Today I would like to share an image in order to help the readers, and myself too, to orientate towards the direction of this blog.
There is a difference between writing a book and share something that is happening: in the first case the writing is already inside the writer, in the second life flows while words are forming, while are being fixed phrases and chapters which won’t be modifyed and that are set free once written: as walking with a blindfold on the eyes.
The fact that, one year ago, I refused the treatments they prescribed to me after a tumor excision has for sure many meanings, the deepest of which is that the eternal tendency not to rely on anyone, specially thinking about future moments which I hadn’t the smallest intention to live, have been untied chosing to trust someone who seemed to vibrate with the chant of what I’ve lived ‘till now: the Familiar Voice was singing with Another Voice.
In this untying the assumption of resposability has been strenghtened, because to trust doesn’t mean to rely on: I trust to understand, to smell paths which I cannot see on my own.
In three years I found myself living with a progressive sclerosis and a tumor: the future changes, and so values, the sight, the inner atmosphere.
Taking care of ourselves assumes another meaning: the vastness and complexity of living show themselves, and the infinity of bonds, effects and relations with the world, the symphony of exchanges and mutual influences, and sometimes mind lost itself facing so much stuff.
So the image of therapist of myself, which showed up two years ago, has become stronger and less solitary, and at the same time the only walkable.
Each of us has to understand what assuming the responsability of our own life in front of the Unknown means.
What a recapitulation is if not living again what already lived, going further what we’ve already seen?
We head towards the limit of no-mercy, but for sure an extention is implemented.
The explorer retraces his steps to see what has changed, yet may images will place themseves side by side with the old ones, modifying them, or at least they will put an “other” limit to the possible.
The image of ourselves, once modifyed, has to regroup itself, reach itself completely, while some parts are already projected into the future: it’s a dance, and we have to choose between partecipate or watching, and each of these two phases is decisive and necessary.
We choose to dance, this time, and we go into the forest.
COYOTE DOESN’T SLEEP.
October 10th, 2017
I’m fine here. Arrived this night, I still didn’t get out the room of the lodge we’ve found at the very last moment, tired after the journey, but nevertheless I’m good, I’m happy to be here.
Memories from India emerge, there is something similar in the air and I will go looking for it.
The way down from Quito looked like a dream: rain, cold, and a succession of images rapidly showing up in the dark, changing landscapes, and so the temperature and the state of roads, as if it was a slide show; to go down to the forest have been a relief.
Stars are different down here, also the moon is bigger, and birds never heard before sang all night long.
My body doesn’t feel good, it’s feeling the journey, but it’s relaxing, feeling at home.
I begin to organize thoughts towards Ayahuasca, feelings tied to this research are getting clearer: if I think about how, untill now, our relationship have been, I have to say that the vine has answered really fast to my calls; now I’m here, signals will come more often, for sure also the misleading ones.
This night I saw myself in the Amazon, and it was great.
I perceived this huge forest all around, and the amount of water and life that is in it, that’s flowing and moving and has a soul.
I wish to dip in a river, and do it everyday: it seems to me that this Great House that surrounds me could, just for its vastness, clean me up from useless scales.
I wish to get in touch with it, letting it imbue me: it looks like a good thing.
Objectives are thinning away, and an intent is surfacing.
It’s afternoon, and I’m alone: I told to the guys I need to rest, and it’s true.
This morning we had a first approach with the forest: here in town there is a parque amazonico between the two rivers that come together in Tena, as to say a hem of forest which arrives till the town doors has been declared protected and named park; we took a walk amongst plants and along the riverside and I got in with my feet in the current: I needed that.
We marveled at plants, leaves, flowers, fruits, and butterflies: we saw one that by our standards was huge; then ants which cut leaves and transport them in pieces, the footprints of the tapir, fishes with weird membranes that make them similar to jellyfishes; we said to ourselves that if the park is like this, who knows the forest itself how could look like.
But this afternoon I’m not good, maybe my body is feeling the aftermaths of the journey, or maybe is this temperature, the facts is that I cannot walk, and I have strong pains.
Anyway, this morning I was talking about my conversations with Ayahuasca, well, today seems like the picture is developing: among the various hostals we found on the guide I insisted on this one, the Casa Blanca, convinced it was next to the river, and arrived here we thrusted in without trying elsewhere, good for one night, but not what I wanted.
Instead we found out the owner is a guide, and one of the greatest snake expert of Ecuador: chatting a bit, and talking about Ayahuasca, because talking clear is paying back, he turned out to be friend with a shaman who lives in the forest and works with the vine; he takes it too and, if wanted, is possible to spend two days in the forest picking the vine up and preparing it for the ritual.
It’s more than I expected, end up in a lodge and find all of this.
As in Italy last month, Ayahuasca answers fast to the call, and proposes itself.
Right one year ago I was in Texas, looking for an ally.
One month and a half before, July 4th, I had an inguinal hernia operation, this time right side, and a tumor excision, at the same time.
I should have been in the forest in April, but the sudden and urgent need of an operation, and for two reasons, made the programs skip.
But in August I was in Texas, with Bianca, looking for a bicolor frog that owns a power: I needed an ally.
We went to the most upstream source we could find, and on the way showed up Peter, who has been working with the frog for thirty years, and who even brought it to Italy, to the Univerity of Rome, to Vittorio Erspamer, who defined it “an amazing chemical cocktail with potential medical applications, unequaled in any other amphibian”.
It’s been a year I’m introducing in my body a substance in which, as for Ayahuasca, I recognize a spirit, an intelligence.
I approached with a leap the indigenous vision, which sees spirits in things, and a spirit in each thing: I prefear, because I’m not indigenous and because I feel more confortable with this word, to define an intelligence it’s possible to dialogue with, that has its own typical way to arrive, to enfold, that has a way to move recognizable and unpredictable at the same time.
These certainties derive from the body: through the body they entered underskin and slowly reached the center of consciousness; mind is keeping on opposing with a right resistence, drawing back when possible not to lose control.
Nevertheless too many times, in these last two years, I surrended to the evidence that what I was facing was true, even though mind still cannot put it in this cathegory, and this is the reason, or better the process ,which caused the leap.
To put ourselves in situation with no parachute sometimes seems to be the best choice.
WHEN WE FIRST MET CARLOS.
October 11th, 2017.
Today is a particular day.
Since this morning, seamlessly, followed one another moments that were diametrically opposed, moods, possible things which become impossible and the other way round, sense of uselessness and action in a very short amount of time.
I like Carlos, and I like his wife; he’s the shaman collegue with Gary’s friend, and he came from the selva to meet us.
He has black liquid eyes, dark skin, talks with low voice and his wife doesn’t speak at all, just smiles and nodds, sometimes.
We sit in the common kitchen, trivially, but no one and no noise has bothered our conversation, and the silence all around stood out.
Gary and Bianca interpreted, and Oscar took charge of not so sacred questions, for example about money and which time we will meet and so on.
Bianca and Oscar are excited, and they have kept the space in a good way, with naturalness and dignity.
He didn’t trust us, the shaman, that was clear in his eyes, or at least he thought we were turists looking for emotions, and Gary, who did’t know him personally, acted good keeping high the energy level.
We were a good group, good understanding between us: good wave, the guys would say.
Everything appened like this, with a fastness hard to imagine in this place, if we look at how time unrolls here in the forest; but it looks like decisions are rapid to be taken, for everybody.
We are going to be in a cave, this night, and Carlos said is going to be cold, take blankets with you, so Bianca and Oscar went to town to buy water and three blankets.
I preferred to stay here, I still cannot walk so much, and I left them choosing for me.
I’m bringing my daugther in a cave in the ecuadorian forest, to take a psychedelic from the hands of a stranger: I’m leading her in a path which is mine, I asked her to be part of it, initiating her to something even I don’t know so well.
Maybe this is not just an healing journey, because in this moment I’m not sure about what I actually have to heal from, so I ask myself in which direction I should move, smell, which signals I should follow.
Windows open and close everyday, I see possible futures as footages which get in my field of view and get out, leaving light traces; I let the forest in, I hope it will be gentle.
The moments before an action are the ones I like the most: my attention is high, I’m overwrought, but I like it, for sure worried for my body, hope it will bear; I’m moved by my daugther, by the women who this night, at home, will play drums for us. Nobody else knows, for now, I desire protection.
We have a couple of hours before going, and right outside the window a bird keeps on singing a chant which seems like the one our hawks do when they’re flying high: it’s impressive, because for sure isn’t a bird of prey, and is small, even if its voice is big, and I’ve never heard it before.
It looks like a greeting, and I dont’ understand if benevolent, but by now things are moving, inside and outside.
Why are you telling all of this, someone asked a few days ago.
I don’t remember what I’ve answered because they were mind options; now I think I’m writing because I think it fits, it’s part of what is happening, as to say a series of movements which still don’t have an interpretation, of non-circumventable key-events: a sort of drift where I feel the current becoming stronger but the hand is adapting too, and I sense the rapids, because eyes can’t see.
My body, no matter what I do, doesn’t seem orieted to healing: I’m in a phase of the story with my sickness where I reached a perespective change, and a dialogue seems to be established.
More than a truce, it’s giving me more instruments, it doesn’t show itself just as destructive, or better, while destroying it deleted also things which were not assonant, and this is showing new strenghts, and abilities I didn’t know.
I am surprised to be surprised to be able to use them.
May Beauty be always all around.