Myths are destined to fall, otherwise they will be an obstacle for our eyes.
You never cease to find them on you, maybe under the cloack of expectaions, or between the folds of the letdown: in difficult situations the myth stands out in the background.
After Ayahuasca, expecially the first times, it happens a sort of energetic variation, which is actually a continuation of the work of the vine itself.
Sometimes has happened, the day after, to have a wave back, not differently than as LSD does; some other times shows up a dreamy state or, contrariwise, a sensation of strenght.
The relative stabilization of my relation with Ayahuasca, in the last two years, has nothing to deal with addiction: each meeting is a choice.
Better, a place has been created, during the ceremonies, which I’m sure sooner or later will expand in a territory that now I cannot see.
I read again these pages which I named “reflux”, written two years ago, and I see the abyss I was moving in direction of, and between the lines I can read the attraction the abyss itself exercised.
“Ayahuasca no mata” Carlos says, “Ayahuasca doesn’t kill”, and he laughs, but one of the typical situation about Ayahuasca is the deep convinction that a reality is being lived, and that in that moment two consciousnesses, both true, both there and both essential, are being experienced at the same time.
Ayahuasca is also called “the little death” because this is what can be experienced.
In these years for three times I’ve found myself there, with the awarness of being dying, and there was no fear, no convinction, no resignation.
The jolt is tough, and has a long wave: it bounces and creates echoes that dilate in the time and in the space: death is not just a thought anymore, or a experience of someone else; the concept itself fades away, replaced by the fact of having witnessed our own death.
Nevertheless this consciousness doesn’t drive away the awarness that all of that wansn’t real, but an allucination, and the two consciousnesses, antithetic and unquestionable, manage to coexist, and I think this has to do with the essence of magic.
October 15th, 2017.
I’m angry, impatient, frustrated, I see myself trapped.
I’ve been here in Ecuador for ten days, and I already feel the lack of time, I’m not getting anywhere.
True, I’ve found Ayahuasca, but it doesn’t look like a great feat.
True, I’ve found a shaman, but here there are a lot, it’s not difficult.
True, I’ve had a special night, but it’s gone, leaving traces but in the body, and they aren’t so delightful.
I’ve seen Ayahuasca getting inside my body, diffusing from my stomach through wires which reached each fiber, and take possession of senses, nerves, will: fear arrived the day after, because that night it wasn’t there, in reverse, a sort of exaltation made me live what was happening as a conquer, but it wasn’t.
I’ve reached a perception I have been pursuing for a long time and now I’m not proud of it.
If I had a body which allows it to me I would be out there in this Ecuadorian night, with its deafening crickets and snakes, as the one I’ve found out I’ve slept with this night; I would be hanging around, I would take a bath in these rivers, I would walk for these paths, instead I found myself being a sort of invalid, who needs assistance.
Though, in this dark that surrounds me, there are lights, and the most bright is my daughter.
This night we cried together; Bianca manages to tell me things that nobody dares to, and she does it with simplicity, cleanliness and love.
We talked about my death, she herself brought up this, and I thank her, it was the best way to be close to me that I could ever desire.
In this corner of the world, surrounded by a huge forest, far away from reality that has been my life in the last thirty years, I couldn’t be somewhere else.
The filter through I see things around me got thinner, I hear voices wispering inside myself, silent presences I don’t have the capacity to talk about, because defining them would make them vanish, as telling a dream does.
Tears run down, in these days, on their own, and it’s not sadness, but a sort of emotion, a surrendering that doesn’t make me wiser, but more child-like.
Before leaving I’ve learned a dakota lullaby, easy, just a few words, and if I sing it I cry, and there is a sort of happiness in this, and a dense feeling which sets aside the importances: “Good hearted child, go to sleep, the night is good too; so I say to you”.
I always bring it with me, in these days: it put on the same plane ending the day with the sleep and the life with the death.
Two years have passed since these lines.
That time I still didn’t know about the tumor.
Making a link between what Carlos had said about my belly and about the red snake, with the news about having a tumor, I could for sure say that I had been diagnosed with it, the fact is that in that moment I didn’t know how to decipher that language.
May Beauty be always around.