This is the post I’ve been meaning to put up since going to see about the ayahuasca ceremony last week. (Remember that?) It was at the home/property/retreat of a female shaman named Doña Otelia. I met some people in Iquitos whose energy I liked, and she was the woman that they swore by. I wasn’t looking to take ayahuasca, but I was open under the right circumstances. This seemed like a possible fit.
That Wednesday was the 4th of July – a very special day for me. My Independence Day. The day I picked up and moved to New York. The day I was welcomed into my life in San Francisco. The day I first felt a sense of community in LA.
Her ceremonies take place on Tuesdays and Fridays. It was Monday 7/2 when I learned about her, and I decided to head out the next day. Whatever happened, it would be a Fourth to remember.
Here’s how it went…
GETTING THERE
It took two motocarros and an hour in a packed, sweaty minivan to get to “Kilometro 50,” the place where Doña Otelia lives. When the van stopped, there were no instructions, no houses, no street signs. I was just dropped at the side of the road and off it went.
There was just a tree – and under it, a mother and her band of children. I asked in the best Spanish I could muster if she knows where to find Doña Otelia. She didn’t, but pointed down the road a bit to where a small group was gathered: “Pregunto a los chicos. Trabajan para ella.”
Turns out, I was in luck. Two teenage boys were taking some things up to her house and instructed me to follow them. It’s the serendipitous way things happen here.
I changed into the heavy rubber boots that are a necessity in the jungle (I’d bought them that morning for <$8) and off we went.
THE TREK
For 30 minutes we trudged through mud, mostly uphill, in 90% humidity, with a pack on my back. I know I sound like a Depression-era grandparent, but it really did happen. Any complaints would have been ridiculous though, since the guys were carrying sacks of sand the size of 6-year olds on their backs. And they were outpacing me.
About halfway through, we ran into a woman on the path: Doña Otelia. She was heading in the opposite direction – not a good sign. In Spanish, she told me that there would be no ceremony. Not until next week. People were doing other medicines this week. My face doesn’t hide disappointment well, so I’m sure she saw that there was some major pouting underneath. But I smiled and thanked her, and continued on into the unknown.
THE PLACE
From the very first glimpse, I was enchanted. It’s a wide swath of green on an incline, with a few small houses for the family, the workers and long term guests, and a larger one with most of the sleeping accommodations. That’s where I would be staying.
The house was straight out of an old adventure guide or picture book. Like a pirate ship run aground in the Garden of Eden. Wooden planks made up the walls and floor, and weathered pieces of fabric hung like old sails or spider webs in some of the windows. The rooms were small and simple, each with just a bed, a table and a stool. White gossamer mosquito nets hung over the beds, with swaths of fabric serving as doors to each room.
The house had two floors. On the first, five bedrooms, a table with two small benches, two hammocks and the bathroom.* Upstairs, three bedrooms, two hammocks and a single desk with a chair.
My room was on the upper level, where the concept of exterior walls is translated very loosely. There are support beams and it looks like walls are a twinkle in someone’s eye, but they don’t seem to be a priority, which is more than fine with me. It was gorgeous. Nothing but green in every direction.
* NOTE: The bathroom was a curtain-separated room with a toilet bowl and a garbage can full of water. No bath. No shower. No sink. No tank. To flush, you scoop out water with a small bucket and dump it into the toilet, where it flows into a pit slightly downhill from the house. Paper goes in the trash (as is usually the case here). The seat is only used as needed. (Apparently, spiders and other buggers like to make their homes under toilet seats.) Not complaining – just wanted to explain the state of affairs. 🙂
THE PEOPLE
The others at Doña Otelia’s were a mixed bunch. There’s the kind, introspective social worker from Portland who’s too hard on himself, a Venezuela-born engineer from Florida who recently left his job, a Russian couple who speak little English but are generous with smiles and nods, a tall French guy who apparently has a lot to heal and misses his wife and son terribly, and an American wise beyond his 20-something years who seems to be Doña Otelia’s English-speaking right hand.
THE FOOD
When I arrived, everyone was just sitting down for a meal. (My timing is impeccable!) The kitchen staff (Dona Otelia’s family) served up generous plates of food and pitchers of fresh juice, along with medicinal teas for cleansing. Every morning, afternoon and evening they prepare huge meals for the group, from stews of veggies and rice to freshly caught fried fish. (I don’t even like fish and this was delicioso!)
THE FOREST
One of my first and most memorable experiences was my communion with the jungle. It was dusk, and I was looking out over the forest from the second floor. Breathtaking. I was struck with a full-body sense of love and gratitude that literally brought me to tears. I can’t say exactly why, but I started thanking the jungle in Spanish, sending love to every tree and thanking God for everything.
It was bizarre and beautiful.
THE BATH
I had just finished my spirit-fest when Joseph (the right hand) came up to tell me that the plant bath was ready. I had heard good things, but really had no idea what it was. It turned out to be heaven in liquid form.
Before heading to the plant bath, I had to wash off the day. Beneath the stilted house was a large garbage bin full of river water. (As proof, there were still two little fish still swimming in it.) This was our bath water. Yummm. Between a plastic pitcher, my washcloth, and a keen eye for fish and insects, I scrubbed down in record time.
Then the plant bath…
A blue bathtub sat firmly on the grass next to Dona Otelia’s house. At first glance, the water’s army green color and unidentified floating objects looked unappealing. But first glances can often be misleading.
I got closer and saw that what dotted the water were chamomile flowers. Setting aside my towel, I scooped up a pitcher full and started pouring.
WOW. It was gorgeous, with a scent that would rival any luxury candle or perfume. I later found out it was chamomile, rosemary and eucalyptus, among other local plants. I ecstatically poured pitcher after pitcher of the fragrant water over my head, trying to breathe it in without the accidental gulp. I had to force myself to leave, since water was limited and they were calling us in for dinner. (The following day they added a flower bath.)
** Note: This was the same water that my iPhone briefly bathed in the following day. Luckily, Peruvian homes stock plenty of rice and I had a spare Ziplock (benefit of traveling like a Girl Scout), so I tried the cure I’d heard about so many times and prayed for the best. I left the phone in the bag of rice for about 36 hours. Happily, it worked. 🙂
THE NIGHTTIME PRAYER (& ANSWER)
Being surrounded by the living, breathing jungle, I wanted to take advantage of my hours of rest. Setting aside my fears of sleeping in a place haunted by insects and rats, I shifted my focus to thanking, connecting, asking and listening. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular; just some sort of download.
What I got totally blindsided me.
I had to scribble down the exact words because they struck me so strongly:
“I’m going to have a baby… I need to be a mom. I need to pass on my wonder in the world, my values, my heart.”
Surprising and weird, since for years I hadn’t been interested and only recently had I even started to consider it. But the message was clear as day. It even specified not to discount having a boy, since all I had ever imagined wanting was a girl. (The eerie thing is, there was a little boy at the house who seemed a bit shy or standoffish at first. But the following day, he started running to me, throwing his arms around my neck, hopping on my back and curling up in my lap. Odd, no?)
There were two other insights immediately following:
“I am a teacher. I’m at my best when I’m teaching. Making difficult things simple and clear, bringing humor, positivity and enthusiasm to learning. I don’t know what it is that I will teach, but I am a teacher.”
“I am a visual creator. It’s my greatest, easiest source of flow.”
Not sure what comes next, but I feel compelled to share because it showed up with such strength and clarity.
THE PAIN & THE PURGE
The next day I woke up with a hint of a headache. It grew throughout the day, ultimately ending in eyeball-pinching, appetite-stealing, nausea-inducing pain. By the end of the day, food bothered me, light bothered me and, of course, noise bothered me.
When I tried to go to bed, what used to be the melodious symphony of the jungle became a furious cacophony of high-pitched insect chirps and bird calls, piercing my skull from every direction. The volume was like a stadium concert, and I had no way to escape.
It got so bad that I vomited. A lot. Someone said that maybe I was so sensitive to the energy that I had an ayahuasca-style purge by osmosis. Who knows.
(Note: “Purging” is the term used for the vomiting/diarrhea associated with ayahuasca and other plant medicines. One of the guys there was taking a medicine – huacapurana – that’s meant to cleanse the body and brings about even heavier purging. Five minutes after taking it, he was in the bathroom, shouting and groaning like someone either having the best sex of his life or dying a slow and horrible death. I heard afterward that what usually is over in a few hours lasted an entire day and a half for him. Poor guy.)
GOING HOME
In the morning, I felt about 80% better. I was able to eat a bit. That was a gift, since there was fresh fruit and homemade plantain pancakes on the table. Afterwards, on went the rubber boots and back through the jungle we went.
The transportation system there is… interesting. You stand by the side of the road. Eventually a van drives by. It stops. You get in. It continues to pick up people (and all kinds of other things) until it arrives at its destination.
Ours squeezed in 13 people and two 4-foot tall vats of I don’t know what.
I made it back safe and sound, but I have to say it was a shock to the system. In a matter of an hour, you go from lush greenery and quiet thatch-roofed homes into the engine-roaring, vendor-shouting, pedestrian-hunting chaos that is Iquitos. But I have to say, there’s also a strange comfort in all the frenetic energy. Must be the New Yorker in me.
FINAL 4th OF JULY THOUGHTS
I may not have spent my 4th of July as planned – recovering from a night of hallucinogenic visions and shamanic chanting – but who cares? I connected deeply with the jungle and nature, got three helpful “aha” insights and…did I mention I was in the Peruvian Amazon?? This after working up the cojones to quit my job and travel solo for 2 months, with the primary intention of taking a big breath and recalibrating (while working on my Spanish).
I say that counts as a meaningful Independence Day. 🙂
Besos y abrazos,
Aviva
