Mate, tostadas, y sopa. Unos perros, unos ninos, unos felicidad generalmente.
This is the closest I could most likely ever come to the original San Pedro ceremony.
I am near Mashpi, in the Ecuadorian cloud forest, a rickety single board bridge from the nearest queso y huevos, sitting on a stump. The thought of spiky caterpillars keeps entering my mind, but what really concerns mon tete is the ceremony to come - some 12 - 13 people with babies and small children have gathered for a spiritual San Pedro ceremony. The shaman, a friend of our host, Oliver, is presiding. All of us are either friends or friends of friends of our host. Apparently los ninos are not to partake on this particular occasion (note - I was wrong about this).
I will try to document the thoughts of feelings of a somewhat outsider during. I speak a moderate level of Spanish, enough to understand ¨stir these tostadas for 20 minutes, then add salt¨, and enough to confuse my mind a bit during a longer spout of continuous talk (say, for example, the introduction, durante, and end speeches of the shaman about how to properly work with this medicine and flow naturally for a night and day).
The mothers are rocking and walking their ilk to sleep. The atmosphere is warm, the moon is obscured, and cicadas and low murmuring is setting the pre-ritual melody. Tone would be a better word - a somber yet comfortable apprehensive beat, excitement without conviction, lethargy with a kick.
Where minutes before was soup and light typical Ecuadorian snacks with laughter and tripping 1 and 2 year olds, now is growing quieter.
The low helicopter beat of a large winged insect buzzes by my ears, to disappear into the mess of cicadas in the darkness. A pool of conflicting fluorescent, yellow and candle light flickers between the pages of my notebook.
Activity - preparations - water pouring and mate bubbling its finality.
Only candle light now.
A walk through the darkness, up the hill to the casa arriba. Reed mats laid on the ground, mattresses and blankets on top.
A fire is lit. It stutters, fails to start inexplicably. The time is not right.
Many smooth stones, gourds, wooden statues, feathers, poles, jars, a shot glass. Wine, cana. A large bottle of dark, disgusting liquid. Must be the San Pedro.
I luck out with one of the cross-legged spots, others leaning back on wooden supports or walls.
The rain strengthens, the fire rises.
Solemnity isn´t the right word, but it is close.
The sacred tobacco.
Oliver rolls a massive cigar. Smells old, smells, good, interesting, powerful.
Waving smoke.
Something thrown in fire.
To shaman, around circle.
All pray, puff, pray, puff, pass. To the left.
- I stopped writing after this, until some time after the ceremony. What follows is my attempt at writing afterwards.
Physically very light but feet are dragging. Feel loose.
Went in cycles as usual. Helped by the fire strengthening, with more wood etc. After light, really kicked in - before I doubted the authenticity of the shaman but after I definitely felt something. Everyone revolved between uncontrollable tears and boundless happiness. I managed to sustain but in the last stages, especially Oliver giving the shell to Avel beside me, it was a tad mas duro.
They come back.
In one paragraph;
powerful,
The river was amazing.
There is no hangover- the come down makes you feel better than before.
We finished the ceremony and sat, walked, talked, drank water and mate and cana, ate snacks and fruits.
It was wonderful.
The weather seemed to match the pace of both the ceremony and the afterwards.
Drug-wise - cleanest feeling I ever had. Spiritual wise - I managed to avoid succumbing to the high completely, until the light started to rise again. This was partly because i wanted to be able to write and think critically about it, and partly because I usually vastly prefer personal trips and highs to group ones.
The weirdest sight I ever saw.
The couple, as I will refer to them, had rapturous, vacant faces of pure bliss. It was apparent they had taken too much. THeir baby, no more than 1 and a half years, was on his back, arms and legs flailing from the dusty lopsidedly-folded into a sofa mattress, in the midst of being changed, mid San Pedro ceremony in deepest darkest Mashpi. The wife plays with him, completely naked.
Pan to faces left - 5 women, 1 pregnant, 3 children - women sat comforting their quite calm ninos while massive, rolling tears of pure grief/sadness/LOVE moved quickly down their red stained eye lids and puffed beyond recognition cheeks that only come from a 12 hour stint of crying, laughing, sometimes both.
Scene changes - shaman starts talking about life and love and light again. Waters, la pura vida, corazon a corazon. ¨The Couple¨are leaning back doing their best and failing at holding back from weeping. The wife is breaking down in the most literal possibility of the word.
5 minutes pass. The wife is breastfeeding her child with a rapturous looks of unadulterated awe strapped to her face. All other eyes in the room save some of the children are trying to run away. Her child starts using a bottle, It spills. Oh well, says wife, and starts massaging i into both their kin. I notice a girl to the left visibly horrified. We on the opposite side of the circle avoid eye contact and waver between fathomless awkwardness and hysterical hilarity. (This, by the way, is a characteristic of San Pedro, at least for me - I continuously felt like I had just finished a battle but couldn't remember who won - exhaustion or a fiesta-high-high. The cynical non-believer and the tree hugging sap. A few other mildly awkward moments for many did pass, but that was the most obviously rampant example.
Well the affects are really fully wearing off now after chicken/yukka/ choclo sopa and mas choclo y queso fresco, so this is the end of my experience writing.
It was amazing. Since that day, I have been feeling so fresh and so new and so light. I feel happy and very different. It is the least drug-like drug I know of, and as my friend passionately tells me, it is not a drug, it is medicine. I can agree with this. I will not describe what happened in the 12-ish hour ceremony because it wouldn't even give anyone anything close to an idea of what it is like. You just have to try it. And I highly recommend it. Just remember to take only what you need, and to sing.
This is the closest I could most likely ever come to the original San Pedro ceremony.
I am near Mashpi, in the Ecuadorian cloud forest, a rickety single board bridge from the nearest queso y huevos, sitting on a stump. The thought of spiky caterpillars keeps entering my mind, but what really concerns mon tete is the ceremony to come - some 12 - 13 people with babies and small children have gathered for a spiritual San Pedro ceremony. The shaman, a friend of our host, Oliver, is presiding. All of us are either friends or friends of friends of our host. Apparently los ninos are not to partake on this particular occasion (note - I was wrong about this).
I will try to document the thoughts of feelings of a somewhat outsider during. I speak a moderate level of Spanish, enough to understand ¨stir these tostadas for 20 minutes, then add salt¨, and enough to confuse my mind a bit during a longer spout of continuous talk (say, for example, the introduction, durante, and end speeches of the shaman about how to properly work with this medicine and flow naturally for a night and day).
The mothers are rocking and walking their ilk to sleep. The atmosphere is warm, the moon is obscured, and cicadas and low murmuring is setting the pre-ritual melody. Tone would be a better word - a somber yet comfortable apprehensive beat, excitement without conviction, lethargy with a kick.
Where minutes before was soup and light typical Ecuadorian snacks with laughter and tripping 1 and 2 year olds, now is growing quieter.
The low helicopter beat of a large winged insect buzzes by my ears, to disappear into the mess of cicadas in the darkness. A pool of conflicting fluorescent, yellow and candle light flickers between the pages of my notebook.
Activity - preparations - water pouring and mate bubbling its finality.
Only candle light now.
A walk through the darkness, up the hill to the casa arriba. Reed mats laid on the ground, mattresses and blankets on top.
A fire is lit. It stutters, fails to start inexplicably. The time is not right.
Many smooth stones, gourds, wooden statues, feathers, poles, jars, a shot glass. Wine, cana. A large bottle of dark, disgusting liquid. Must be the San Pedro.
I luck out with one of the cross-legged spots, others leaning back on wooden supports or walls.
The rain strengthens, the fire rises.
Solemnity isn´t the right word, but it is close.
The sacred tobacco.
Oliver rolls a massive cigar. Smells old, smells, good, interesting, powerful.
Waving smoke.
Something thrown in fire.
To shaman, around circle.
All pray, puff, pray, puff, pass. To the left.
- I stopped writing after this, until some time after the ceremony. What follows is my attempt at writing afterwards.
Physically very light but feet are dragging. Feel loose.
Went in cycles as usual. Helped by the fire strengthening, with more wood etc. After light, really kicked in - before I doubted the authenticity of the shaman but after I definitely felt something. Everyone revolved between uncontrollable tears and boundless happiness. I managed to sustain but in the last stages, especially Oliver giving the shell to Avel beside me, it was a tad mas duro.
They come back.
In one paragraph;
powerful,
The river was amazing.
There is no hangover- the come down makes you feel better than before.
We finished the ceremony and sat, walked, talked, drank water and mate and cana, ate snacks and fruits.
It was wonderful.
The weather seemed to match the pace of both the ceremony and the afterwards.
Drug-wise - cleanest feeling I ever had. Spiritual wise - I managed to avoid succumbing to the high completely, until the light started to rise again. This was partly because i wanted to be able to write and think critically about it, and partly because I usually vastly prefer personal trips and highs to group ones.
The weirdest sight I ever saw.
The couple, as I will refer to them, had rapturous, vacant faces of pure bliss. It was apparent they had taken too much. THeir baby, no more than 1 and a half years, was on his back, arms and legs flailing from the dusty lopsidedly-folded into a sofa mattress, in the midst of being changed, mid San Pedro ceremony in deepest darkest Mashpi. The wife plays with him, completely naked.
Pan to faces left - 5 women, 1 pregnant, 3 children - women sat comforting their quite calm ninos while massive, rolling tears of pure grief/sadness/LOVE moved quickly down their red stained eye lids and puffed beyond recognition cheeks that only come from a 12 hour stint of crying, laughing, sometimes both.
Scene changes - shaman starts talking about life and love and light again. Waters, la pura vida, corazon a corazon. ¨The Couple¨are leaning back doing their best and failing at holding back from weeping. The wife is breaking down in the most literal possibility of the word.
5 minutes pass. The wife is breastfeeding her child with a rapturous looks of unadulterated awe strapped to her face. All other eyes in the room save some of the children are trying to run away. Her child starts using a bottle, It spills. Oh well, says wife, and starts massaging i into both their kin. I notice a girl to the left visibly horrified. We on the opposite side of the circle avoid eye contact and waver between fathomless awkwardness and hysterical hilarity. (This, by the way, is a characteristic of San Pedro, at least for me - I continuously felt like I had just finished a battle but couldn't remember who won - exhaustion or a fiesta-high-high. The cynical non-believer and the tree hugging sap. A few other mildly awkward moments for many did pass, but that was the most obviously rampant example.
Well the affects are really fully wearing off now after chicken/yukka/ choclo sopa and mas choclo y queso fresco, so this is the end of my experience writing.
It was amazing. Since that day, I have been feeling so fresh and so new and so light. I feel happy and very different. It is the least drug-like drug I know of, and as my friend passionately tells me, it is not a drug, it is medicine. I can agree with this. I will not describe what happened in the 12-ish hour ceremony because it wouldn't even give anyone anything close to an idea of what it is like. You just have to try it. And I highly recommend it. Just remember to take only what you need, and to sing.