M.C. Miller's Blog, page 12

Cuenca photo sequence - afternoon, sunset, night.

Cuenca photo sequence - afternoon, sunset, night.

A giant steps over the Cajas and appears in Cuenca. He im...

A giant steps over the Cajas and appears in Cuenca. He implores the angry sky and the primal forces of nature to come assist the TranVia construction workers.



It seems even the ghosts from Ecuador's illustrious past are now anxious to see the project finally complete.

Addicted to Drama!What happens to a culture that's addict...

Addicted to Drama!
What happens to a culture that's addicted to drama?

Hardly anyone will read this, not all the way through, and even if they do it's on the internet and can be easily discounted. So I have great latitude in being that inmate in the insane asylum who's been secretly ditching his meds for no other reason than they taste bad. Unfortunately, a side effect of skipping the prescribed soma is sudden clarity on how crazy this place truly is. As Tolstoy chuckled on his way to Astapovo train station, "History would be wonderful if it were true."

Well then, what the flying flossum has been going on? It's hard to make sense of it. Everyone is jacked up on some kind of convulsive drama. It permeates the job, the entertainment, the sports, the family, the news, the playground, even Saturday morning cartoons. What reason could there be for all the running and shouting and smearing shit on the walls? It seems everyone needs their fix of stimulation. Even silence has been redefined as nothing more than the negative aural space of steadily increasing suspense before the .50 caliber gunshot blasts open the cranial bones in a slow-mo spectacular chunky spray. How do we know the nice lady is about to be raped and stabbed 40 times? She's too happy enjoying her hot shower. There's an implication there. Anyone THAT happy and undramatic deserves what she gets.

Worse yet, no one seems to know or care where all this drama came from or what's the friggin' point. No one even calls it drama - they act like this is life the way we should expect it. Drama is entertainment. Drama is what makes life interesting. Just try a day without drama and you'll be fucking bored.  So don't try NOT to have drama. The powers that be have psychological terms for that sad syndrome. A person without drama is obviously suffering from delusional denial. The undramatic slob has withdrawn into a substitute womb because they can't cope with reality and falsely believe that losing oneself in a less-than-dramatic safe space will solve their issues. The truth is, their real issue can't be dealt with until they CONFRONT the delusion. Maybe a dramatic encounter group might help. Worse yet, they don't fit in. That in itself is the ultimate drama. If nothing else, they should be worrying about that.





I bumped into a fellow inmate running in the hallway some time back. He was rushing towards me from the other direction clutching wires from one cubicle meant for another cubicle. I wasn't sure if I should run in the direction he was running from so I shouted at him, "Why are you running?" He shot a paranoid glance at a monitoring camera swivel-mounted to the ceiling and growled back, "You're the one running! Who sent you after me?" A code-blue alarm blared to end that conversation. Those clowns in the white coats from the executive suites would be stalking the hallways, looking for someone to subdue, so it was best to be on our way. No sense getting into a spiff about #ClownLivesMatter. But I did pause to notice an update to our Mission Statement and Core Values posted on the wall. Something had changed about the enshrined group think but I couldn't quite decode the jargon. It must have been my lack of meds. Actually the graffiti by the toilet appeared more of an accurate Mission Statement. At least the profane scrawl was more succinct. And it would have fit much better within a 140-character viral life-hack of realistic expressions of core values as demonstrated by ongoing behavior in my social radius. It was that kind of day.

It's hilarious. There's even drama about writing this nasty bit of distraction. Everything I post will be preserved in some vast panopticonic server farm at 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA. Granted, it's very important to monitor this stuff, just in case some over-budgeted government agency needs to correlate what I'm saying and doing with other inmates in order to keep the self-described clever collective of inmates safe. And safe in this context means non-threatening to the corporate government's mission statement and core values - that crap on the wall with the updated jargon. I'm beginning to suspect the splashy dogma on the wall is nothing but catchphrases chasing the latest meme to reinforce the drama. It's obvious the Corporatocracy needs their Total Information Awareness and Full Spectrum Dominance in real-time. They must know I do this to humor myself - let's set that straight. I don't expect to start a loony bin riot or rally the drooling reality-challenged individuals around me into a hunger or bathroom strike. I have heard the rumor than I am an acceptable level of threat and if I was not I'd know about it pretty damn quick. It's no mistake the asylum is set up to look like a dramatic amusement park. As long as you stay on the rides or stand in line for a repeat spin, you'll never have to see the vast tunnel system and dark, drama-fed machinery underground or be dragged to a cold hard spot to receive a renditioned re-education and deliver your scripted repentance.


The curiosity still hangs out there. What will eventually happen to a culture, a society that's addicted to drama? The dramatic thing to do would be to spin off all day just defining addiction, culture, and drama and then form a group to argue about it. It's not worth my day but a couple points could be helpful.

Addiction is a powerful force. Just look at that experiment they did with rats. Those MKUltra type of folks (the President uses "folks" a lot to appear all warm and fuzzy, like he's one of us, so I thought I'd try it here) -- those folks inserted wires in the brains of rats, right into their excitement centers. Then they gave the rats a button they could push whenever they wanted. The rats quickly realized that a push of the button gave them a jolt of excitement, and the drama of that was pleasurable. So naturally, the rats got carried away pushing their happy button. Soon it was non-stop drama for rat-ville. It was great excitement except the rats started neglecting everything else - even eating. That's how the pleasured drama-rats starved to death. End of story.

Luckily, there's no chance of that happening to us - not when technocratic societies are going so obviously obese to the tune of heart disease and diabetes type 2. No one in the cul-de-sac has forgotten to eat so that proves we're nothing like the rats. Unless those same MKUltra "folks" discovered a way to trigger consumption of empty calories while we're being dramatized by stimulating entertainments. That could be a nice connection to the pleasure center -- see a violent act and get a chocolate reward! Can the social engineers do something that complex? Probably not. Then again, a bowl of chocolate bits while watching some family hour ultra-violence on TV or in the theater or on YouTube does sound strangely appealing. The behavior and its cascading effects do fit in with what some experts claim are signs of addiction:

LINK: Addicted to Violence - Has the American Dream Become a Nightmare 



ADDICTION SIGNS
The person takes the substance and cannot stop.
Withdrawal symptoms - cravings, bouts of moodiness, bad temper, poor focus, a feeling of being depressed and empty, frustration, anger, bitterness and resentment.
Increased appetite, insomnia are common symptoms. Withdrawal can trigger violence, trembling, seizures, hallucinations, and sweats. (I think Big Pharma has something for that)
The addiction continues despite health problem awareness.
Social and/or recreational sacrifices - some activities are given up because of an addiction.
Maintaining a good supply - the addict ensures a good supply (DirectTV Premium Package).
Taking risks to make sure he/she can obtain his/her substance.
Taking risks while under the influence such as driving fast or road rage.
Dealing with problems - they need their drug to deal with their problems.
Obsession - spend more and more time and energy focusing on ways of getting their substance.
Secrecy and solitude - in many cases the addict may take their substance alone, and even in secret.
Denial - they are not aware (or refuse to acknowledge) that they have a problem.
Excess consumption - the individual consumes it to excess.
Dropping hobbies and activities - as the addiction progresses the individual may stop doing things he/she used to enjoy a lot.
Having stashes - having small stocks of their substance hidden away.
Taking an initial large dose to feel good (binge watching tv or marathon 1st person shooter games online).
Having problems with the law - when everything's dramatic, every interaction has the potential for explosive drama. Domestic abuse the #1 dangerous response call for police.
Financial difficulties.
Relationship problems.
Loss of Control.
Changing Appearance.
Family History - family history of addiction can increase one's predisposition.
Tolerance - over time, a person adapts to the point they need more and more to have the same reaction.
Continued Use Despite Negative Consequences
Irritability/Argumentative
Defensiveness
Inability to deal with stress
Loss of interest in activities/people that used to be part of their lives
Obnoxious
Silly
Confused easily
Denial
Rationalizing – alibis, excuses, justifications, or other explanations for their behavior
Minimization – admitting superficially to the problem but not admitting to the seriousness
Blaming – placing the blame for the behavior on someone else or some event
Diversion – changing the subject to avoid discussing the topic (hurrying off this post to another blog about a new kind of snuff porn where high-class fashion models dance and stomp kittens to death)


I get the whole thing about addiction. Everyone knows what addiction means. It's when you CAN'T stop. But none of us are addicted to drama or violence or conflict or stress or anxiety. We can't be because we could stop anytime we want. The important point is - we just don't want to. We like that jolt of stimulation. But isn't that the point of addiction? What's the difference of not wanting to stop - EVER - and not being able to stop? Semantics? Some will say liking ice cream is not the same as being addicted to it. Exhibit #1 Proof -- whole weeks go by without me eating a single scoop of ice cream. So that proves it - I'm not addicted. Besides, who needs ice cream when there's Oreo Double Stuff cookies? And don't go off on me, claiming what I'm really addicted to is sugar, not ice cream. You people and your conspiracy theories. Don't you ever stop? Honestly!

Everyone might know about addiction but getting a grip on a good definition of drama is another story. If you claim a culture is addicted to drama, then you damn well better be clear what all this drama is about.



DRAMA
A state, situation, or series of events involving interesting or intense conflict of forces.

Any situation or series of events having vivid, emotional, conflicting, or striking interest or results.

An event or situation, especially an unexpected one, in which there is worry or excitement and usually a lot of action. The excitement and energy that is created by a lot of action and conflict.

A way of relating to the world in which a person consistently overreacts to or greatly exaggerates the importance of benign events. Typically "drama" is used by people who are chronically bored or those who seek attention.

People who engage in "drama" will usually attempt to drag other people into their dramatic state, as a way of gaining attention or making their own lives more exciting.

Common warning signs / risk factors of drama or a dramatic person are:
1. Having one supposedly serious problem after another.
2. Constantly telling other people about one's problems.
3. Extreme emotionality or frequently shifting, intense emotions.
4. Claiming to have experienced negative events that are highly implausible.
5. A boring job or mundane life.
6. Making claims without sufficient evidence or a lack of detail about supposedly serious events.
7. A pattern of irrational behavior and reactions to everyday problems.

Geez, that sounds like the 24-hour news cycle. Can it really all be about boredom and a competition to be attention whores?  Yeah, and it's a ratty thing to say, but I suspect the pleasure center is kicking in somewhere too. But why would we get so much pleasure from drama, from stress, from shock and awe, from anxiety, from conflict and complications? Hey, if there isn't a gunfight, explosion, or car wreck before the first commercial break, there's 500 other channels to choose from. Of course, changing the channel might spark an argument over who controls the TV but all the better - a little real family drama plays  well in getting the blood pumping before settling it to stare unblinking at your favorite show.

But the question still - dramatically - hangs out there. What the hell happens to a culture that's addicted to endless drama? More stressful than that is trying to decide how you'd even define such a culture? With so much talk about diversity and sensitivity of other cultures, very little brain cycles have concentrated on what exactly comprises a culture of drama. If you met an aboriginal native from deep under and he asked you to summarize your culture, how would or could you do it? What possible description is there for pleasure-center, attention-whore automatons who've been hypnotized by media to believe they are individual, clever, and hip because they chase the latest meme and style themselves appropriately? What exactly is their culture? Can anybody even say they even have one? I dunno. What is culture?




CULTURE
Culture is defined as the shared patterns of behaviors and interactions, cognitive constructs, and affective understanding that are learned through a process of socialization. These shared patterns identify the members of a culture group while also distinguishing those of another group.
Culture is the collective programming of the mind which distinguishes the members of one category of people from another.
Culture is the shared knowledge and schemes created by a set of people for perceiving, interpreting, expressing, and responding to the social realities around them.
A culture is a configuration of learned behaviors and results of behavior whose component elements are shared and transmitted by the members of a particular society.
Culture...consists in those patterns relative to behavior and the products of human action which may be inherited, that is, passed on from generation to generation independently of the biological genes.
The way of life, especially the general customs and beliefs, of a particular group of people at a particular time.
The beliefs, customs, arts, etc., of a particular society, group, place, or time.
The sum total of ways of living built up by a group of human beings and transmitted from one generation to another.
The behaviors and beliefs characteristic of a particular social, ethnic, or age group.
Culture is the characteristics and knowledge of a particular group of people, defined by everything from language, religion, cuisine, social habits, music and arts.
A way of thinking, behaving, or working that exists in a place or organization.
Culture has been defined in a number of ways, but most simply, as the learned and shared behavior of a community of interacting human beings.



Given the state of the asylum, I'm going with - "Culture is the collective programming of the mind which distinguishes the members of one category of people from another." It's generic enough to cover all the insanity running riot while hitting the collective programming angle. Boiled down to its simplest expression, culture is just the learned and shared behaviors of a human group. To that end, we should make a list of learned behaviors that the members of a society addicted to drama have in common. I mean someone should. I'm afraid to compile such a list. Where would I begin? The Super Bowl? Beer Pong? Marvel comic violence on the big screen? Riots on Black Friday over the Door-Buster Sale on the Miss Peaches Happy Doll? Not for me. I don't want to go there. In fact, I'd be hard pressed to come up with an adequate description of the culture that pervades the technocratic drama state. I certainly wouldn't want to try to explain it to an aboriginal. Not because he couldn't understand it. More because I wouldn't want to admit it.


As Sun-Tzu once said, "Don't fight, subvert." And, of course, there are four steps to subversion - demoralization, destabilization, manufactured crisis, then normalization under the new regime.

To escape the asylum, I can see a state of affairs where the inmates inadvertently subvert their own prison - solely by acting the insane way they've been programmed to behave. Ultimately, nothing is more demoralizing than living in a constant state of masturbatory drama. The need to seek higher and higher states of drama has to spiral into disillusionment. The chaos that ensues from been rootless souls lost in their own pleasure centers will certainly destabilize things. The resulting crisis will play right into the populace's love of drama. What better drama than a real crisis everyone can get worked up about.

Of course, elements of the crisis will also be manufactured for effect by the Corporatocracy. The Mission Statement demands it. The state has to profit off the crisis somehow, otherwise they might as well just keep everyone spinning on the regular rides. The crisis will be good news for those in the boardroom who would like to see the amusement park asylum run with leaner margins and more control. How the resulting crisis plays out really is the only suspense left. It's the biggest suspense of all -- and promises to be the ultimate and final drama. When the whole thing collapses, the drama of it will be the money shot everyone's been dramatically on the edge of their seats waiting for. Like a convulsive orgasm of dramatic excess, the final crisis for such a society will take everyone by surprise. This isn't a show after all. This is life. Eventually, reality will have to hit the asylum. When it does, the real drama will begin. The drama of a new normalization.

KamboAt dawn, before the rain, you can hear the singing. ...

Kambo
At dawn, before the rain, you can hear the singing. Somehow, among all the intersecting signs and signals in the dense jungle, the small green frog knows that rain is on its way...and the frog sings.

You've heard the story before. If you haven't, there are plenty of wonderful online descriptions of Phyllomedusa bicolor, otherwise known as the Amazon's “Giant Monkey Frog.”

I won't retell the story that's been told. Instead, I'll tell mine. It's about an intense sacred ceremony of healing experienced by placing small amounts of the medicinal venom into small holes burned into my skin by a knowledgeable shaman.

A friend from Thailand was visiting Ecuador and he returned to Cuenca from Vilcabama to describe his Kambo experience. Having received the benefits of an Ayahuasca purge of things negative or unserving to my spirit, I was intrigued by Kambo - a ceremony that entailed the ultimate purge experience. I wondered - how could violent sickness and vomiting episodes triggered by a terrifically potent jungle venom possibly result in better health across all spectrums of one's being - physical, emotional, energetic, spiritual? If I hadn't talked to someone who personally had just returned from the experience with glowing things to say, I wouldn't have been prompted to investigate further.

My research only fed into the subtle but pervasive call from the jungle to come and be a part of the healing, the insights, the awakened vitality the frog could offer to those who respected the process. Reading all that was known about the frog, its venom, and the way the native peoples were first told about the venom medicine by Mother Ayahuasca only reinforced the impulse to heed the call to take the plunge and submit to the healing purge.

Here are two links that describe the Kambo frog and the healing effects of the powerful venom it produces. What the venom contains and what it provokes within us is truly amazing:

LINK - Kambo-Scientific-Research-Healing-Treatments.pdf
LINK - Kambomedicina.com

My friend from Thailand was told by the shaman that the proper way to receive maximum benefits from Kambo was to receive the medicine three times within a single lunar cycle. It didn't matter how the ceremonies were spaced as long as three ceremonies were completed within 28 days.

The ceremony space was a five-hour drive from where I live in Cuenca so I scheduled three Kambo ceremonies in three days. The agressive schedule not only was good to minimize travel, I figured it was also best to maximize Kambo's benefit. Added to this was the fact that I wanted to follow up the three days of Kambo with two days back-to-back with the plant medicine San Pedro. I figured that three days of cleaning out would position me well to really go deep with my conversations with Grandfather San Pedro. I wasn't sure how I'd feel after five ceremonies in five days but I followed my intuition that it was precisely what I needed.

LINKS to my Ayahuasca Experience:   Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV  




1st Kambo Day
I arrived with my wife at the Kambo ceremony space before 7am to find that an all-night Ayahuasca ceremony was just winding down. It was incredible to think that our shaman was able to go right into a Kambo ceremony after leading the all-night Ayahuasca journey. We sat a while in the gardens and talked with the Ayahuasca participants. As could be expected, they were not completely back and ready to move into their day. The morning sun edged high enough to set some garden flowers aglow while birds sang in the tall trees. Nearby a large metal cooker pot of Ayahuasca brew boiled away. Our shaman joined us to check in on the Ayahuasca celebrants. His calm wisdom and compassionate humor was immediately apparent in the way he interacted with everyone. Everything about him instilled a safe confidence in going forward with the Kambo.

When the time came, my wife and I and two other women followed the shaman down the path to a large teepee hidden in the foliage. We carried large containers of water and other jugs and buckets to drink from. He showed us where the two jungle toilets were and then ushered us inside the teepee. There his soft-spoken banter and gentle smile set the tone for the caring and sacred ceremony to come. He sat cross-legged before the implements he would use and described the process. He told us to start drinking water - one to two liters to start. He took his time to ask if we had any questions and thoroughly answered in the way appropriate. Sometimes his answer was a story, sometimes an anecdote, sometimes a single word and a smile. When he was sure we were informed and comfortable with the sequence of what would happen, he lit a candle and invited us one-by-one to come to his side to receive the medicine.

The shaman had me come up first. He asked me where I would like to receive the medicine. I told him my upper left arm, near the shoulder.  He explained I could receive points in two sizes depending on the size of stick he burned me with. Did I want the large stick or the small stick? Wanting the most benefit, I asked for the large stick. He then asked me how many "points" would I like. Each point is a single application of the medicine. I answered that I would trust his judgement - he should give me however many he thought would be good for me. To that he said he'd start me with four points. He placed the large stick in the candle flame until the stick caught fire. He blew out the fire and continued to blow on the end of the stick to make the burnt end glowing red hot. When the glowing end was just right, he told me to take in a breath. I breathed in and he punctured my arm with the glowing stick. Again and again he got the end of the stick red hot, told me to take in a breath, then punctured a hole. He then cleaned and brushed open the row of four vertical holes in preparation for the medicine.

Evenly spaced in a row on a small flat stick were small, greyish dabs of venom. The shaman wetted them ever so gingerly then took another special stick to apply a dab of venom into the four burn holes in my upper arm. Immediately, I could feel a rush of fiery flush course through my neck and head. My heartrate jumped and as I had been instructed, I grabbed my water jug and a mat and hurried out of the teepee to find my purge space outside in the foliage.

By the time I got my mat and water jug down and managed to kneel down, a dizzying rush of a flu feeling shuddered through me. A churning nausea twisted in my guts. My breaths came fast and labored. As instructed I hurried to gulp down more water. As I did, my wife and the other two women hurried out of the teepee one-by-one and rushed in agony to their own purge spaces next to and behind me somewhere. It was impossible to be too concerned about anything else going on. Trying to cope with the enormity of the sickness convulsing through my body was all I could bear to deal with. The Kambo was like a hot dragon snaking everywhere within my body and spirit, rooting out anything that shouldn't be there. I remarked to my wife afterwards that Kambo was like someone pressure-washing your insides and spirit with hot water - water, that once it had found what shouldn't be there, raced in a death-spiral panic to exit the body using the nearest orafice. 

I drank the last of the water in my jug and the shaman's voice from far away was replaced by the motion of him at my side, filling my water jug, as if he sensed my need for more water from afar and magically shifted to my side instantly. And so it went for two hours. At the very moment I would empty my water jug, the shaman was there to fill it again. Drink. Drink more. The more you drink, the more the medicine has to work with to get the bad stuff out. Just when I thought I couldn't drink any more, the slosh of water filling my jug would implore me to take more. The shaman was relentless with the four of us, making us drink - the one thing we didn't want to do was the only thing we had to.

But all that water didn't last inside long. The Kambo had a perfectly good use for it. It's called violent vomiting. It's nothing like regular vomiting. It's like a purge one makes with sudden superhuman strength as a last desperate act before dying of distressed physical overload. I never thought so much could be discharged like a projectile so quickly and so repeatedly in such a short time. I was so sick, so tired, all I wanted to do was lie down on my mat. But everytime I tried to lie down, the sickness intensified. Kambo wouldn't let me lie down. Kambo growled at me, "Try to sit this out and I'll hurt you! Get the fuck up! You need this!"

And so it went on, for two hours. Occasionally, at times when Kambo churned deep, the shaman would hover over me, singing an icaro and slapping my back and sides and air around me with a bound fan of leaves. I mustered all my strength and pulled myself back up to a kneeling position and sat back. I rolled my head back and stared helpless at the sky. Next to me, the shaman refilled my water jug for the millionth time. I felt out-of-body and tormented by my distressed body at the same time. I leaned forward into a hang-dog position on hands and knees. Kambo rocked me forward and back, forward and back again and again until another roar of vomiting sprayed the grass and weeds in front of me. This time a dark, viscous sludge of green ooze came out with the firehose spray. I watched as the slime-green gunk puddled in front of me long after the water portion of the spray had sunk into the ground. Whatever the green stuff was, I gave thanks it was not inside of me.

Sensing when Kambo's work for the day was done, the shaman approached me and asked if I wanted to receive a handful of liquid tobacco snuff. This tobacco bears little resemblance to any tobacco contained in store-bought cigarettes. The type of tobacco and the concentration of the liquid form is a special brew only known by the shaman. I said yes, I wanted the snuff to help raise the culmination of the ceremony to another level. Kneeling back on my mat, I held out my hand. The shaman poured out the brown liquid into my palm. Right away I raised it to my nose and snuffed the liquid up both nostrils.

After two hours of being weakened and cleansed by the Kambo, the liquid snuff hit me with expansive wavers of bright awareness and faintness. I looked up through the trees to the sky and felt my energies surge and sharpen even as I felt lighter. I felt too light to remain in any position other than lying down. I crumbled onto my side and felt the lightness intensify. Soon the lightness became floating. I felt the Kambo and snuff mix in a passage through my emotional body. The higher I floated out of my body, the more I spontaneously started to cry. The deepening cry intensified with the spaceless height of my floating spirit. Without words I felt an emotional purge surging out of me. The tears were a joyous purge of gratitude for all the negative emotion, the "panema" leaving me. I closed my eyes and sank into the sweet relief of the healing taking place. I gave thanks to Kambo. I basked in the sweet relief of floating away from sickness and pain. Day 1 of Kambo was complete.




2nd Kambo Day
Once again, we arrived at the ceremony space at 7am. This day's ceremony would be attended by my wife and myself only. As the shaman prepared the water jugs and other implements, I asked about the Ayahausca cooker still flaming away under the large metal pot. The shaman noted that today he was concentrating the brew. Then we were ready. Again we took the walk down the path, through the garden, by the stream bed, until we arrived at the teepee. Questions and answers were handled inside the teepee and then we were ready to begin. The candle was lit, the sacred ceremonial words were spoken, and one at a time myself and my wife received our points. On this day the shaman said I should have six points. He burned the holes in a vertical line next to yesterday's points, the points now covered by Sangre de Drago, Dragon's Blood, a protective mixture to help the wounds.

By the time I hurried my mat and water jug to the same purge space outside the teepee as yesterday, the Kambo had me in its death grip. It was a much tighter and hotter grip than the day before. The sickness clawed at me and made me dizzy until I wished I could crawl out of my skin. I had drunk close to two liters of water inside the teepee before receiving the medicine. And Kambo lost no time making ample use of it. Violent purging into the weeds by my mat was announced to the sky with agonized yelps. I heaved heavy breaths in between jet streams of my insides flying out.

Like a bad dream returning, there was no relief from the water jug being instantly filled over and over again by the shaman. How could I do this for hours again? What was I thinking to set the ceremonies on consecutive days? How was I ever going to do this for a third day in a row tomorrow? A rush of sickening thoughts rattled through my mind. But I had to abandon all of it. None of the thoughts, none of my aching desires for relief mattered a bit. Nothing but time and purging would even start to alleviate the agony. And nothing but water would produce the proper purge. I lifted my water jug to my mouth and guzzled it down as fast as I could. But there was no getting ahead of it. Whatever amount I drank, the shaman would instantly replace it. "Drink! Drink! More water!"

The sickness and the violence of the purging was the worst on the second day. It took all my strength and willpower to keep going. About half-way through the two hours, during a particularly aggressive series of purges, I witnessed a strange yellow mass come out of me. As the ejected water disappeared into the earth, the viscous yellow muck clung like liquid glue to the weeds. In the yellow puddle was something else, something lighter in color and firmer in texture. I had barely eaten in two days so it wasn't undigested food. I don't know what it was but I wasn't about to inspect it. I only had massive gratitude that somehow I had managed to expel it.

As the hours passed and the worst of the Kambo effects subsided, the shaman came by to talk with me. He sat down cross-legged close to my mat on the weeds and we got talking about some of my questions. A primary question had been nagging me for a year, ever since I had a horrific time at my first Ayahuasca ceremony. I explained to him how I watched all night as the whole ceremony was taken over by dark entities in a dimension that overlaps ours. I explained how everything they did was a negative, trickster inversion of the original ceremonial intent. All of this I have explained in great detail in four other blog posts. (See links below)  The core issue was the dilemma I was left with. Did the dark entities really exist or were they just projections I created - or were they created by Mother Ayahuasca for a particular  lesson, the meaning of which I still hadn't grasped? Shamans protect ceremonial space, so they must believe there is something real to protect us from. The dark energy after taking Ayahuasca was independently verified by other participants at my ceremony, even though I had not told them details of my experience. So how could I ever trust the Ayahuasca experience when I had watched the ceremony get completely co-opted by dark interdimensionals. "They call it the medicine...we call it the poison!"

The Kambo shaman took the time to engage me and my concerns. I felt such genuine, active listening from him. I also felt the knowledge of hundreds of Ayahuasca ceremonies behind his words. He was well-acquainted with the way the Ayahuasca medicine manifests itself in all its guises, always with the singular purpose of giving us what we need to heal and become truly aware, no matter how harsh or traumatic it may have to be. I never expected such an indepth conversation with the Kambo shaman about my Ayahuasca experience. After all, it hadn't been his ceremony. But I felt his concern for me was real and so I told him the details he needed to assess if my dilemma could be solved.

At one point, when enough detail had been stated, I simply asked, "Do the dark entities exist or don't they exist?" It was the crux of my dilemma. Without hesitation, his eyes twinkled, a small grin turned up his lip, and he shot back in a soft but playfully firm voice - "They exist - and they don't exist. If you put your awareness there, then they exist. Your fear makes them real."

I could half see his point but I still wasn't completely satisfied. Before I could say more, he gathered everyone inside the teepee and asked if we would like some Rapé. I said yes. We sat facing each other and he said a few sacred phrases and loaded the v-shaped pipe. He told me to take a breath in and hold it. As I held it, he delivered the Rapé by placing one end of the pipe up my nostril and blowing the medicine up my nose from the other end of the pipe. My head reeled back with the crystalline snap of the sharpening substance flooding my sinuses and head. Before I could recover from the initial blast, the shaman had the second load ready for the other nostril. I held a breath and again the pipe shot hit my nose, sinuses and head. Immediately, he blessed me, quickly stroked his hands down from the crown of my head to my shoulders, then stroked down from my shoulders to my elbows. Then right away he snapped his fingers front and back, up and down around my head and ears. It was like fireworks popping off all around my head.

I sat back, dazed. Before I could gather my senses about what was happening, I started to purge. I gasped and almost choked, startled at the suddenness of the impulse and not wanting to purge in the teepee. I scrambled to my feet and rushed outside where the full purge erupted with an anguished sigh. After two hours, I thought my purging for the day was over. I never expected to purge so forcefully as a response to the Rapé. I only expected a possible cleaning out of the sinuses, which also occured. The shaman came out to check on me. He smiled at seeing I was recovering and added, "Thanks for watering my garden." After which, he went back into the teepee to administer Rapé to my wife.

I was blissfully wiped out and needed to lie down. The late morning breezes had come up and gigantic puffy clouds soared by overhead. In the distance, I could hear the exotic calls of four or five kinds of birds. But first I needed desperately to visit the jungle toilet for a final round of purging. When I returned, I was more than ready to lie on my side under the sky and float with the feeling of relief and clarity provided by Kambo and Rapé working hand-in-hand.

As I lay there with my head on the thin mat on the ground, I was at eye-level with the weeds stretching out towards the stream bed beyond the trees. The more I settled into a buoyant meditation, the more the plant life all around me became more vivid in color and started to shimmer. My eyes caught one particular plant, a young bananna tree no more than four-feet high. As I watched the breeze wave its long green branches, the sun came out from behind a cloud and lit it up magnificently. I thought - how beautiful. And instantly, I felt the spirit of the plant send love back to me. But with the love came a lesson. The plant acknowledged the beauty I was seeing but implored me to look around - the beauty was in the plant next to it, and the one farther over, and the tree behind it, and the grasses and weeds near its roots. Don't limit myself to its own beauty when its beauty was shared with all living things. All living things shared the same essence that I was recognizing in it. It was all the same living entity.  Indeed, I was apart of the same beauty, the same living being, the same wondrous energy of creation. I thanked the plant for the lesson and for helping me to see beauty in a broader sense. There is always more beauty to see. How wonderful and it can be accessed any time, any where, either with or without the aid of plant medicines. The medicines only allowed an enhanced experience of beauty to remind us of what we had all along, and will always have. And so Kambo Day 2 came to an end. The roughest day ended in the most beautiful way possible.



3rd Kambo Day
I had expected dread and fatigue when the alarm went off at dawn on the third day. Instead, I was amazed at the energy and fascinating anticipation I had for the day. Granted, it wasn't an overly pleasant anticipation - more of an energetic urge to jump into the process. I imagine it's similar to the way a long-distance Olympic runner might feel waking up on the day of the gold-medal run. You know it's going to be butt-dragging grueling, you may not survive, but in a personal best challenging way, you can't wait to get at it. This is what you came for so let's do it.

After arriving at 7am again and chilling out on the shaman's patio while he made preparations, my wife had a minute of reflection in which she wondered if she should sit the day out; maybe two days were adequate for what she needed. I would support whatever she chose but I knew I was doing the third day. If nothing else, it was joyously exciting that there wasn't going to be a fourth day! A couple hours through the wringer again and then it would be off to two days of San Pedro. She meditated on it for only another minute and then resolved to tough it out. She'd do the 3rd day too. I was happy that we'd be completing the entire three-day odyssey together. Plus, it would be within one lunar cycle, so according to shamanic prescription, we'd receive maximum benefit.

The Ayahuasca cooker in the yard was silent. A lid covered the gigantic metal pot. My wife and I walked over and took a look in. The entire bubbling mixture of the Banisteriopsis caapi vine and the Psychotria viridis leaf had been reduced to an inch or two of potent entheogenic potion in the very bottom of the pot. Concentration had indeed been successful.

In only three days, the early-morning walk along the path to the teepee had become an entrained ritual that felt ancestral, endemic to the start of a proper day, and a reaffirming test of will that would put its stamp on the powerful way one could manifest the rest of the day. Once we got into the teepee, I was honored to hear the shaman say that I was a good example of how to approach the Kambo medicine. He smiled broadly and said everyday I drank twice the water that normally people took in. To drink water was giving the Kambo spirit the one thing it needed to help me. In that way, I had embraced the Kambo spirit and that respect would be rewarded.

This day my wife and I were joined by a woman and her 14-year old son. They too would be joining us for the ceremony. I was immediately taken by the natural seriousness and reverence both she and her son showed the medicine and the ceremonial process. It felt like something they hadn't acquired or been taught - it was a natural part of them. The boy also impressed me with his deep maturity for his age. There is no reason why anyone at any age shouldn't be that mature, I know, but after experiencing something far different most times in my own country, the appearance of such unaffected wisdom in youth was joyous to see. It's hard to explain and it may seem contradictory, but the shaman was particularly sensitive to the boy without being condenscending to him and without treating him any different. We were all participants in a sacred ceremony and it was as if the shaman's expectation of proper action and respect drew out of everyone what was needed. There was no need for the shaman to expect anything different and his certainty was manifest within the teepee with a gentle force that held the space for Kambo.

As he talked to us with an easy banter, setting a relaxed, tranquil atmosphere to ease our anxieties, we were still prompted with the lightest touch to begin the drinking of water. The candle was lit and once again he brought me first to his side to receive the medicine. He asked, "How many points today?" After a moment's hesitation, he added with a knowing grin, "Eight?" I nodded. "Yes, eight." He set to work. The large stick was set afire by the candle. He blew the tip red hot and then made the eight punctures in my upper arm. One by one, a small gray point of Kambo medicine was gingerly placed in each of the eight wounds. After six had been placed, the shaman asked in a whisper, "Do you feel it?"
"Oh yes," I sighed. "It's coming on strong." He placed the last two points and let me go, "It is done."

I hurried myself out of the teepee with mat and jug of water. To my normal spot in the weeds I rushed. The sting of the Kambo points fed a growing burn radiating from my head and neck downwards in a race to consume my body. It was the strangest inconsistent thing but it seemed the effects of Kambo are something one could never get used to and yet feeling it come on even stronger on the third day had become a familiar strangeness. I now know this thing I can never get used to - and I know it so well. You think you're prepared for it until it happens again. They you realize it's the one thing you can never get used to. My mind reeled away with the fractal inconsistencies and the Kambo seized on that to take me deeper - to purge the mind of fractal distractions, of endless self-talk that doesn't serve me. I realized what was going on for the last few minutes was actually a lesson. My mind sunk under the weight of its useless banter and my body ejected it with a firehose blast of nausea into the weeds. Kambo had me and it was still finding deeper things to purge. It was going to be that kind of day.

There's no sense describing the next two hours in too great of detail. Such picturesque details of violent vomiting, death-like flu symptoms, and gut-wrenching refills of my water jug have been adequately covered in Day 1 and Day 2 details. Suffice to say, eight points of Kambo is more than six points - the understatement of the day. But surprisingly, what I found is Kambo strengthens you to take more if it truly finds you respectful of the frog. The more you respect and embrace the teaching spirit of the frog, the more strength you will receive to take more of the medicine. So, even though the third day was much stronger than the second day, and the second day was much stronger than the first day, developing my Kambo muscles got me up the increasingly higher hills of healing. Don't misunderstand - it wasn't easier to do the harder thing - it was just possible because the frog opened up more of one's innate strength to face the harder thing, a strength that "panema" held us back from integrating into our volition. I imagine it's the same reason why native Amazonian tribesmen take Kambo before going out on the hunt. It purges that which weakens them while opening up their body's natural methods of accessing its strength.

After the hours passed and the sounds of torment and vomiting had subsided, one could again hear the exotic bird calls, the buzzing of busy insects, and the breezes through the trees. I sat on my mat, a rag doll of ceremonial excess, and tried to steady my breaths with deep and slow appreciation of the healing taking place. The shaman came to me and asked me how I was doing. Hearing an affirmation, he then asked me if I now wanted the Rapé. I said yes. As before, we sat facing each other and he said a few sacred phrases and loaded the v-shaped pipe. He told me to take a breath in and hold it. I held a breath and again the pipe shot hit my nose, sinuses and head. We repeated the action with the other nostril. Then he blessed me, quickly stroked his hands down from the crown of my head to my shoulders, then stroked down from my shoulders to my elbows. He quickly snapped his fingers front and back, up and down around my head and ears. The fireworks popped off around my head and I thanked him.


No sooner had I turned back to face the foliage than a massive purge rose up from somewhere deep. There was no way I had anything left in me after the last two hours of action, and yet there it was, shooting out of me in a massive stream. A second, smaller purge followed a second later. I felt aglow and limp, stunned and super present. I crumpled onto my side, my head on the ground, my face an inch from the weeds. I no longer felt confined to the boundaries of my body even as I felt my body tingle and ache. A third purge flooded my head - it was a purge from my sinuses and throat only. I didn't have the strength to rise up so I rolled my head into the weeds and blasted the mucus and contaminants from my nose. What came out was ten times thicker than snot. It clung to the weeds like a living, brown silly string of  phlegm. It seemed to have independent motion, a twisting mobility that didn't take kindly to being expelled from its comfortable host. I gave thanks to the medicine for forcing it gone.

The next section of time could not be tracked. With my head on the ground, my perspective gave me a sidewise view through the weeds with the trees and bannana plants in the exaggerated 3D background. All was shimmering bright with a living energy one could see. Colors became a telepathic communication from the plants of their consciousness of themselves and me as one energetic field.

Unable to move, I watched as one-by-one, a line of CGI ants navigated the weeds before me. On a determined march, they were headed in a single direction but had to perform gymnastic stunts to manage a path up and down through the spiky weeds. I watched them with rapt curiosity even though they were not interested in me. They had their own agenda, the same autonomic purpose they had every day. I had merely dropped my head into view of what was happening underfoot of me all the time. It was a world that conducted its business without me paying any attention to it normally.   

And then it happened. The sideways world displayed by my laying-down view intensified in iridescent color and dimensionality. The ants became nothing more than a probability wave I had collapsed by my expectation to see them. I was shown they only existed as one of the infinite probabilities of creation until my awareness, my focus, my expectations brought that probability into being. There were no ants there other than what I expected.

And then it happened. I was given a thought. I knew it wasn't mine. The medicine was giving me a thought. It was a simple thought, but one I hadn't worried about until the medicine took me there. The thought was simple but it produced the profound. It was - "what if the ants came over here and crawled on me." That one thought was enough to trigger mind. Like at the beginning of the ceremony, my mind reeled off on the anxious possibilities that could transpire. Were they poisonous? What if they bit me? Did I have enough strength to get up and escape them? Maybe they were already on me! How could I be so out of it not to notice such a threat! Remember, I'm allergic to fire ants and bee venom. How much stronger is the venom of these jungle ants! These and a flurry of other thoughts triggered off in a split second. Just like two hours before, my mind reeled away in fractal troubled possibilities and inconsistencies and the Kambo seized on that to take me deeper into the distractions of endless self-talk that doesn't serve me.

And then it happened. Slowly at first, then ever stronger, each ant developed a growing shadow that projected out and back, away from it. The shadow of the ants blended into the trees and banana plants in the iridescent distance. The shadows were large and dark. The movement of the shadows were contorted and exaggerated by the crooked path of the ants through the weeds. The projection of the gigantic shadows were deformed and twisted even more by the way they fell on the various depths in the distant foliage. The shadows, looked at by themselves, grew ever more menacing. They seemed to shape-shift towards me and then retreat. The shadows would have been intensely frightening if it wasn't for the perspective I had of the ants in the foreground.

And then I heard the shaman's words repeated in my head, spoken in his soft but playfully firm voice - "They exist - and they don't exist. If you put your awareness there, then they exist. Your fear makes them real." At once, I saw the lesson clear and I felt it shiver through me. It was a deeper, full understanding of what the shaman had tried to tell me the day before, after I had recounted my difficult first Ayahuasca ceremony. The dark entities - did they exist or didn't they. Well, yes, they always exist as a probability of creation. Your awareness of the possibility and belief in it collapses that probability into a real thing. But it doesn't end there. That real thing can exist as benign ants if one so chooses. It is only our fears of them that projects them into dark shadows that can menace us. It is our choice. Our choice to create them. Our choice then to fear them. Even if we accept that they exist, we have the power to render them in our energetic field as ants or demonic shadows. As the shaman said so succinctly, "They exist - and they don't exist." There is no dilemma in that once you have seen the truth.

Kambo Points with Sangre de Drago applied - scabs will fall off and wounds fade.And so, the 3rd ceremony ended on the most important healing for me. It was a healing that reached back a year into confusion and fear and rooted it out. The medicine took me into exhaustion and surrender by purging what I didn't need and what was toxic to me - and then it showed me the way to keep clear of such things in the future. It was the deepest blessing of all. I left the ceremony space and took the walk back up the path, away from the teepee. I had gotten all that I had come for. And more.

Gratitude is the path to the most profound healing. Every day I feel gratitude for all that transpired. And even though I would never have guessed it in a million years, I know I can see myself communing with the frog spirit again sometime in the future. I will know when because its spirit is now inside of me. It knows what doesn't serve me. When the time comes to clear any new snares of panema, the spirit will call to me.

LINKS to my Ayahuasca Experience:   Part I  Part II  Part III  Part IV   

Happy Birthday John!10/9/1940 - 12/8/1980“When I was five...

Happy Birthday John! 10/9/1940 - 12/8/1980
“When I was five years old, my mother always told me that happiness was the key to life. When I went to school, they asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wrote down ‘happy’. They told me I didn’t understand the assignment, and I told them they didn’t understand life.”

“We've got this gift of love, but love is like a precious plant. You can't just accept it and leave it in the cupboard or just think it's going to get on by itself. You've got to keep watering it. You've got to really look after it and nurture it.”

“My role in society, or any artist's or poet's role, is to try and express what we all feel. Not to tell people how to feel. Not as a preacher, not as a leader, but as a reflection of us all.”

“Count your age by friends, not years. Count your life by smiles, not tears.”

“If everyone demanded peace instead of another television set, then there'd be peace.”

“Our society is run by insane people for insane objectives. I think we're being run by maniacs for maniacal ends and I think I'm liable to be put away as insane for expressing that. That's what's insane about it.”

"I believe in everything until it's disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it's in your mind. Who's to say that dreams and nightmares aren't as real as the here and now?"

"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."

"Reality leaves a lot to the imagination."

"Time you enjoy wasting, was not wasted."

"If someone thinks that love and peace is a cliche that must have been left behind in the Sixties, that's his problem. Love and peace are eternal."

"A dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality."

"You don't need anybody to tell you who you are or what you are. You are what you are!"

“Love is the greatest refreshment in life.”

“Life is very short, and there’s no time for fussing and fighting my friends”

“Trying to please everybody is impossible – if you did that, you’d end up in the middle with nobody liking you. You’ve just got to make the decision about what you think is your best, and do it.”

“Everything will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end.”

“Produce your own dream. If you want to save Peru, go save Peru. It’s quite possible to do anything, but not if you put it on the leaders and the parking meters. Don’t expect Carter or Reagan or John Lennon or Yoko Ono or Bob Dylan or Jesus Christ to come and do it for you. You have to do it yourself.”

“When you do something noble and beautiful and nobody noticed, do not be sad. For the sun every morning is a beautiful spectacle and yet most of the audience still sleeps.”

“A mistake is only an error, it becomes a mistake when you fail to correct it.”

"I believe in God, but not as one thing, not as an old man in the sky. I believe that what people call God is something in all of us. I believe that what Jesus and Mohammed and Buddha and all the rest said was right. It’s just that the translations have gone wrong."

“We live in a world where we have to hide to make love, while violence is practiced in broad daylight.”

“Everything is clearer when you’re in love.”

“Why in the world are we here? Surely not to live in pain and fear. Why on earth are you there, when you’re everywhere-come and get your share.”

“Being honest may not get you a lot of friends but it’ll always get you the right ones.”

“If you want peace, you won’t get it with violence.”

“It matters not who you love, where you love, why you love, when you love or how you love, it matters only that you love.”


Get quiet, very quiet in a peaceful place, and listen deeply - you can hear his new music.

Ayahuasca vs. Cannabis - How Should Governments React?Bot...

Ayahuasca vs. Cannabis - How Should Governments React?

Both Ayahuasca and Cannabis are plants. Both have long been used as plant medicines.
For anyone who has experienced both, it is certain to say the effects of Ayahuasca are orders-of-magnitude greater than Cannabis, like Niagra Falls compares to your backyard fountain. Both Ayahuasca and Cannabis have never been property studied to determine all of their medicinal benefits, even though there is a preponderance of personal experience to support such studies.

In an inexplicable Catch-22 situation, governments keep both plants on the "Schedule 1" list of most dangerous, banned substances. Their excuse is that no studies exist showing anything different. Of course, being on the Schedule 1 list preempts those studies.

Meanwhile, here's a comparison on how two governments are approaching the issue.
First, how the United States is approaching cannabis:

A National Guard helicopter was used in the raid. She used the plant to ease her arthritis and glaucoma and to help her sleep at night.

Second, how Peru has approach Ayahuasca.


DESIGNATION AS CULTURAL PATRIMONY OF THE NATION EXTENDED TO THE KNOWLEDGE AND TRADITIONAL USES OF AYAHUASCA AS PRACTICED BY NATIVE AMAZON COMMUNITIES.

National directorial resolution
Number 836/INC

Lima, June 24 2008-07-14

Having read Report No. 056-2008-DRECP/INC dated May 29, 2008, prepared by the Directorate of Registration and Study of Contemporary Culture in Peru:

CONSIDERING:

That Article 21 of the Political Constitution of Peru indicates that it is
the function of the State to protect the Cultural Patrimony of the Nation.

That part 1, Article 2 of the Convention for the Preservation of
Non-material Cultural Patrimony of the UNESCO, establishes that "it is
understood that ’Cultural Patrimony is defined as the uses,
representations, expressions, knowledge and techniques-together with
instruments, objects, artifacts, and cultural spaces that are inherent to
them---that the communities, groups, and in some cases individuals,
recognize as an integral part of their cultural patrimony’. This
non-material cultural patrimony, which is transmitted from generation to
generation, is constantly re-created by communities and groups, by means of their location, their interaction with nature and their history,
inducing a feeling of identity and continuity and therefore contributing
to promote respect toward cultural diversity and human creativity".

That Article VII of the Preliminary Title to Law NO. 28296

- General Law on Cultural Patrimony of the Nation disposes that the
National Institute of Culture is charged to register, declare and protect
the Cultural Patrimony of the Nation within the confines of its
responsibility;

- That part 2) of Article 1 of Title 1 of the above mentioned Law
establishes that part of the Cultural Patrimony of the Nation consists of
the creations of a cultural community, based upon traditions, to be
expressed by individuals unilaterally or in groups, and that consensually
respond to community expectations, as an expression of cultural and social identity, in addition to the values transmitted orally, such as
autochthonous languages, tongues and dialects, traditional knowledge and wisdom, be it artistic, gastronomic, medicinal, technologic, folkloric or
religious, the collective knowledge of peoples, and other expressions or
cultural manifestations, which jointly comprise our cultural diversity;

That National Directorial Resolution No. 1207/INC dated November 10, 2004, approved Directive No. 002-2004-INC "Recognition and declarations of active cultural manifestations as Cultural Patrimony of the Nation";

That it behooves the National Institute of Culture, in order to carry out
its function as assigned by law, with the active participation of the
community, to conduct a permanent identification of such traditional
manifestations of the country that should be declared as Cultural
Patrimony of the Nation;

That by means of the proper document, the Directorate of Study and
Registration of Culture in Contemporary Peru requests a declaration as
Cultural Patrimony of the Nation the knowledge and traditional uses
associated with Ayahuasca, and practiced by native Amazon communities,
according to the Report prepared by Dona Rosa A. Giove Nakazawa, of the
Takiwasi Center-Tarapoto and submitted by the Regional Office of Economic Development of the Regional Government of San Martin to the Regional Directorate of Culture of San Martin;

That the Ayahuasca plant-Banisteriopsis caapi-is a vegetable species which garners an extraordinary cultural history, by virtue of its psychotropic properties, used in a beverage associated with a plant known as Chacruna-Psychotria viridis;

That such plant is known by the indigenous Amazon world as a wisdom plant or plant teacher, showings initiates the very fundaments of the world and its components. Consumption of it constitutes the gateway to the spiritual world and its secrets, which is why traditional Amazon medicine has been structured around the Ayahuasca ritual at some point in their lives, indispensable to those who assume the function of privileged carriers of these cultures, be they those charged with communication with the spiritual world, or those who express it artistically.

That the effects produced by ayahuasca, extensively studied because of
their complexity, are different from those produced by hallucinogens. A
part of this difference consists in the ritual that accompanies its
consumption, leading to diverse effects, but always within the confines of
a culturally determined boundary, with religious, therapeutic and
culturally affirmative purposes.

That available information sustains the fact that the practice of ritual
ayahuasca sessions constitutes one of the basic pillars of the identity of
the Amazon peoples, and that the ancestral use in traditional rituals,
warranting cultural continuity, is closely connected with the therapeutic
attributes of the plant;

That what is sought is the protection of traditional use and sacred
character of the ayahuasca ritual, differentiating it from Western uses
out of context, consumerist, and with commercial objectives;

That the Manager, the Director of Registration and Study of Culture in
Contemporary Peru, and the Director of the Office of Legal Affairs, being
cognizant of the above information;

In conformity with the dispositions of Law No. 28296, "General Law of the
Cultural Patrimony of the Nation" and Supreme Decree No. 017-2003-ED,
which approves the By-Laws of the Organization and Operation of the
National Institute of Culture.

ITS IS RESOLVED:

Sole Article.-

To declare as CULTURAL PATRIMONY OF THE NATION, the knowledge and
traditional uses of Ayahuasca practiced by the native Amazon communities, as a warranty of cultural continuity.

Be it registered, communicated, and published.

JAVIER UGAZ VILLACORTA

Manager of the National Directorate
National Institute of Culture

NATIONAL SECURITY QUIZ:The following four are accused&nbs...

NATIONAL SECURITY QUIZ:
The following four are accused 
of communicating classified information. 
Who is the biggest threat to national security?

Julian Assange                       Hillary Clinton                            Edward Snowden                          Chelsea Manning

The Mystery Night WhistlerFun curiosities about our puzzl...

The Mystery Night Whistler
Fun curiosities about our puzzling human behavior pop up in the oddest ways. 
Take the Mystery Night Whistler, for example. At least that's what I call him. 

Like a outtake from a lost collaboration between Federico Fellini and Alfred Hitchcock,
the Mystery Night Whistler makes his regular late-night rounds. 
Lazily bicycling the same way around the same street, 
he peddles along under the mystique of darkness -- blowing his whistle.
Often times he makes more than one appearance, taking hour-long breaks in between.

No explanation is given. None is needed. For this is movie magic tinged by film noir.
No doubt the critics have reviewed the footage 
and explored the depths of meaning embedded in every frame...
 
    "This sums up the existential dilemma of being human."
    "This is the perfect cinematic metaphor for the paradox of post-modern existence."
    "This plays in re-runs nightly, reminding us of a haunting past we can't escape."
    "This is the crucial scene that triggers the plot's denouement without a word spoken."

Well, maybe not.
Maybe it's just fucking weird.
Perhaps that's why it was found on the cutting room floor.
Then again, it never ceases to give me a chuckle. Maybe that's reason enough.

Vilcabamba Trip in Pictures

In no particular order, a few of the many photos taken 
during a week long trip from Cuenca to Vilcabamba and back.
 

Artwork in Cuenca hostel On the road just south of Cuenca Artwork near gas station on the road to Vilcabamba
Dogs always have the right-of-way in Ecuador - Sweet!
Elections, Ecuador Style
Las personas - hermosas.
Resting between long hauls
Ecuador es muy linda.
Rainbows and poverty but everywhere the rich, warm spirit of the people.
Authorities checking valid operator permits nearing Loja Neighborhood near Loja
Multiple-tenant house by roadside
Family outing Welcome to Saraguro
Carnes, Cuyes y Mariscos!
Going for a walk together
A church in the center of every town
Hillside House
Another tienda
Windmill power outside Loja
A colorful Vilcabamba welcome
Bringing home the bacon
Don't forget the ice cream cones
Flowers after a quick rain Squiggles the dog is simply wonderful
Hovel with a view
Nature's meditation
A river runs through the San Pedro neighborhood San Pedro cactus - the source of La Medicina Is it an orchid? Whatever it is, it's beautiful.
An overlook, a rest stop, a meditation Afterglow over Vilcabamba Valley At the center of Vilcabamba
The fountain at town's center
The sunset show continues
When they say it's a coconut drink - they mean it. Circuito Turistico
Absolutely everyone's laid-back - especially "perro"
Endless color and the clouds and sun provide a non-stop light show Another sunset glorifies nature A walk alongside the road
Toé, the 'Witchcraft Plant' The road into Vilcabamba from the south Lunch stop in Vilcabamba Scenery always changing with light, sun, and rain A Vilcabamba garden
Looking through the flowers Loja valley view from the road headed south - with rainbow

Nature - the ultimate cathedral.Step outside, be a celebr...

Nature - the ultimate cathedral. Step outside, be a celebrant and experience  the living blessing of infinite creative fractal joy. In the patterns and flow found nested there rests the wisdom of being. It's not only a branch, it's not a simple cloud, it's not just a star, it's not merely a raindrop, it's something else altogether. There is no name for it. There is only the experience. To know it for real is to know love - and oneself.  


It's all in the way one looks at it.