It’s our last day of a long jungle retreat, and we have just closed a beautiful Huachuma ceremony. We celebrate the end of this day with a boat ride in a pece pece to take in sunset over the Amazon, and we will have a candle lit feast waiting for us at the retreat center when we return.
As we ride up river, wind is flowing through my hair and dense, humid jungle air gives my skin healthy glow. The reflection of the jungle foliage in the water lapping the banks of the river Itaya creates a beautiful and fractal symmetry, showing me a hint at the origins of ancient iconography. Tear drop bird nests hang from the high canopy. The birds that inhabit them also make a fascinating “water droplet” sound that echos throughout the jungle. It’s one of my favorite jungle sounds. I contemplate the shape of their nests and the shape of their sounds and wonder about how that relationship reflects the geometrical patterns in The Mind of God.
We were supposed to have the entire center to ourselves, but it was discovered, much too late to make any adjustments, that there had been a double booking. As luck (or fate?) would have it, we had just enough tambos (jungle huts) and beds to accommodate everyone, and one retreat was isolated from the other due to the two “wings” of the retreat center. One wing stretched from the main lodge to the river, and the other “wing” stretched from the lodge into the jungle towards the maloca (the ceremony space). We are housed in the wing reaching towards the ceremony space, and that’s my favorite. Less mosquitos.
The other retreat also closed today— nearly all of the participants in that retreat left this morning, and the young manager of the center was sent out into the city to collect a new group coming in. That would all be very normal, except for the fact that this young man — we will call him “Aaron”— was also a participant in the last retreat and had just closed out an 8 day diet that very morning. That would also be more or less okay, except that he had been dieting Chiric Sanango. And even that mighty detail might be fine except for the fact that I know how it was served….
A practitioner at this particular center had served me the same diet two years prior, and it was the last time I would ever allow him to serve me anything. Knowing that he was journeying into Iquitos after 8 full days of Chiric Sanango with no time in isolation makes me recall my experience. I feel a little shiver in my spine at the recollection.
As we arrive back to the center, we are greeted by the beautiful candlelit dinner and the new group of guests starts trickling in to the dining hall. It’s a mixture of many energies— ours being one of elated Huachuma bliss and the satisfaction of a completed retreat, and theirs being a salad of long travel, exhaustion, excitement and some natural trepidation about medicine work (some of them are first-timers). It’s an odd mix, but our group is in a good place, and it all feels fun for the moment.
Aaron shuffles into the space next to me at the dining table. His plate, I notice, is full to the brim with slices of watermelon. I also notice that something feels a little off… can’t quite put my finger on it. He doesn’t quite look like himself somehow— his mannerisms and facial expressions look… different. Ungrounded, perhaps? Maybe he’s just exhausted. I get the distinct sense that he’s hovering just outside his body.
“Is that all you’re eating?” I ask.
“Yeah. Chiric told me to go on a watermelon fast.”
“Oh! That’s interesting. For how long?”
“Indefinitely,” he responds immediately and mater of factly.
The instant of his response— his clearly unconsidered acquiescence to the demand that he restrict his post-diet period so extremely— alerts my spidy senses. Because an indefinite watermelon fast sounds ungrounded. Extra ungrounded.
“So, Aaron, how was it going into town after all those days with Chiric?” I
probe.
Aaron then launches into a story about how he could hear birds talking to him and the voice of Chiric coming out of the sky while he was at the airport collecting the incoming guests.
Oh shit. Okay.
I smell what’s cooking here, but the question is what do I DO about it? Anything? What’s my role in this scenario? I didn’t give him the diet— I was not at all involved. He’s an employee and a facilitator here. I’m unfamiliar with what exactly his experience level is, and he didn’t ask me for advice…
I decide that maybe he just needs to sleep it off, and that I should not insert myself. I calm my suspicions, telling myself that he has plenty of experience and can handle himself.
My group and I finish our dinner and excuse ourselves to head out to the ceremony space to continue enjoying the Huachuma vibrations and the last night of our time in the jungle together.
The vibe is vibrant. Candle light, tendrils of mapacho smoke and laughter fill the humid air inside the maloca. We are some hours deep into recounting Medicine stories and telling jokes. We suddenly quiet as we hear steps on the serpentine boardwalk headed towards the maloca. A shadow appears at the door and Aaron enters the space, tip toeing in my direction.
He’s got a two liter bottle in one arm. As he reaches me I realize it’s not full of water, but a dark brown liquid. Two liter bottles are what we use to bottle Medicine for storage. Does he have a 2 liter bottle of Ayahuasca?! The hairs on the back of my neck are now standing on end.
He leans down to whisper to me, “Jess, I drank some medicine a while ago— would you mind clearing out of the maloca so that I can complete my journey in here?”
Okay. This has “weird” written all over it for so many reasons. First of all, why is he drinking medicine on a night when guests have arrived? It feels out of place for some reason. Second, it strikes me as completely odd that he would want to change locations after he’s already taken the medicine. No one has energetically prepared the maloca for that. He’s left his original container and all the energetic protections he put in (assuming he’s done that part to begin with— which at this point feels like a MAJOR assumption).
Third, my group has the maloca for the night— as the manager I expect him to know this and respect it.
Finally… he’s just carrying the medicine around freely and that’s NOT done around here; there is a protocol for that— one doesn’t just sling around 2 liter bottles of Madre like it’s a bottle of coke-a-cola.
Oh, and one more small detail— the practitioner that served his diet is not on the property. I am the only person on the property with the skills to potentially help him if he needs it.
“Sure, Aaron. We’re all medicine people here, we understand that you require this space and we’ll find somewhere else to continue our gathering.” I respond. It seems like the only response I can make, given the delicacy of this situation. I briefly confer with Marco, who’s facilitating with me, and we agree that I will go with our guests to a Tambo close by and he will stay with Aaron to keep an eye on the situation.
After a few hours Marco rejoins us, saying Aaron feels stable and is going to sleep in the Maloca. I still feel off-kilter about the situation, but I’m glad Aaron is tired and going to sleep. That feels like the best medicine for all involved. Our group heads to their respective tambos for some rest.
Marco and I are keenly aware that Aaron’s situation could go sideways at any moment, so we don’t go far, and we stay awake talking for sometime.
It’s that moment where there’s a feeling of subtle pressure on the darkness from the coming of the dawn, and the jungle goes almost quiet for the first time since the sun set.
I feel like this must be 3:00am. What is it about 3am?!
If one is going to sleep before the sun comes up, better get to it… and we are on the brink of saying goodnight when a blood curdling scream erupts from the jungle and we hear the sounds of running— no, sprinting— down the boardwalk from the Maloca. We both look at each other wild-eyed. “It’s Aaron!” We say in unison, and then we ourselves are running towards the boardwalk in opposite directions to look for him.
As I make my way down the boardwalk with my headlamp, I see a candle burning in one of the windows in a nearby tambo, and then I hear “Jess! Jess! He’s in here.” Aaron had burst into the tambo of one of the guests— thank god, one who had been to this center many times over many years and already knew him well. (Side quest: Can you imagine if it were your first night in the jungle for plant medicine and one of your facilitators burst into your hut screaming at 3am?). The guest motions me inside the tambo and points to the second bed in the back.
Aaron is just sitting there, acting as if nothing is odd about the situation. I give myself a sopla before approaching.
“Hey Aaron. How are you feeling?”
“I’m fine.”He’s definitely not fine.
“I heard you screaming and running. What happened?”
“Oh, yeah— it was just momentary. I’m fine now.”
He’s doing his best to act normal… like somehow that will throw me off the weirdness of him sitting inside a guest’s tambo at 3am. Not working.
“Okay. Have you had medicine on your own before? Does the practitioner know you’re doing this tonight?”
“Yeah, of course.”Very doubtful.
“So, you set up all the necessary energetic protections? And you’ve been taught how to do that?”
“Yes. I set up the space.”Nope. For sure this hasn’t happened.
“Aaron, I would feel a lot better if you’d let me do some work on you in the maloca.”
“No, I don’t need that. Really I’m fine now.” He’s definitely not in his body. He’s completely dissociated.
“Since you had that big release, I really think it’s a good idea to come back into the maloca and just let me dust you off energetically. Okay?”
At this point we see Marco’s light on the boardwalk and the guest motions for him to come in and help. Marco helps us convince Aaron to come back to the maloca. It takes quite a bit of coaxing, but he eventually agrees.
We set up in the ceremony space, and I start working on him. I begin singing over him, and then move into cleaning him with Tobacco smoke.
As I’m blowing smoke on his back I become aware that the air around him is electrified. I can feel it vibrating. And then I hear “NOOOOO!” In a loud, deep and guttural voice.
That is definitely NOT Aaron.
I am still standing behind him waiting for some direction from the Medicine, and I feel the air vibrate and electrify again. He’s about to attack you. Stop and step away. I stopped and stepped away.
I confer with Marco, letting him know that I feel violence is imminent and I’ve been advised not to work on him further. We decide that Marco will again stay with him until the practitioner can get there.
Throughout that night there was more screaming and running, and Aaron (or whatever was animating Aaron) punched Marco in the face and also ran straight into a tree, cutting his face. Despite being informed of the situation once it started unfolding, the practitioner did not arrive until 11am. Aaron also attacked the practitioner.
Aaron was completely dissociated for three days. It took the profound, ceaseless mastery of Maestro Don José to step directly into that spiritual war zone. For 24 hours straight, enduring violent outbursts, physical resistance, and intense psychic weight, Don José worked to locate and retrieve Aaron’s fragmented soul from the ether.
Even as an observer who stepped in out of absolute necessity, the energetic fallout was immense. The electrified, vibrating air I had encountered behind Aaron had left its mark; I required a specialized dieta just to clean my own energetic field and recalibrate my nervous system after attempting to work on him. It was a position I should never have been put in. It was a risk that never should have existed.
So why am I telling this story? What’s compelled me to write it?
I’m not sharing this to breed fear or place blame on a young facilitator caught in the crossfire. I want to be clear that ABSOLUTELY none of this was Aaron’s fault. For all intents and purposes, Aaron wasn’t even there. He emerged from those three days of dissociation with almost no memory of the madness that transpired.
I tell this story because Master Plants require a master’s humility.
This is a story about the supreme respect demanded by Plants of Power. It is an exploration of deep, disciplined learning over reckless experimentation. The practitioner who served both of us did not know the territory. I doubt very much that he has ever given himself an overdose of Chiric, and because he does not know the depth of that fire, he has no right to throw anyone else into it.
There is a sacred contract between Master Plant, practitioner, and dieter. If a curandero is going to push a student to the edge of the abyss, they must possess the discernment, the lineage authority, and the spiritual tools required to pull them back should things go sideways. Without that foundational mastery, “healing” quickly devolves into psychic trauma… and from trauma to physical danger.
I also tell this story because I have made a promise to share the uncensored truth of my experience and what this path is from my perspective. There is so much gatekeeping and secrecy in curanderismo, and I feel, for me at least, the time is now to break that pattern and share with all who care to learn.
With Great Love, With Great Respect,Jess
