This was the "Day of Silent Reflection". I woke early and walked down to the river. Along the way I received more than one, "Buenos dias!" from family members performing morning chores, to which I waved/nodded/smiled in mute reply. I'm not sure if they knew of the group's scheduled silence, but either way it didn't stop them from pleasantries.
On my way back up the steps, an ambush of tiredness slowed my pace. We'd been warned about this and told to expect it. Energy levels can be significantly affected by the "no salt" factor of the dieta. (On a side note, I shall revert to using the word "diet" instead of "dieta", as it's like how people can only really get away with saying "Frarnce" while they're in France.)
I remember the visual explanation Zach had given of our expected energy levels during this retreat. The idea was that we have physical energy and spiritual energy. He pressed his hands together and held them horizontally to show that both levels usually cruise along at about the same rate. When the work of the plant medicine combines with the restricted food regime, these levels diverge with spiritual energy rising and physical energy declining (his hands split apart in a sideways "V"). When the diet ends with the reintroduction of salt, spiritual energy stays high and physical energy comes up to meet it. I was going to say that the symbolic crocodile jaws then clamp down at this new level, but that's not quite the right analogy. It's more like the lower jaw rises to the upper jaw. So more correctly - the Amazonian alligator's jaws shut up to a new level.
I accept that the term "spiritual energy" in the above paragraph has a loose definition, though its nature remains hard to pin down. If physical energy is the paint of a picture, then spiritual energy is the brush outside of the frame. Earlier during this retreat, one of the group members described himself as a metaphysicist as I asked what that meant. Dale defined metaphysics as (I paraphrase), "that which cannot be measured." He then referred to language as a prime example, as words can be recorded but meaning can't be quantified. This well-packaged idea had me thinking.
The voiceless day left plenty of time to explore around the camp. At first I checked out the site of the fallen tree(s) from last night.
Then I had a better look at the buildings here that were still being built. This place was still a work in progress and next year there were plans to begin construction on a new school for the village children around this area. As a donation-based program, the helping of others remained a prime emphasis of the people here.
The lack of conversation this day was a chance to quiet the mind. I used it as an opportunity to read from the communal library that made up part of the dining room. Sitting with a topical text in front of me, it was the most sustained attention I've brought to a book for as long as I could remember. I laser-beamed through the pages.
Speed reading is a topic I have delved into on several occasions via different systems. I've had limited success even though the fundamentals aren't that difficult to grasp. The unacknowledged problem was that the mind would easily wander after a couple of pages. I'd get big jumps in acceleration while maintaining comprehension, but only for a short time. Going faster made it easier to slip out of the groove. There was a missing shush of internal chatter that hindered momentum. Not now though. Self-generated distraction was gone and I was off to the races.
Another turn of the page presented the last concluding sentences. Finished, I closed the book and let it sit for a moment on the table before me. Measured against my usual pace, that was ridiculously fast. Was it delusionarily fast?
I brought my mind to pieces of retention - parts that had sparked my interest and I wanted to remember. Then I quickly zeroed in on these noteworthy pages for selected passages and inspired concepts. One section of "New Brain, New World" approached ayahuasca with brain scan studies. The book, by Eric Hoffman, then tied this in to people's subjective experiences and life changes. DMT (the chemical vehicle of the natural medicine) is very similar to serotonin (the brain's regulator of mood, sleep, appetite and memory) and when it binds to nerve receptors in the brain, a change in consciousness takes place. It's as if the brain reserves a parking space for this different flavoured neurotransmitter.
To quote another part directly:
"Ayahuasca allows the possibility of contemplating the Self without the interference of the analytical and critical mind. This allows the possibility to accept and integrate the Self at a higher level of consciousness."
It's difficult to talk about higher levels of consciousness without coming across as a pretentious twat. Reaching to a new level is one thing, but staying there is something else. That said, it's the first peek over a fence that has no comparison.
Happy with the result of my book blitz, I walked back to the shelf to make an exchange. With a new title in hand, I returned to my seat in the dining room. After a chapter or so, I recognised the short-term comfort of the plastic chair as the weakest link, so I sought out an unoccupied hammock. It was a productive day.
Tonight, the scheduled main event was a tobacco tea ceremony instead of ayahuasca. Drinking tobacco is about as a delicious as it sounds, which is to say, very much not at all. This was going to be a strong dose with a forecast of puke and no expected "mareado" effect. I think for these reasons, only about half the group engaged in this optional extra. I chose to participate for its proposed cleansing and possible euphoric effects. By this point in the retreat, I didn't quite consider myself a Vomit Jedi, but my skills had undeniably improved. I was no longer getting in my own way - holding onto my precious, pre-digested contents with a golem's grasp. At the same time, I couldn't claim any sick enjoyment from "the purge". More would be required in the last few days here so I might as well hone my hurl.
The tea began being poured. Zach was the first to wrestle this distasteful drink. The alarmingly larger mug he held meant an increased serving size. I counted 7 seconds from the moment he started pouring it down the hatch until he pulled the empty cup away from a face clenched into a fist. It looked ghastly, but I figured that I could suspend any retching reaction for at least 10 seconds. My turn came and I focussed on counting numbers as I knocked it back.
For this daylight ceremony, we all sat in a circle of chairs with the water reservoir moved to the centre. I had over a litre in my bottle, although the recommendation was to quickly drink around 2 litres. I gulped down what I had, hoping that would be enough and waited. Some people burst out an early chuck.
Within the uncertain interval between input and output, I suspected more liquid was required for the flush. I eyed the distance between my seated position and the refill container. There was a typhoon brewing and I couldn't be sure of its explosive timing. With my empty bottle in one hand and refund-receptacle in the other, I made a controlled dive for more water. It was a cautious 3 steps forward, 3 steps back, before I returned to my seat and gulped down an extra litre. Eventually, the internal tsunami surfaced. In a high pressure torrent it came out like a flash flood making a prison break. I spewed a kiddie pool into my wide bucket, except there was no shallow end.
Job done, a wave of euphoria quickly followed. My barf was a proud achievement, although the elation I felt had an extra layer, thicker than pride.
The ceremony ended not long after nightfall, so dinner immediately followed. I didn't think food would go down so easily considering the timing, but it was fine. Satay sweet potatoes and soft fruit such as papaya and banana were ideally gentle on the esophagus. The discussions at the meal table had a marked change this evening, especially for those who had taken part in the purge. The mood was notably lighter and engaged conversation followed with humour.
One by one, group members began retiring for the evening. I took my time to get up and head to bed along the semi-moonlit walkway between the dinner hut and my room. As I got closer, I had an inkling to use my torch. It was a good thing that I did, as the mysterious dark shape at the base of my door turned out to be the camp's resident dog curled up outside my room. Since I have been here, I'd only seen him a couple of times, always pre-occupied in the distance. Now, he appeared content to rest in this chosen spot. I smiled as this made me feel like I'd been especially selected. I later found out that a few people had received the same vigilant welcome as they went to bed that evening, so it seemed like he'd been laying down from room to room. Knowing how my dog at home plays a crowd, I didn't let that take away from the moment.
I had a shower with the pails of water carried from the river, said good night to the dog and went to bed. Lying down, I felt a much stronger link with nature and my own uninhibited breathing. Whatever I previously considered as full lung capacity, was now exposed as a fraction of these unmined depths. All tension was gone from my body while floating on the sea of simple existence with my unhurried, purposeful breaths. At first, I thought this was going to send me off to an awesome slumber. Then I realised that this relaxation was a type of stimulated vitality. I was too mentally alert to sleep so I attentively listened to the sounds of the jungle's nightshift. I tried to separate the different tiers of creature calls between maybe-insects, maybe-frogs and other nocturnal animals of the maybe-I-haven't-got-a-clue variety.
After that project I found my torch and finished reading the book I'd brought to my room. Then I did some more writing. And then, deep into the darkness, without the further distractions of electricity's charms, I reluctantly slept.
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