In the village of Vilcabamba, Ecuador an impulse t
The brew resembled a disgusting, sludgy black coffee. “It looks a bit like a potion made of Peyote that I took with a shaman in Casa de Cristian in San Augustin. If it tastes equally disgusting, I won’t swallow it!” Lara said with unconcealed wariness.
I poured the substance carefully into three cups and met the girls in the garden. After a brief ritual in which Vicky and Lara thanked the Earth for the cactus (I almost burst out laughing), we drank from the chalice. It took almost one hour before the plant began to revolt in my stomach. My initial sensation bordered on the feeling of nausea and slight dizziness. But such reactions were predictable. Instead, I preferred to focus on what was happening in my head.
I was expecting a series of heavy hallucinations; instead, I seemed to maintain a 100% control over my mind and body. I was certainly aware that my state was by no means regular or normal. I paced differently. My eyes began to be sensitive to the light. The blue-and-gray sky blinded my eyes while my movements slowed down. I walked about as if I had just been awoken from a deep slumber and hadn’t quite regained consciousness; I was half-dreaming. Nonetheless, I still awaited some extraordinary “big bang”, a phantasmagoric journey that three of us were promised.
As we lingered in the hammocks, a new aspect gradually descended upon my sensations. I began to perceive silence in physical terms. First it plunged upon me from the hills as if carried on the backs of the insects and birds. It permeated the air in the shade of green, announcing its resounding presence. Giving me a feeling of warmth and comfort, the silence seemed to have settled amongst us for good.
At one point we felt the need to move on. We decided to climb to an old adobe hut on the hill nearby where Vicky worked in exchange for the room. As our senses opened up to the sounds, signs, pictures, and shapes previously oblivious to us, we walked in the most sacred and profound awe. We paused frequently to point to each other all sorts of trees, plants, rocks, and elements of the landscape. Our bodies became attuned to the warmth emanating from the sky. The clouds reflected the rays of sun that pierced directly through my system. I was able to turn around and intercept the celestial warmth. I repeated the same sensual trick later on in the afternoon at the kindling bonfire that never completely died out the night before. Turning about I relished in its warm radiation that, along with the scent of smoke, flowed through me like a constant stream.
Once we reached the top, we wanted to climb down. We descended along the ridge carefully choosing our steps. The green Valley of Vilcabamba blinded our eyes with its intense energy. Looking at each other with the acknowledgement of this extraordinary state of mind, we spontaneously realized that there was “no way higher” than this. The secret of Cactus of San Pedro lied in its miraculous impact on people’s senses, sharpening and exposing them in the way that had never been revealed before.
We continued to move toward the creek. Slipping under a small bridge, we crossed the creek where we found a shady spot around the bend. While Lara in one single gust of joy jumped in the fresh water, I couldn’t help but marvel at every possible detail of nature around me. Its beauty attracted me like the light attracts the night moth; its sounds flowed directly inside me like into the soul of a composer who writes a symphony after a sudden, magical revelation. My happiness was pure for it derived from one undeniable source hidden in Nature.
I crouched down to wash up my face in the refreshing waters of the creek. Never before had the water felt so refreshing and purifying. I cried inside, cried out of sheer joy. Looking around I found my companions in total bewilderment. Vicki’s eyes were wide open; her big blue eyes moved around in awe while her voice channeled loudly her elevated sensations. Lara made an equally mesmerized impression upon me. All of a sudden, I also received an urge to wade in the creek. Its chilling temperature immediately overpowered my body and, sitting down, I lost the feeling in my lower body. My legs had long diluted in the creek, flowing down to the queen of rivers, the Amazon and with her as far as the Atlantic Ocean. My hands picked the stones from the creek bed, receiving an organic sensation from their wet and sleek surface. The rocks I held in my hands were not cold; they contained life.