Sndbox Summer Camp Writing - Task 2: Learning to Die in Peru Pt. 2 - Sharing Worlds

Liquid glass rolls by, the earthy green Amazon threatens to envelope us...

Time doesn't slow, but there's more space to appreciate the surroundings of the little motorboat that carries our group. Everyone is in high spirits and enjoying the ride, laughing, talking, taking in the jungle scenery. We've just gone through the first Huachuma ceremony, the water mesa, and now we leisurely glide towards our next destination.

We pass small outcrops of houses, some a bit shabby, some are obvious well off, sporting expensive houses. Mostly we pass jungle, thick, beautiful, and taking up every inch of shore that hasn't been developed. We pass docks and large beaches as Ramone, our guide, masterfully navigates through these unmarked water channels. In the suburbs of Iquitos, these are the roads of the neighborhood.

After about 20 minutes we pull up to the smallest beach we've seen, a small post to tie the boat and a patch of dirt that quickly rises five feet above the water to land level. A small boy in nothing more than a skirt is there to greet us. He's the welcoming crew, and after a smile and giggle he runs ahead, wordlessly guiding the way.

Most of us are slow to move, not because we're groggy but because everything is interesting. The plants that surround us are vibrant with color and brand new to our eyes. None of us has a knowledge of the plants and animals here except our guide and shaman who remain hush unless asked. Conversation is light and easy, we're all in awe at the world as it shows some of the beauty we hide ourselves from in daily life.

After a brief walk we approach the a decent sized hut, the communal hut. Don Howard says his greetings to the adults of the tribe, a group that was displaced from their home in Ecuador by big oil. They've carved out a small plot here in Peru where the government is more supportive of indigenous peoples.

We wander into the hut, inside there are countless pieces of art and tools the tribe has created. Each has been handcrafted, and each is quite beautiful. There are decorative(and usable) blowdart guns, bracelets and necklaces, purses, bags, and more. About ten folding tables worth.

I'll admit to feeling a bit awkward for the first fifteen minutes, there was a definite language barrier between most all of us and neither group really approached each other. Don Howard and Ramone chat briefly with the people and leave us to explore. Eventually the children break the ice for us.

A few members of our group brought toys, a genius idea apparently as the hula hoops and nerf football are the main focus after about fifteen minutes. They were all outside playing while I was sitting and looking around and I couldn't help but join in the fun. We start playing catch with the boys down a long, narrow trail. The earth is soft from the chronic rainfall and we're all having a blast while most the girls are hanging out with L, the only female presence in our group.

We're all laughing and having fun, we start playing catch and a bit of keep away, the kids are clambering all over me while I run gleefully down the trail. Eventually one of the rascals(I can say that, I'm old now) gets the ball and takes off, egging me on to chase him. I oblige and take off at a sprint, my lanky legs carrying me faster than I look. I plant my heel right into a nice patch of mud, fully expecting it to hold my 200lb+ weight and slip, my momentum laying me out, streaking my shorts with red-brown clay.

Everyone bursts out laughing, they're roaring! I pick myself up with a big grin on my face, pat off my shorts as if the mud were dirt, and let them make their fun. No scratches, no bruises, sometimes the joy children get from our mistakes and pain is well worth the loss of dignity. Sometimes it's worth it to laugh at your own expense, most all the time if you ask me.

We wander down the rest of the trail, throwing the football some more and communicating with body language, the true universal language. Maybe a quarter mile from the hut and we run into a sidewalk that stretches both ways as far as we can see. This is a jungle neighborhood! And the amount of land these people have for themselves becomes apparent, it's tight quarters for a people displaced from their home.

Back at the hut Don Howard breaks out some fruit and lemonade, the perfect refreshments for the days activities. I snag about 4 pieces of fruit and wander outside as I mow down a tiny, delicious banana. They don't grow them like this wherever the U.S. sources their bananas.

I notice a group of the kids watching us all eat, to shy to ask to share. A few of them are getting fruit from the other people in our group, and I decide to wander over and share what I have. I take a bite and give a bite, and give my orange to one of the older girls who begins splitting it up before I even motion for her to share it with the others. Sharing isn't even a question among this big family. We toss our biodegradable "trash" into the jungle and head inside.

In the tent the adults of the tribe begin a performance. The tribe leader starts with a powerful speech, I feel like I can see his energy, he glows a soft green in the dim light, the emotion is palpable, and as Don Howard translates it becomes apparent why.

He speaks of his tribe's struggles in this life, their fight to retain their homeland, and subsequent loss as values of resources are put above human rights. He talks of their hardship and struggle in this new land, and of their will to work and strive and find new life here. These people are adaptable, they are capable, and their culture is a beautiful one. The ceremony continues with a tribal dance, at the end they invite us to join in. It's an experience that shows how awkward our group is in comparison. These people have a deeper feeling of rhythm, but we all have a blast trying their dance.

Afterwards we buy some of their goods, which are way to inexpensive by our standards. We try to buy as much as we can, both as a form of support, and because their work is beautiful. It's a real shame the blowdart gun I got didn't fit in my bag, it was pretty marvelous if you ask me. The night is approaching, and our goodbyes are quicker than we hoped for. We are almost rushed out of the hut by Don Howard and Ramone.

The walk back to the boat is eery in a mystical way. Dusk lends just enough light to see the world, but the lack of the vibrant colors the sun brought forth earlier is absent. Instead a transition to the darkness begins, the world takes on an entirely different light. And Huachuma is changing his mood.

Don Howard told us at the start of our trip that the plant would take us through different stages, first was the laughter. An upbeat feeling that caused happy butterflies inside started the jouney. During the tribal performance it took on another tone, lending to the seriousness and helping me to relate in an emotional way. The walk back to the boat was another transition, the group was near dead quiet. No one felt the need to speak, we just silently walked back to the boat, taking in the dimming surroundings.

After we all boarded the silence continued. The shoreline streamed past, backlit by the setting sun. It was beautiful in a way, ominous in another. I closed my eyes as the motor buzzed in my ears, sounds of slushing water added to the symphony. Something odd happened from there, like a daydream in presence.

The noise of the boat and light chatter from people ahead of me didn't bother me in the least as I let my mind blank. Imagery arose, but not like how I usually imagine, this was a feeling type imagery, the kind that is vague, the kind you can only understand on a deeper level. It was almost as if I was processing my feelings of the day, releasing them by expressing through this dream-thing.

The laughter from the children, the moments of sharing, the powerful performance, and the exchange of goods. All the feelings from the day that were brought up came into expression in this visionless dream, and all the while I was completely aware of what was going on around me. It was like another space had opened up inside of me, working with symbols of feeling to open me up. To allow these new feelings, this newfound empathy to roll through me.

The whole ride back seemed to go to quick. It was somber, but beautiful, drawing power from the night. The only image I remember is one of ferocity, a Jaguar. I'd dream it again about 6 months later.

Back at the sanctuary most of us were tired from the day's events, but we decided to head up to the stardeck to wind down. A few people brought some cigarettes (hand rolled, the kind used in ceremony to clear the space) and puffed them while we took in the night sky. The lack of light let every star shine, it was absolutely stunning every night we were there. Like the whole sky was revolving around us.

We lay up there for about an hour, talking about the day. Our group of people of such privelege, humbled by the experience. Huachuma had granted us a powerful experience of connection and introspection. We were able to communicate with a people who had found so much joy and work and love in the small amount they had been given. A people who had worked as hard as they could to survive, and were still able to smile and enjoy life in ways few of us know.

As I wandered back along the wooden footbridge I wondered to myself what lessons I could learn. I'd come to Peru not knowing what to look for, not knowing what I needed. In one day, one ceremony my expectations weren't met, but what I received in return was far more valuable than what I'd hoped for. While most all of us had come down for a individual experience, we were finding that what we were getting were lessons from another point of view. We were getting small micro lessons on an individual level, like laughing off the slip or sharing the food, but at the same time we were learning what life is like from another people, a world away.

I settled on my bed to write in my journal, I briefly took down my thoughts and feelings on the day before falling asleep in the small twin bed. The sounds of jungle bugs persisted, and there might have been a jaguar who jumped on the roof to sleep, something made a bump in the night.

The next day I woke up and made my way to the dining hut, breakfast to order of eggs, potatoes, avocado, quinoa, and fruit. Delicious. The group chatted briefly, no one really picked up the topic of the experience the day before, no one dove deep. I kind of liked it that way, somethings are beyond words, and we all knew something special had happened.

This day was a rest day, we did whatever we wanted: resting in hammocks, yoga on the stardeck, reading (I was reading Manly P. Hall's The Secret Teachings of All Ages at the time,) and wandering the jungle. I took a run with a few of the guys, the air was thick and made breathing a challenge for my lungs, I'm used to the dry weather in MT. We convened with Don Howard for dinner and talked about the coming days.

We'd have our second ceremony tomorrow, drinking the bitter brew before heading to visit another indigenous tribe, the we'd follow it up with another rest day and visit to the animal sanctuary nearby. Our final ceremony day involved the third mesa on the stardeck, followed by "the bridge between life and death," Vilca.

Until then! I hope you enjoyed part two of my story, it was long overdue. It looks like I might need to make this a four part series.

Thanks for reading,

@jakeybrown

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This post was part of the @Sndbox Summer Writing Camp, for more information check out this post.