Tales Of Kush, a Peruvian Shaman I met in Cusco...

I
Two diaries in a week, I know, but this is a special occasion. I want to get the events of yesterday down while they are still fresh in my mind — I thus plead your indulgence.

I chanced upon a flyer a couple of nights ago offering "alternative tourism". Down near the bottom was the following.

Ayahuasca Therapy
"Ayahuasca is a sacred plant with psychotherapeutic effects, usually used by jungle tribes as personal healing therapy and as a way to venerate their deities. We offer night sessions in Cusco with a special priest of ancestral traditions..

From reading Alexander Shulgin's definitive work on tryptamines, "Tikhal", I knew a little about ayahuasca. Used for thousands of years by Amazonian medicine men (shamen), it is a mixture of two or more sacred plants, one of which contains a chemical called DMT, N,N-dimethyltryptamine, a powerful psychoactive substance. It occurs naturally throughout the plant kingdom and even in the human brain, where it is discovered in dreaming or psychotic subjects. It, and compounds related closely to it, is the active ingredient in other 'sacred medicines' such as the San Pedro and peyote cacti, not to mention its appearance on the back of certain 'poisonous' toads.

I signed up immediately. I was somewhat shafted on the price (US$70), but this would be a once in a lifetime chance, and I did not baulk.

I arrived at the tour agency at 7:20pm yesterday, and was introduced to Kush, the shaman. Native American, perhaps fifty years of age, with long, graying black hair and a kindly, almost childlike expression, he made small talk in good English whilst he led me to a taxi. The journey took us to a hill above the town, past Christo Blanco, the white Christ statue, and into the woods. We got out at the end of the road and walked for twenty minutes in silence towards the Temple of the Moon, an Incan royal tomb, to Kush's nearby house.

After showing me around, we entered an outbuilding, half of which was raised and covered with straw mats. On this sat mattresses and a low wooden table or altar, covered in a finely woven textile. Sat cross-legged opposite one another, lit a candle and a small pile of palo santo wood, a strong, heavy natural incense. He then arranged a series of feathers and musical instruments upon the table — two fearsome looking maracas, an acasya (a leather dagger filled with beads) and a chakcha, a string of wooden shells — before producing a half litre bottle containing a liquid the color and consistency of old battery acid, and a glass tumbler.

(He also arranged his own supplies for the night, though not on the altar - two packets of cigarettes, a pipe and loose tobacco, a small bottle of whiskey and a generous bag of coca leaves with accompanying lime).

After long prayer in a mixture of Quenya and Spanish (the gist of which appeared to be a request for safe passage, clear and meaningful visions, and peace from mischievous spirits) we sprinkled ourselves with alcohol as sacrifice, and we began. As he filled the tumbler with the brown liquid he advised me to meditate upon the visions I would like to receive, and to drink the ayahuasca in one gulp.

He did so with good reason. The taste was foul — fiercely alkaline, astonishingly bitter — like an electric shock to the mouth — and the aftertaste was little better, bringing pricks of tears to the corners of my eyes. We laughed about it and talked for around thirty minutes — about his education in the shamanic arts from his master in the jungle twenty five years previously, about his travels (he lived in Amsterdam for five years, and visited London many times) and about the uses of ayahuasca to heal many illnesses — until I gradually became aware of a profound discomfort of the stomach.

After being assured that this was perfectly normal (and not, as I expected, a result of the disgusting sryup I had eaten to get me through the day's fasting) I went outside and, permit my frankness, vomited forcefully.

Standing from my crouch, things were suddenly ever so slightly different. The stars shone with searing brightness, and the air tasted intoxicatingly sweet. I staggered back inside, slightly disengaged from events, and sat less clumsily than I expected at the table, the shaman grinning kindly. "You have cleansed yourself. Do you feel different?.

Seeing me nod, he picked up the larger of his maracas, and began to sing. His "icaros", or shamanic songs, were not songs as we know them, but rather a highly melodic, fantastic series of hums, grunts, whistles, undervoicings, groans, clicks, guttural coughs, with some regular singing thrown in. It was clear from his countenance and movement that the singing was not directed at me, but rather at whatever spirits he found in the room. Swooping from gentle lullaby to angry rebuke, swaying and shaking, sending his voice around the room, his song proved quite hypnotic, and I felt as if a great weight were pressing me back from the table. I lay on the mattress, fevered, disoriented, noticing slight distortion in my visual field. When the song finished, and he shooed all the evil spirits from the room, he asked me how I felt.

I replied that I didn't know whether I was hot or cold, hungry, thirsty or neither, breathless or tranquil, in comfort or pain, and that my mind was racing, but going nowhere, like an over revved engine with the clutch down. And then suddenly I knew. I was cold, freezing cold, as if my bones were made of ice, colder, like I was going to die. I scrambled around in a slight panic, putting on extra jumpers, gloves, socks, my hat, and even pulling a rug around my shoulders. Still freezing, still shaking. I tried to convince myself that it was just an effect of the drug, that it would pass, and that I should try and enjoy this new experience, unpleasant as it was. Seeing my discomfort, the shaman began another icaro, at which I consciously let out some tension. Instantly, my concerns disappeared — as did everything else in the room.

Behind my eyelids exploded a breathtaking kaleidoscope of geometry, infinite rotating hexagons, recursive triangles, towers of light, and beyond that, a brilliant starfield, through which I soared. I marveled at the lightshow for some minutes, before opening my eyes and watching the end of the song.

Now I was comfortable, warm, relaxed, and happy, and the rush had passed. I found myself quietly meditating upon my future, easily structuralizing abstract thought, able to visualize and weigh up possible paths upon my return to England, my intellect feeling free, powerful, crisp and unmuddled, devoid of cynicism. During a fourth icaro, Kush extinguished the candle, leaving us in complete darkness, barely interrupting my thoughts but further aiding my visualizations. This pleasant state continued for I estimate some twenty minutes, when I reached a few conclusions and excused myself for a break of air and a look at the stars, feeling back at or near baseline.

Returning, we discussed my trip, which had been overwhelmingly positive even with the initial discomforts. Kush offered a supplementary dose, which I eagerly accepted, the taste of which was miraculously even worse than before. This time I chose to meditate upon those close to me — and sure enough, forty minutes and another vomiting session later, I rode out the (gentler) cold spell and psychedelic rush to find myself thinking deeply and warmly of each of my friends and family in turn — so clearly that they could have been in the room with me. Following a final song and prayer, Kush indicated that I should get into my sleeping bag, and we settled down. For several hours I felt nothing like sleep, but instead daydreamed in comfort, mind still tack-sharp, perfectly serene, strongly aware, continuing and rounding off my internal monologue until falling into a beautiful night's sleep.

I woke wide at six am, refreshed, energetic, in excellent cheer and feeling no ill effects. We walked the thirty minutes back to town whereupon I went back to bed to read until Jon recovered from the effects of his altogether different night of intoxication in the meat market nightclubs of Cusco.

II
A Yage Letter22 October 2002: Cusco, Peru
PART 1: The YagePART 2: AyahuascaPART 3:
Personal Experience

The Yage
My first exposure to the word "yage" came from the book The Yage Letters, which is "an early epistolary novel by William S. Burroughs, whose 1951 account of himself as Junkie, published under the pseudonym William Lee, ended 'Yage may be the final fix'. In letter to Allen Ginsberg, an unknown young poet in New York, his journey to the Amazon jungle is recorded, detailing picaresque incidents of search for telepathic-hallucinogenic-mind-expanding drug Yage (Ayahuasca, or Banisteriopsis Caape) used by Amazon Indian doctors for finding lost objects, mostly bodies and souls. (Copied from the back of the said book.)"

Yes, I have this book, right here, right now--brought it all the way from New York. Searching for yage, peyote, etc. has been a major agenda for this trip. I've found them both.

Ayahuasca
(This is copied word for word, typos included, from Kush's leaflet, without permission. Geez, I wish I had a scanner.)
THE WORD AYAHUASCA: comes from the Quecha language and means "soul plant", "death plant" or "vision plant" known by many different names from the 72 cultures that ingest Ayahuasca in Peru, Columbia and Ecuador. This legendary hallucinogen is used by Shamans to cure illnesses and to communicate with the Spirits. Various Shamans of the Rain Forest simply refer to Ayahuasca as the "cure-all". To the indigenous people, it is known as a sacred medicine that can cure all illnesses. Without a doubt, it is the most celebrated hallucinogen of the Amazon.

ACCORDING TO THE INDIGENOUS FOLKLORE: Ayahuasca is the fountain of knowledge, the best way to reveal the mythological origins of life. The anthropologist Gerardo Reichel-Donatoff once wrote that to consume this spiritual drink is to become the center of the cosmos. The origin of our existence where the individual sees tribal divinities, the creation of the universe and of mankind, Adam and Eve, the creation of animals and the establishment of social order.

THE BIG CLEANING: Ayahuasca has never been used casually or for recreational purposes in the traditional societies. The Shaman, which is the person who knows how to bring out a chemical induced state of trance, guides those who wish to embark on the "search for vision". The Shaman is without a doubt, the master of ceremonies, the key figure in drinking Ayahuasca. After sunset, the bitter drink is passed in a circle from person to person, and the Shaman begins to sing or chant about the visions that they will see. When they hear the song, the participants feel a certain tingling on the lips and a burning in their stomach. A nauseating energy ill overwhelm them, and many will begin to get sick with vomiting and diarrhea (but not necessarily everyone). This is a strong and unstoppable movement of the colon that penetrates all organs passing through the intestines like a liquid laxative of the soul, cleaning the entire body of all parasites, emotional blocks, and ancient feelings of resentment. This is why the natives of the Amazon refer to the "purge" when they speak of this drink. "One cannot help but be impressed by the notable improvement in their health attributed to the purging caused by the plant", wrote the psychologist Ralph Metzner, editor of "Ayahuasca". Metzner wrote an anecdotal report of the complete disappearance of certain types of cancer after one or two sessions using Ayahuasca. The rejuvenating impact of the "purge" helps to explain the exceptional health of those who use Ayahuasca, including even the oldest people.

TRAVEL IN TIME AND SPACE: After the inevitable purge, the senses sharpen and the initiate experiences are "magnetic liberation of the whole world". After that spectacular visions are coming like a turbulent pandemonium of images that change faster than you can think. While one is under the influence of Ayahuasca, people frequently have the sensation of being separated from their bodies and catapulted into a strange area of excursion. During this trip outside of reality, marvelous sights appear and enchanting landscapes that unexpectedly give way to unsettling encounters with wild jaguars, enormous iridescent snakes, and other predator beats that will try to attack the person. William Burroughs described a sensation of flying long distances when he drank Ayahuasca during a South American expedition in 1953. "The spiritual drink is a trip in time and space", he wrote in a letter to Allen Ginsberg. The blood and substance of various races: black, Polynesian, Mongolian people of the mountains, desert nomads, Indians, new races that have never been experienced before will pass through your body, incredible trips through the mountains, deserts, and jungles... A place where the past is forgotten and the emerging future combines in a vibration without sound." It is unknown, why the visions provoked by the Ayahuasca include animals from the jungles of the Amazon. Especially when people from other continents ingest the sour tonic. Long anecdotal stories about rivers and electric radiations that illuminate the night sky are classic elements of the experience with this liquid. An indigenous said: "Always when I drink Ayahuasca I have such wonderful visions that I have to cover my eyes with my hands, because I am afraid someone would steal them.

Personal Experience
"Only eat breakfast on the day of the ceremony. No lunch and dinner," Kush said to me when I expressed an interest in doing the journey. As soon as I arrive at Kush's shop at 8 p.m., we go out for a dinner. Kush's shaman friend, his wife, and Kush order dinner. Keith and I sit and talk. Keith is a journey man from New Mexico who has been taken under Kush's wing as an apprentice. After dinner, Kush, Keith and I take a cab uphill on dirt roads to Kush's ceremonial shack, where he burns incense, talks a bit, and lets the ceremony begin.

"You must ask ayahuasca the question to which you want an answer," Kush tells us. I have not thought about this, to be honest. What do I want to know? I know I am always looking for something yet the concept is too general. I think about this for a while. "What is my happiness?" No, too broad. "What shall I do after I am done traveling?" No, too specific. How can I concisely put into words what I really want to know... OK, I got it:
Show me how I can best co-exist with the world.

OK, ready. Kush pours a purplish brownish liquid from a plastic bottle into a cup, and hands it over to me. "Drink it in one shot. It is no honey." I chug this vile and sour liquid and hold it inside my stomach. Another cup goes to Keith. "It will take 40 minutes to one hour before you get the effect." Keith, being a talkative chap, goes on telling his stories while Kush chews on coca leaves non-stop, until, when Kush thinks we've waited long enough, he turns off the light. The room is only illuminated by one candle and a bowl of burning incense. I take off my watch, detach money belts from my waist, undo my pony tail--they all seem cumbersome to me.

Kush whistles to imitate the sound of wind while shaking a maracas that imitates the sound of rain. He chants in some tribal language. Soon, I see the candle light split into two, then into four. The smoke rising from the incense turns into a micro whirlwind storm, changing shapes: Buddha, Virgin Mary, a school of dragons penetrating the clouds, then finally translucent strands of silk sheets. I see auras around certain objects--halos of red, yellow and green around them. The candle flame takes its own life, stretching one long arm and bony fingers towards me, perfectly aligned to the vertical axis of my brain, and stretching the other arm yonder in exactly the opposite direction. The arm closer to me seems to suggest, "Come closer, come outside," while the other arm seems to point, "Over there!" Over where? When I look upward, I see a faint shade of green falling slowly towards me like a feather. What is that? As it comes closer, I observe that it extends to infinity in the plane parallel to the floor. When I know clearly what it is, I am frightened. It is a net, a green net like the one at a golf shooting range. Outside the net I see a hunchbacked woman walking with a stick, a wild dog looking for prey, and other dark objects coming and going that I cannot tell what they are. What am I to do now?

I am trapped and cannot move. Kush continues with the sound of wind and rain. This is the sound from Pucallpa where he apprenticed after leaving his hometown Huaraz. Pucallpa is where William Burroughs traveled to get his final fix from the Yage. Kush seems to know what I am going through. He transfers power through the sound, and gives me the energy. I grab the net over my head with my fingers and lift it up. There is only one thing in my mind: I want out of this net. With full concentration I manage to free myself. I feel relaxed now, like in a completely different world where nothing is tangible. I can tell that my mind is not confined inside of me but instead occupies every space inside of the room. I lie down and snuggle inside my sleeping bag.

For some reason I feel cold, even with my down jacket and sleeping bag zipped all the way up. I feel as though I am sitting in a freezer, harboring discomfort somewhere inside of my body. When I feel the sudden attack of an implosion, I grab a flashlight, stumble outside (very difficult to balance my weight on two feet), lean against a wall , crouch forward, and vomit, right through the long hair hanging down my face. I wipe my mouth and hair with my hands and collapse back inside of the sleeping bag.

Now I see nothing but fog in the darkness, like in a misty cemetery at night. My body seems to be floating, detached completely from the floor. Not before too long, I lose all consciousness and become part of the silent night.

In the morning, Keith asks me what I saw. I give a brief summary, which, he says, sounds like his very first experience with ayahuasca. I ask him what he saw. "Every colors and shapes are possible, as in walking through kaleidoscope," "distance doesn't exist," "pure unity," were what he experienced in his second try.

The three of us pack up and head downhill, past the Temple of the Moon and the Temple of the Monkeys and down into the valley that is the city of Cusco, when the town is still deeply in its sleep.
Now I have one thing to ponder about: Am I in or out of the net right now?

III
Greetings fellow psychonauts.... As I have written on this tribe many times before...I am on extended tour of Peru, Chile and Bolivia working with the Medicine(s) and various teachers. I arrived in Cuzco earlier this week after 6 weeks in Bolivia and an intensive with my primary teacher. I have been deeply touched by the opportunity to diet in the jungle and experience the Medicine in Her home. For many years, I was dependent on the Medicine being brought to the States and only experiencing it for short periods each year. With this trip, doors have opened on many levels, as the calling to dive into deeper training was loud and clear. The availability of the medicine and new teachers has been wide open. Last night, I had the longest ceremony and deepest teaching with the Medicine in my life. I met this particular man at his shop here in Cuzco, where he sells beautiful hand made pipes, jewelry, drums, masks, etc. I was a bit wary when I saw his flyer advertising ceremony, but after speaking with him for a bit and looking at the massive altar he had arranged in the center of his store...I could recognize he was no charlatan. We arranged a night that my friend and I would meet with him and head up to a Retreat space he rents next to the Temple of the Moon, about 20 minutes up above Cuzco. We began at about 10 pm with a fairly large dose of what I was told was just chacruna and yellow vine. For the first few hours, my experience was fairly mild but I was content to have the Medicine doing its work on me...and Kush’s singing was phenomenal. He brings through an Atlantean language that is beyond words or description. The moonlight coming through the window often cast shadows and light that created the effect of him sitting on an island of Light. I could see, hear and feel the essence of the Atlantean teachings throughout....recognizing later the connection between that civilization and the culture of the Incas. At one point, I reached out and connected with a friend in Seattle who is going through some difficulty...and almost immediately afterwards...purged what I felt was quite related to what she has been dealing with. I need to check with her today, but she was aware that I would be journeying last night and that I had intended to do some work together. About 3.5 hours in, things wound down and I was feeling like we were nearing completion....and then it really began. The Medicine came back much more strongly and the deep teachings-healing began. I am not sure how much to share here, as I typically offer too much of my experience rather than allowing it to steep inside. I will say that Kush directed us to journey deep with Pachamama and that was the portal through which we ventured. So many tears, as I was humbled again by the enormity of the Love, the abundance of the Mother. She took us deep and I went outside to purge once more....The land itself we were sitting on was hallowed ground. I could feel the presence of many elementals and Incas all around. They assisted greatly in helping me to release each time I went outside. And it only got better as the night-morning went on. I worked directly with Kush’s teacher, Manco Kali(sp?), the Patron of all Native peoples, and was brought into the Ways of the Inca. The teaching showered us for hours....as Kush sang in the language of Atlantis, one of the stars and various animal spirits. So very profound....My friend and I also had opportunity to bring out some of our own songs....It is always a gift to feel as if you are being played like an instrument. I also brought out my newly purchased, Arco de Duende, or Fairy’s Bow. An invention of Agustin Rivas and a gift from the Medicine...It is a wooden bow, about 4 feet long hollowed out in the center with four strings across the bridge...so it looks like a literal bow, as in bow and arrow. the flat end where the strings begin goes into your mouth, between your cheek and your back teeth, creating an overtone effect similar to a Jews harp. This was the first time playing in ceremony and I learned so very much about the power of this instrument.....It is a wonderful healing tool and it is quite beautiful. Here’s a link to get a picture and also here the sounds it produces. http://www.sacharuna.com/english/musicalbow.html.Around the time we were deeply receiving the teachings, I asked Kush what else was in the brew....He said solely Chachruna and the Vine, but my body was telling me there was another ingredient. This was way too intensive and the duration far too long...for solely the leaf and the vine. He then admitted (or realized), that there was also Datura in the brew.....which hit home...as most of my early experiences included Brugmansia. This was by far the best brew I ever imbibed....from Pucallpa and the Shipibo. Somewhere around 5 am we stopped playing music and began to drift into Dreaming. A few hours later we awoke to a spectacular morning and visited the Temple of the Sun and the ruins of Sacsayhuaman on the way back to Cuzco. Kush then took us to his home this morning and made us breakfast...over which we learned more about Manco kali...and Kush spoke into the rarity of His presence...and the significance of our visit. We are intending to do another ceremony after returning from Machu Picchu this weekend...hopefully having a few more friends join us....I was so moved by the experience and have fallen in love with Cuzco, it is going to be difficult to leave. I am already scheming about how I can extend my visit and continue working with Kush for a few more weeks. Anyway, I wanted to extend to those who may visit Cuzco, an invite to visit Kush in his shop which is just a few blocks from the central plaza...called simply the Shaman Shop. Btw, the city of Cuzco itself is incredibly beautiful and magickal. It feels like you are walking on an enormous Incan fortress. The Church in the Main plaza is astounding, as it is built on top of a sacred Incan Lake-Spring. The locals are quite supportive of the tourist community and it creates a wonderful blend of peoples and cultures. The ruins, the churches, the restaurants and the vistas are simply intoxicating. I intend to come back here in July just prior and possibly again after the conference in Iquitos. Anyone who wants to get on that train...let me know, I welcome co-conspirators in my travels.
posted by:

isaiah
Oregon