The Guide

“Esta el señor?”
“Si” replies his sun.” He points to the door of a little wooden house.
I walk inside.
“Hola!”
His wife grabs a chair for me. One of the rare laid back ones in Peru. She puts it in the middle of the room. I sit back and relax. As I watch the room, I notice it starts moving. Must be the inhabitants´ vibes. The colours of the rainbow flow by, leaving me amazed of their harmony. No interruptions here at all. I always thought I was the one causing the interruptions I saw. Then why not here? It´s not like the room itself is so beautiful. Rats run through the house.
My mind wanders off to yesterday. My arrival at Puerto Prado caused some fuzz, as it tends to in the villages I thread. The boat to Atalaya left at eleven, meaning half past twelve. Enough time to get to know a mother and her three outstandingly hot daughters, who would travel along for the next six hours. A mysterious look inside their eyes. Mom´s brother-in-law, Fermin Murayauri is a shaman. Made her fly, she says. Internationally recognized guy. Lucky me. The boat trip was gorgeous. El Rio Tambo is the broadest I have ever seen. Tree-filled hills left and right. Birds all around.
Fermin comes in. He puts a seat in front of me, and takes place.

“Joven”. Sais the very light and friendly voice.
I come forward. He fills the cup. Gently blows on it. Draws a cross. Places it in my hands. I drink. Back to the wall that will support my back. There are about fifteen of us. Not all drink: our master drinks for some, explains an experienced Limeño. When all have passed, the light goes out. A soft and high, but pleasant hum from where our master used to sit . He spreads the smell of “Alcanfor” through the room. Minty, but more penetrating. Yet slightly soothing too. Many thoughts cross my mind. “Will it come in?” “Am I prepared enough?” “Will the other people start screaming, and how can I handle that?” All I can do is wait, meditating on my shadow.

El mirador. Seven O´clock. A few young girls on the benches around me. We start talking.
“Do you happen to know a good Ayahuascero around here?”. They do, and lead me there. Guided by five kids, I reach Don Murayauris door. A big smile on his face. He reminds me of my grandpa, yet I´m not entirely sure why. In his eyes I see the same deep purple shine as in earlier encounters with shamans.
“Hi, it´s an honour to meet you. I am me, Gilles Havik. I´m gathering information on many hallucinogens from all over the world. I´m looking for someone who can introduce me to the spirit of ayahuasca. Can you do that?”
“Yes”
His smile remains unmoved.

All we can see in the dark is the shining red tip of our healer´s cigarette and it´s subtle reflection on his wrinkled face. During the instants he lights up a new one: his thin and loose white blouse. He is sometimes bended over a patient like a frog. Beggar like, almost. He sucks up the poison and spits it out. I see the evil leave. A rat runs over my leg. For a second, my heart pumps adrenaline.

So here we sit, in the middle of the room. Fermin right in front of me. We chat. Another patient comes in. He speaks to the lady sitting at my right about looking for diseases’ origin in people´s thoughts. I temporarily unblock my sacral chakra. Of his whole being, only his eyes appear to move. For a second, they point straight under my belly button.
“Do you perceive energy?” I ask, knowing the answer.
“Yes, I see everything”
“But some diseases don´t want to be cured. He tells the lady. “You can try whatever you want, but they won´t let go. To cure those diseases, you need a lot of patience and persistence.”
“I know my not is very persistant, and I don-t expect you to cure it. Just a step in the right direction perhaps.”
He smiles
I feel like a little naïve.

While I’m unlocking my sacral chakra, the trip awakens inside me. From the ground raises the good old snake, yet more concrete, distactionless. For an instant when it joins my eye, I fear to go insane. It spreads to the horizon. Forgotten visions merge in flow. I forget I am tripping: it rather feels like a very successful meditation. I am many different paintings of spiritual bodies, all at once. No oddness, no strange, all perfectly natural. Locusts tsjirp all around. They are a part of us. Connected to infinity. The singing voice of our master produces waves of peace that contact spirits from high up. Heaven slowly fills the room. The guy next to me, he seemed so tough, is now crying without stop. I am glad for his relief: tomorrow he will shine. Further away: a lady pukes and moans. The healer comforts her with gentle words. I hum to keep her bad vibes out. My hands dance freely through the dark, now filled with airy light.

…5…4…3…2…1…Feliz año!
It is a great honour to celebrate new years with the Murayauris. Fermin knows how to drink! And along the way, he rapidly converts his silent being in the background to a passionate talker. He keeps answering questions, but also comes with stories of his life. How a Peruvian´s biggest mistake is his distrust. Strangers should love each other. At three O´clock the dansfloors attraction wins over his. It´ll turn out to be the final goodbye.

Our master keeps singing.
“So this is famous ayahuascaland.” Snakelike, with some froggy accents. When I fall into my bed, the voyage merely starts. The border of sleep and wakefulness gives thought to what I felt. Receptivity, the thing I miss does not come from the mind. From deep inside, a world I´ve always felt. How I forget that it exists, believe my thoughts again. Beginning´s back: the journey´s end it´s very spark.