna—were sitting in a line, singing. We got within five feet of them when Andreas commanded, “Josh, kneel.”
He knelt, as if for a knighthood. Andreas pushed him lower, head down so that his forehead was touching a mat on the ground. Josh stretched out his arms in front of him, placing his palms flat on the ground, adopting the ancient position of complete surrender. The women sang louder, with more intensity.
I left Josh with them and went back over to check on Anna. César and the three shamanas appeared to have been successful, as she was calmer. But when she looked up at me, her eyes still seemed to be pleading for help.
“Lie back down.” I said. “You’ll feel better if you just lie down and go inside.”
“I can’t—I just can’t do it. Please.”
“You must,” I insisted. “It’s so easy. All you have to do is focus on your intention. Just lie down.”
Instead, she grabbed my leg, wrapping both arms around it, as if bracing against the only a tree in a hurricane. Another first. I had to peel her off my leg.
“I need the bathroom,” she said.
Good. This I could deal with. “OK, I’ll help you up. I’ll walk with you.”
She could hardly stand. I had to put one of her arms around my shoulders and support her weight. I led her to the cleared space in the brush, made sure she had a torch and toilet paper, and left her to it. Things were getting hectic back in the circle. I could hear people calling out for Andreas, crying out for assistance. Andreas called my name, and I trotted over like a faithful dog. “Please get Belinda and Eddie. I want them to receive their blessing.”
I fetched them, and they underwent their blessing. My attention now split in multiple directions. People were calling for assistance, Andreas was asking me to collect people, and where the hell was Anna? It had been at least five minutes, and she hadn’t returned. I went to check, and with a quick flick of the torch, I saw that she’d collapsed, trousers still around her knees. Jesus Christ not again. She could have fallen on a snake or an unforgiving trail of bullet ants. Collapsing unconsciously in the jungle—to be avoided at all costs. The “intense pleasure” had become a distant memory: now I was firefighting, triaging, deciding who to prioritize. I helped Anna back up, but it was a struggle, as she seemed barely conscious. I managed to get her back to her mattress, but still she wouldn’t lie down. She clung to me, and I offered all the words of assurance that I could humanly muster. Then, with total incongruity, she let go, reached into her backpack, pulled out a cigarette, and lit it. At last she appeared to be fully present and calm as she smoked. Andreas’s voice boomed across the clearing. “Alex!”
I found him. He reached out, gripping me tightly. “Would you like to receive a blessing?” He was extremely moved, his huge frame trembling with emotion. His voice cracked as he spoke, and tears were rolling down his cheeks.
“Yes,” I replied, and we headed over to the shamanas.
I was in way over my head and speculating about everything. The three argonauts who’d already received a blessing were huddled together in a heap in the center of the circle. I could hear words emanating from their mass of entangled limbs, “Oh, my God! Wow! Whoa!” They were stroking and hugging each other, giddy with inebriation. This was turning out to be the maddest damned night! There were people here who think this is normal. Who in the “civilized” world would believe it?
Moments later I was on my knees. Andreas placed a hand on the back of my neck and pushed my head down until my forehead met the ground. As my head went down to meet the deck, I snatched a glimpse of the shamanas five feet in front. They were smiling, one or two were even giggling. A liquid was dripped over me, smelling of orange blossom, and it spilled down the side of my face, running off the end of my nose. The shamanas sang over me, their songs a benediction. I felt part of something ancient and sacred, a rare privilege to be savored. Two thoughts competed for my attention— this is crazy, this is holy, this is crazy, this is holy. Finally, César helped me to my feet and led me to the center of the circle to join the other three who’d already received blessings. Their writhing, the dark, and my inability to focus all combined to make the scene appear like a bizarre kind of clothed orgy. Let it slide, I told myself. It isn’t every day you get to experience a blessing while hal lucinating in a jungle. Even so, I was happy that this was the final night of the voyage. I couldn’t take any more.
After the ceremony ended, as we chugged back in the canoe back to the ship, I heard a female voice in the dark but couldn’t identify who spoke. “Congratulations Alex, you are now a warrior of light!’
I stayed silent, feeling unworthy. I didn’t know what she meant exactly—and still don’t. I settled back in the seat, gazing in rapt fascination at the looming mothership, now lit up with fairy lights, my fingertips trailing in the warm river water.
I was euphoric.
22
The Power of Choice
Religion is belief in someone else’s experience, spirituality is having your own experience.
DEEPAK CHOPRA
M y marine days are over. My Amazonian adventure complete—for now.
The military, like religions, has dogmatic rules and codes. Transgressions are harshly dealt with. By retelling this story it may only be a matter of time before I incur the military equivalent of Catholic excommunication. Altered states of consciousness are anathema to the armed forces. But what I learned in the Amazon was worth it. When disruptive ideas germinate they can surmount military force, and as history has shown sometimes they can do that without anyone getting hurt.
Before I left the Amazon, I had one more consultation with Andreas, back in the ship’s library. During it, I felt ready to open up about my past. “Andreas, I think my decision to serve in the war and leave my family behind was linked to my ideas about masculinity and what it means to be a man. And I think the trouble I encountered as a child growing up with three fathers has something to do with that.”
I paused to collect my thoughts.
“You see, I really don’t know what it’s like to feel love for a father. My mother got
divorced three times. I had a violent stepfather through most of my childhood, and as far as I can remember, I never had a father tell me that he cared for me. I think my aggression and lack of value for my own life, which you mentioned yesterday, may have something to do with that.”
When I paused all he said was, “Go on.”
“My stepfather sold insurance for a living his whole adult life, and he really didn’t have a clue about jack shit. I showed him a newspaper advert for the marines when I was twelve and asked for his opinion. He thought it was a joke and told me that they were a bunch of criminals, that I’d be stupid for even considering it. Years later I realized that I think he was probably confusing them with his perceptions about the French Foreign Legion.”
Andreas’s brow furrowed and a frown formed slowly on his face. I pressed on.
“But it’s OK, because I realize that on this voyage, for the first time, I have made my peace with those men. I have forgiven them.”
Andreas erupted, slapping his forehead. “You don’t need to forgive your fathers! That’s practically irrelevant!”
Then he softened a little. “They were just a bunch of guys trying to get through life, each dealing with their own troubles. You went to war to prove to yourself that you had value as a man—do you realize how twisted that is? No, there’s more to this! There is something, someone, missing. Do you realize who this is?”
Recognition dawned, but before I could respond he spoke for me. “It’s your mother. Your mother! All of the crap you are putting yourself through—honor, duty, responsibilities that you believe must be fulfilled at any cost—all of this baggage and guilt that you carry is because of the decisions your mother made when you were a child. She decided to leave your natural father. She decided to marry an abusive man. She decided to stay married to a man who regularly beat and abused her children. She is the person that you need to talk to. You need to speak to her and confront her. She made these decisions, and yet you have chosen to ignore the consequences and have made other people around you suffer. You should make your peace with her because her decisions have led you on a quest for happiness, which you are still seeking.”
My mind raced, Roman candles of realization bursting through to awareness. But I felt honor bound to do defend her. “But she did her best. She didn’t have qualifications or skills to make enough money and felt she needed a man to support her. This was back in the seventies. But she still loved us with all her heart. She is a good mother! She even left the abusive husband eventually. So she did do something about it because it became intolerable for her, too.”
Andreas was slowly shaking his head side to side; I clearly didn’t get it. He pulled his chair so close to mine that our knees were almost touching. His face loomed less than a foot away from mine. Slowly he raised a giant chubby finger and jabbed it gently into my chest, right into my heart. “Alex, my brother,” he said, “you are good. You are a good man!’
He looked at me with tears in his eyes.
“You don’t appreciate who or what you are! And you’re no different from millions of others. Each person on Earth is special, a divine human being. Yet, like you, so many people have so little self-worth because of their beliefs and their choices. From this moment on you can always, always choose to be happy. Do you understand this yet?”
He sat back slowly. He had me exposed—wide, wide open. And while a part of me knew he must have fed these lines to countless other argonauts, still his delivery was devastating. I covered my face with my hands, embarrassed at the emotions my face betrayed.
“Listen,” he whispered, with the utmost gentleness, “I know how you feel. Who hasn’t been messed up by their parents in one form or another? I had a similar experience. My mother married a stepfather who beat me. And yet she chose to stay with him for thirty years! But I don’t let this affect me. I have made peace with my mother, and you need to make your peace with yours.”
Even as the profundity of this counsel sunk in, I asked one final—and very unrelated—question. “Andreas, on this voyage some people were saying that you are running a cult.”
He sighed, then frowned slightly. “The people that say these things . . .” He paused. “It comes from a place of fear. They have nothing to fear and neither do you. Please don’t be scared about anything anymore. Always remember from now on that fear is a choice. A choice. Happiness is a choice and so is courage. You must have the courage to always choose happiness. It is important you know the real meaning of life—to be happy, to learn, and to love. Nothing is more important than these three things. ’”
He put his hand on my shoulder and for the last time said, “Everything is as it should be.”
He stood, ready to embrace me. As we parted I felt a huge burden lift. I actually physically felt lighter. I walked away to think. I gazed in semihypnosis at the river, contemplating that this mysterious man had given me insights that had the power to change my outlook forever. I thought of my son and felt a wave of longing. I simply couldn’t wait to get back to him. He needed me and I needed him—we must be together for us both to thrive.
Time to go home.
Epilogue
I felt rejuvenated, believing I could return to civilization and start a new chapter with my family with an entirely different approach to life. The gift was optimism and compassion and understanding that the world is an organic entity; no life-form exists in spectacular isolation; almost all species cocreate a mutual dependency on their organic habitat and on others. I knew now we can glimpse mysterious detectable realms of life that exist in that ephemeral space we call the ether, masked from our precious but ordinary sensory perception. We must be bold and continue to explore them. Create and collaborate with them, then harness the power because creativity really is “evolution in our very own hands.”
Back in Iquitos I said my good-byes to the argonauts, including Andreas. His parting words were typically enigmatic. “And remember . . . there is still a voyage inside of you.”
As I said good-bye to Ben, he said, “There is always freedom in choice. This is the beauty of free will! You can choose to have responsibilities—or not. Either choice is in itself a beautiful thing. Choice is freedom. And integrity is not just about honor, trust, and responsibility; it’s also about being true to your choices.”
Part of me didn’t want to leave this beautiful country, with its strange plant potion. Ayahuasca, Andreas, and Richard had provided opportunities to explore aspects of myself I might not have otherwise ever had the chance to. Ayahuasca showed me the highs and lows, the light and the dark. Andreas had challenged beliefs and judgments. Each day had been a quest into mystery.
During the flight home I reflected on the changes in my life over the past year and imagined having a conversation with my grandfather, a wing commander in the Air Force during the Second World War. Though I loved him with all my heart, as a strictly scotch and cigarettes guy, I felt sure he wouldn’t understand my choices, especially about coming to the Amazon and seeking awareness. I imagined him saying, “Son, all these crazy thoughts you’re having and these visions you see when you drink that ayahuasca stuff, it’s superficial, all in your head. It’s not real.”
But that was not true. I had undergone a transformational shift, a reboot, something seismically disruptive, and I did not have the remotest concern whether it had occurred inside my head or outside, because the result—a fresh burst of creative thinking and a new respect for mankind and nature—was emotionally real enough. As to this hypothetical argument common to the straight world that says visions aren’t real and consequently have no value—it was irrelevant to me. My assessment of ayahuasca’s value, while heretical to much of the mainstream world, was relevant to me. My experiences, I felt sure, would forever affect my beliefs, actions, and feelings. We only get to experience one reality—our own. So, irrespective of the fact that everything I experienced could be a delusion, it was a healthy one for me—much like a placebo. My grandfather had been a brave man,
but this whole topic of altered states of consciousness would, I am certain, have prompted within him a fear-based reaction because it was of the unknown. He had a traditional mind-set and believed what his leaders told him—his leaders always knew best. Maybe it was generational: he can keep his Frank Sinatra; I’ll roll with the Beatles. All I knew was that having this imaginary conversation with him helped me clarify my feelings and even cement a few certainties.
The strangeness of the ayahuasca experience, combined with the sense of connection to a higher intelligence and power, was undeniable. I often wondered if it was possible to have one without the other—probably not. But, based on experience, it damn well made spiritual growth more colorful to me than anything Old World religion had to offer. It is important to me not to confuse peak moments with religion—that’s what religious people do. Dangerously, they ascribe moments of bliss to a savior instead of to consciousness. The focus on a found truth—the inevitable “my savior is better than yours”—only creates division, when it is unity we need. Our brains are running a 100,000-year-old operating system that’s no longer relevant in an imminently dawning age of abundance.
Even as I tried to maintain a balanced view, I returned home inspired and evangelized about the power of ayahuasca. I resigned from the military, settling back into civilian life. Everything felt good. I looked at the world differently, with a fresh optimistic perspective. My marriage was stronger because my wife had trusted me to return from this odyssey. She had found her own spiritual path long before me, and now, at last, I could identify with that aspect of her nature. Most important, I was calmer, convinced that my death will not be the end. Death is just another transformation, and in realizing this I have returned from war and the Amazon unhindered by unnecessary mortal burdens. I carry myself more lightly. My mother and I have talked about our relationship, moving on from the past and looking forward to the bright future we still share. We are fully at peace. We love each other.