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Monday, January 19, 2009
Monday, January 5, 2009
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Sapphire Song or Ayahuasca in the Amazon (part 3)
The lights are off, I’m laying on my mat nauseated in the dark. I’ve drunk a full cup of the mother vine. The maestros have decided that the previous two nights Ayahuasca has been too weak. The previous group to ours had a very special batch of Ayahuasca found very deep in the jungle. It is made with what the maestros are calling the mother vine of Ayahuasca. Generally Ayahuasca is harvested at five years of age and my be 10 or 12 inches around. This vine was as big around as a tree and was approximately 25 years old. It was so alive and full of spirits, John said he was able to cut through it with his machete, no axe needed. Camp has been buzzing about it since its arrival this morning. It is a dark brown compared with the earlier Ayahuasca’s almost glowing orange color. After feeling the strength of the previous night’s full cup I have no idea what to expect from this new, even more potent brew.
I decide the nausea is too much when I lay down. I sit up in hope it might relieve it some. It doesn’t work. I get up to use the restroom knowing the hit is on its way. I walk back to the black corridor behind the shower curtain that separates the bathrooms from the ceremony room, my little head lamp lighting the way. I go into one of the stalls and as I start to go I think of the mantra I’d been listening to earlier in the day from a Tool song, “your body is light you are immortal, your body is love you are eternal.” I repeat this over and over again as the spot light from my lamp begins to pulsate with green intricate patterns on the wall. Hello, again. I leave the bathrooms and return to the ceremony room, but I can’t return to my spot. I pace in the darkness behind the group repeating the mantra to myself. The icaros stop for a moment. The floor is yours the spirits tell me. “ May I say something maestro?” I ask Hamilton. “Of course” he answers, so I repeat the mantra to the group. Hamilton says it is true and beautiful.
I kneel down at the front of my mat, silently mouthing the words of my mantra, holding on to it for strength. Visions come, knocking down the black walls with the bright colors of the medicine. The room is alive and bright as day with a kaleidoscope of color. I look around at the indiscernible shapes of the spirits all around me. We are here, they tell me, what are you going to do? We can tear you apart if you want or you can dominate us. I’m frightened as their eyes melt in and out of each other, watching me. They swirl and dance, unknowing or not caring that their motion is multiplying my nausea. I try to sit up straight and I say the word, dominate. It resonates with its own power. I understand now what Mimi was talking about when she described how it is necessary to dominate the spirits as well as yourself when you are in an Ayahuasca ceremony. It’s not a cruel dominance, like a master dominating a slave, but the cool and controlled dominance of an experienced ranch hand breaking a wild horse. You have to dominate your terror, and I found it the best way to pay respect to the Maestros, think of how much more they have been through. Suck it up and take it. You literally asked for it.
I roll onto my back, the weight of the diets restricted and sparse menu clawing through me. But it’s not just the diet it’s the stress and worries of my life as well. I’m tired inside my bones, inside my soul “I’m tired, I’m fucking tired.” I yell out to who’ll ever listen. “Eat some chicken!” a fellow dieter responds to my cry. The purge comes and I find I’m sitting up. La purga, the purge, the native people call Ayahuasca. Western people with all their crossed and confused energies come to Ayahuasca with so much work to do on themselves. The natives, with their relatively straight energies come and say “It cleansed my stomach.” The medicine is purging my stomach making room for tonight’s lessons. I become aware that something is portraying it’s self thorugh me. My stance becomes it’s stance over my puke bucket. My arms are straight, shoulders high, knuckles curled on the ground. Long white hair grows from them as if the white masts of a ship are growing from my forearms. The arms of a gorilla. He pounds his fists on the ground and roars at the bucket in dominance of the spirits it holds.
My hair hangs in my eyes as I look down into the darkness of the receptacle. I snort and huff snot and vomit from my nose and lips. I shake my mane of hair and realize I don’t have a mane, whatever I’m sharing my body with does. Nor do I have the long black horns I can see in my peripheral vision. The head of a bull. I still have my body but it seems to glow with a guardian shape that is encompassing me. It is my guardian and he has come to protect me in ceremony. He shares his power with me but it is still his. He takes off my sweaty shirt, “let me breath!” he roars to me. “Recognize your strength, your masculinity.” He tells me. “You’ve been repressing and ignoring it. Stop.” He growls through me. I look up through my hair, chin held high and take in my new world with my new eyes. My lip curls in a snarl. Challenge us, we dare you, we project to the world. My hair in my face and the snarl on my lips I can’t help but think of Glen Danzig, in full form at the helm of the Misfits. My guardian seemed to dredge up some kind of Neanderthal hand gestures to me. Knuckles pounded together meant respect. A fist pounded against the heart meant courage. And two fists pounded on the chest meant dominate. I would use these throughout my journeys to communicate my feelings.
I stand up, and begin to look around the room, making a circular motion in place. My gaze crosses the maestros. I see Hamilton, his dark shape vibrating and emitting beautiful black tendrils of smoke. “What’s up.” I say in my mind, a greeting to another and far more experienced traveler of this world. “What’s up.” he answers telepathically to my mind, happy to see me up here. I just had a telepathic conversation I think to myself, but it seems completely natural in this state. It’s just the way it is. My vision is vibrating because my third eye’s lids are shaking under the weight of their first real usage. I can literally feel it in the middle of my forehead. Like a baby’s legs struggling to support him during his first steps, or atrophied muscles awakening to regain their instinctual but forgotten paths. I turned to the back of the room and I saw the darkness.
The front of the ceremony house, where the shaman are seated, seems to glow with the medicine and non-judgmental love. They are beacons of light in a sea of chaos. The back of the room is black now. I grow curious and bold with the new found strength from my guardian. “Are you really back here?”, I ask myself. Is there really the evil I’ve heard Hamilton speak of in the dark places of the world? And as I creep farther and farther away from the protective spiritual fire of the shaman, I hear a cold Hiss escape from the darkness. It is ancient and huge and says through the hiss “don’t come back here boy unless you really want to know what’s back here. I’m not fucking with you, so unless you want me to, get out!” I feel isolated in the darkness, the hiss the most frightening thing I’ve ever heard. Like the monster from your childhood fears at your bedroom doorway, silhouetted by a flash of lighting. Only it’s not your imagination, it’s really there. But this is no childhood monster, this is evil, old and criminal. In Ayahuasca I learned you have to pick your battles. You have a certain amount of spiritual energy to do battle with and it’s up to you to apply it where it’s needed and not waste it wear it’s not. This wasn’t my battle, this evil wasn’t me, it was outside of me and it wasn’t my work to do. My guardian had let me wander a bit into the darkness, because there was a lesson to be learned, and I feel the only reason I got the warning of the hiss was because his watchful eye was over me. Evil doesn’t like a fair fight, and he would have been a handful. But this evil certainly didn’t want a little brat wondering around on his territory either, so he told me to get out. And I did.
I went back to the light of the shaman’s fire. Flexing my muscles at the darkness while staying inside of the shaman’s protection. A little Indian brave dancing safely at the fires edge.
I knelt down at the end of my mat, to feel the pulse of energy in my body and listen to the Icaros. As I did this, the invisible hands from my first ceremony returned along with the puppeteer. The rods at my wrists and elbows curled my hands up into my armpits, making the form of chicken wings. And they began to pump against my body. Why the hell am I acting like a chicken I wondered? “I am a chicken!” I said out loud. “I’m a chicken.” And I realized I was. I’d been so predisposed with courage and conquering fear and not being afraid, that I’d been suppressing the fact that I was. I was terrified and that was okay, I was doing a scary thing and that was what fear is for. An ex of mine had a personality trait book that we used to look thorugh and I always seemed to match the number 6 personality type, a loyalist. I had always hated that. I didn’t like the descriptions of a loyalist, or the famous people and characters associated with them. One of which was the cowardly lion, from the wizard of Oz. I hated being grouped in with him, I was no coward! I was always brave! But that wasn’t true. I often acted tough on the outside while having fear creeping around inside. But I would never admit that to anyone. But by the act of admitting it to my self and the world the opposite became the real truth for the first time. I had to admit to being a coward in order not to be one. A dry heave tore through me and I could feel the dense energy of fear leaving my body. What a gift to transcend that.
I was very pleased with the work done. I sat down, and found that my body naturally wanted to go into yoga poses. I only know basic ones and my body felt like elastic like I could stretch and flex into any position I wanted. I must say a huge cat like stretch on Ayahuasca is a feeling second only to a very few others. After some stretching I found my self in a kneeling Buddha pose. And I felt like a statue, an eternal living statue. I knew why the great stone Buddhas litter the ancient ruins of the Far East. I felt what the great monks and transient messiahs felt. Why the people of antiquity would make shrines to this perfect and whole expression of existence. And I stayed there with my life force and the universes as one, until the lamps where lit again.
I decide the nausea is too much when I lay down. I sit up in hope it might relieve it some. It doesn’t work. I get up to use the restroom knowing the hit is on its way. I walk back to the black corridor behind the shower curtain that separates the bathrooms from the ceremony room, my little head lamp lighting the way. I go into one of the stalls and as I start to go I think of the mantra I’d been listening to earlier in the day from a Tool song, “your body is light you are immortal, your body is love you are eternal.” I repeat this over and over again as the spot light from my lamp begins to pulsate with green intricate patterns on the wall. Hello, again. I leave the bathrooms and return to the ceremony room, but I can’t return to my spot. I pace in the darkness behind the group repeating the mantra to myself. The icaros stop for a moment. The floor is yours the spirits tell me. “ May I say something maestro?” I ask Hamilton. “Of course” he answers, so I repeat the mantra to the group. Hamilton says it is true and beautiful.
I kneel down at the front of my mat, silently mouthing the words of my mantra, holding on to it for strength. Visions come, knocking down the black walls with the bright colors of the medicine. The room is alive and bright as day with a kaleidoscope of color. I look around at the indiscernible shapes of the spirits all around me. We are here, they tell me, what are you going to do? We can tear you apart if you want or you can dominate us. I’m frightened as their eyes melt in and out of each other, watching me. They swirl and dance, unknowing or not caring that their motion is multiplying my nausea. I try to sit up straight and I say the word, dominate. It resonates with its own power. I understand now what Mimi was talking about when she described how it is necessary to dominate the spirits as well as yourself when you are in an Ayahuasca ceremony. It’s not a cruel dominance, like a master dominating a slave, but the cool and controlled dominance of an experienced ranch hand breaking a wild horse. You have to dominate your terror, and I found it the best way to pay respect to the Maestros, think of how much more they have been through. Suck it up and take it. You literally asked for it.
I roll onto my back, the weight of the diets restricted and sparse menu clawing through me. But it’s not just the diet it’s the stress and worries of my life as well. I’m tired inside my bones, inside my soul “I’m tired, I’m fucking tired.” I yell out to who’ll ever listen. “Eat some chicken!” a fellow dieter responds to my cry. The purge comes and I find I’m sitting up. La purga, the purge, the native people call Ayahuasca. Western people with all their crossed and confused energies come to Ayahuasca with so much work to do on themselves. The natives, with their relatively straight energies come and say “It cleansed my stomach.” The medicine is purging my stomach making room for tonight’s lessons. I become aware that something is portraying it’s self thorugh me. My stance becomes it’s stance over my puke bucket. My arms are straight, shoulders high, knuckles curled on the ground. Long white hair grows from them as if the white masts of a ship are growing from my forearms. The arms of a gorilla. He pounds his fists on the ground and roars at the bucket in dominance of the spirits it holds.
My hair hangs in my eyes as I look down into the darkness of the receptacle. I snort and huff snot and vomit from my nose and lips. I shake my mane of hair and realize I don’t have a mane, whatever I’m sharing my body with does. Nor do I have the long black horns I can see in my peripheral vision. The head of a bull. I still have my body but it seems to glow with a guardian shape that is encompassing me. It is my guardian and he has come to protect me in ceremony. He shares his power with me but it is still his. He takes off my sweaty shirt, “let me breath!” he roars to me. “Recognize your strength, your masculinity.” He tells me. “You’ve been repressing and ignoring it. Stop.” He growls through me. I look up through my hair, chin held high and take in my new world with my new eyes. My lip curls in a snarl. Challenge us, we dare you, we project to the world. My hair in my face and the snarl on my lips I can’t help but think of Glen Danzig, in full form at the helm of the Misfits. My guardian seemed to dredge up some kind of Neanderthal hand gestures to me. Knuckles pounded together meant respect. A fist pounded against the heart meant courage. And two fists pounded on the chest meant dominate. I would use these throughout my journeys to communicate my feelings.
I stand up, and begin to look around the room, making a circular motion in place. My gaze crosses the maestros. I see Hamilton, his dark shape vibrating and emitting beautiful black tendrils of smoke. “What’s up.” I say in my mind, a greeting to another and far more experienced traveler of this world. “What’s up.” he answers telepathically to my mind, happy to see me up here. I just had a telepathic conversation I think to myself, but it seems completely natural in this state. It’s just the way it is. My vision is vibrating because my third eye’s lids are shaking under the weight of their first real usage. I can literally feel it in the middle of my forehead. Like a baby’s legs struggling to support him during his first steps, or atrophied muscles awakening to regain their instinctual but forgotten paths. I turned to the back of the room and I saw the darkness.
The front of the ceremony house, where the shaman are seated, seems to glow with the medicine and non-judgmental love. They are beacons of light in a sea of chaos. The back of the room is black now. I grow curious and bold with the new found strength from my guardian. “Are you really back here?”, I ask myself. Is there really the evil I’ve heard Hamilton speak of in the dark places of the world? And as I creep farther and farther away from the protective spiritual fire of the shaman, I hear a cold Hiss escape from the darkness. It is ancient and huge and says through the hiss “don’t come back here boy unless you really want to know what’s back here. I’m not fucking with you, so unless you want me to, get out!” I feel isolated in the darkness, the hiss the most frightening thing I’ve ever heard. Like the monster from your childhood fears at your bedroom doorway, silhouetted by a flash of lighting. Only it’s not your imagination, it’s really there. But this is no childhood monster, this is evil, old and criminal. In Ayahuasca I learned you have to pick your battles. You have a certain amount of spiritual energy to do battle with and it’s up to you to apply it where it’s needed and not waste it wear it’s not. This wasn’t my battle, this evil wasn’t me, it was outside of me and it wasn’t my work to do. My guardian had let me wander a bit into the darkness, because there was a lesson to be learned, and I feel the only reason I got the warning of the hiss was because his watchful eye was over me. Evil doesn’t like a fair fight, and he would have been a handful. But this evil certainly didn’t want a little brat wondering around on his territory either, so he told me to get out. And I did.
I went back to the light of the shaman’s fire. Flexing my muscles at the darkness while staying inside of the shaman’s protection. A little Indian brave dancing safely at the fires edge.
I knelt down at the end of my mat, to feel the pulse of energy in my body and listen to the Icaros. As I did this, the invisible hands from my first ceremony returned along with the puppeteer. The rods at my wrists and elbows curled my hands up into my armpits, making the form of chicken wings. And they began to pump against my body. Why the hell am I acting like a chicken I wondered? “I am a chicken!” I said out loud. “I’m a chicken.” And I realized I was. I’d been so predisposed with courage and conquering fear and not being afraid, that I’d been suppressing the fact that I was. I was terrified and that was okay, I was doing a scary thing and that was what fear is for. An ex of mine had a personality trait book that we used to look thorugh and I always seemed to match the number 6 personality type, a loyalist. I had always hated that. I didn’t like the descriptions of a loyalist, or the famous people and characters associated with them. One of which was the cowardly lion, from the wizard of Oz. I hated being grouped in with him, I was no coward! I was always brave! But that wasn’t true. I often acted tough on the outside while having fear creeping around inside. But I would never admit that to anyone. But by the act of admitting it to my self and the world the opposite became the real truth for the first time. I had to admit to being a coward in order not to be one. A dry heave tore through me and I could feel the dense energy of fear leaving my body. What a gift to transcend that.
I was very pleased with the work done. I sat down, and found that my body naturally wanted to go into yoga poses. I only know basic ones and my body felt like elastic like I could stretch and flex into any position I wanted. I must say a huge cat like stretch on Ayahuasca is a feeling second only to a very few others. After some stretching I found my self in a kneeling Buddha pose. And I felt like a statue, an eternal living statue. I knew why the great stone Buddhas litter the ancient ruins of the Far East. I felt what the great monks and transient messiahs felt. Why the people of antiquity would make shrines to this perfect and whole expression of existence. And I stayed there with my life force and the universes as one, until the lamps where lit again.
Friday, December 5, 2008
Sapphire Song or Ayahuasca in the Amazon (part 2)
And the lights go out for a second time. I’ve drunk a full cup of Ayahuasca tonight, I’m told the taste gets worse the more times you throw it up and it does seem more acrid tonight. I heard it described as the whole jungle blended up and mixed with bile and this seems a very fitting description. The consistency is similar to that of whole milk and the three liter bottle it resides in was a glowing orange. Already, fears of the full cup being too much are filling my head. The night before was about three quarters full, and while the spirits where very kind to me with that dosage I’m wondering if a twenty-five percent increase is going to blow the doors open on this ride, but I was soon to find out this dose was nothing compared to what I was in for in subsequent ceremonies.
I raise my hands on my own waiting for the spirits to say hello in the same way. I feel the Ayahuasca sloshing around in my belly, saturating it. The nausea has already set in, throw it up, throw it up! a voice says. Who is this that’s so eager to have the medicine out? Somebody wanted it out and it wasn’t me. I’m waiting for the ghost hands again, but they don’t come, a vengeful poltergeist takes hold instead. The visions come, fast and pulsating. I’m in and there is no dragon kissing my fingertips tonight. Only time and space swirling around me as I stay anchored down. Hamilton has said that you never move, time and space move around you. You are not your body. I can feel the world spinning around me, my eyes are wide open and a great cavernous space opens. Diffused light scrapes the ceiling of the cavern, all else is darkness. A ledge reaches up before me, outlined with glowing veins.
I notice the pressure everywhere, my head, my heart, in my soul. The cavern is pressing down, getting smaller. The cavern is changing appearance as it shrinks. The medicine veins lining the walls pulse purple, pink, green. I’m deep within myself, or deep within the spirit of the vine and it’s all I can do to control my breathing. I feel it want to slip away, to gasp for breath to call out for help, for water on my head to ease the visions and fear. But I focus on my breath, my survival line, the ambillical cord to the life I’ve always known. And I realize for the first time that that world isn’t the only one, that this world is waiting for me. There’s my world and this world and who knows what others. None more real than another. I realize that my life as Hagen is but one of them, and there’s no getting out of this. Ever. You just pass from one to the next when the time comes. Fear sets in, accompanied by icy loneliness I’ve known for only fleeting moments in life, and had hoped never to feel again.
I’m huddled in on myself, there is only breathing. I go through the breathing techniques I’ve been taught by Mimi, count to four on the inhale, hold, count to four on the exhale. It’s all I can do. My mind reaches for panic if I let up for even a moment. It’s dark and lonely and cold. I don’t know if this is the medicine teaching me respect for it, telling me a full cup is too much, or if it’s the fear winning, being stirred from peaceful little homes it has set up through out the corridors of my life. Wake us up will you? Well, we’ll teach you. And they were, the nausea was permeating my whole body. It ached to be out. I roll over to my bucket at the end of my mat, the ceremony room reappears and spins around. All I see is the black hole of my puke bucket in front of my eyes as I empty my stomach into it. The smell of the Ayahuasca fills my nostrils, as each retch starts before the last one finishes. The Icaros drift back in. The Icaros! Are they what have brought out my purge? I’ve been so consumed with my survival that I haven’t even heard them, which has certainly been part of my problem. “Follow the Icaros”, Hamilton warns us, “let them come in and do the work.” I feel like Bilbo Baggins having disobeyed Gandalf’s warning not to leave the trail in Mirkwood.
I lay beside my purge bucket, somewhere I see little feet come with a bright light, take it away and replace it with another. The medicine is still so strong I can hardly make it out, and I certainly don’t care. The Icaros come and go, Don Alberto’s beautiful, foreign and frightening voice comes in loud and clear, clearing a new path. I lay down on my back. The nausea starts to pass, the perfection of energy flowing through me starts. I’ve read of Peter speaking of the doctor spirits and I feel them coming to see me now. A light opens on my chest, darkness outside its parameters. I wonder where their tools are. My right hand raises up in the light and it dawns on me, why would they need to bring tools to work on me when they have the huge beautiful tool of my hand to do their work with. They take my hand and move it over my body, gently pressing into my ribs and abdomen, moving up around the outside of my chest, checking lymph nodes as any good doctor would do. My hand softly pats my chest and they’re gone, apparently satisfied with the examination.
The Ayahuasca’s grip is loosening early tonight, and I find myself back in me while the lights are still out. “Everyone take a deep breath and remind yourself you have a body.” Hamilton offers. “It’s just a little Ayahuasca.” he says. Groans from the group follow. “just be happy it’s not a little more.” he finishes. A little more I think. There is still plenty of ceremony left, I could go in for more if I wanted. Hamilton wouldn’t turn me down if I did. “Relax” the spirits tell me, “you’ve learned enough tonight.” I agree, readily I must admit. “You haven’t learned enough!” the voices start. “You threw up too early, you’re weak, you’re afraid!” I begin to believe them when some of the wisest words I’ve ever heard start to drift back in over the voices like snowflakes. Words that Hamilton had given to us earlier in the day.
“The only time insecurity demons show up is when the opposite of what their saying is true. It’s what attracts them, it’s what they feed on, it’s why they live. You have to take the idea of your ability and turn it into knowledge. Knowledge is fact. When those demons come and say you can’t, you won’t, you’re a failure, you’re shit, it’s because the opposite of that is the truth. Hold on to the knowledge of your ability, it’s steel. Your insecurities actually support your abilities, to the man who’s eyes are open to it.”
I laid on my back, occasionally rolling over to my stomach. Taking in the ceremony as I started to sober up. I have to admit that sobering up during a ceremony is not a particularly good time. The jokes aren’t funny, the nagging sense of not having done enough, the jealousy of seeing others still in their dreams. “Relax” the spirits tell me again. All right, I decide. But it feels like something’s coming and it was. “We’re channeling Don Julio now.” Hamilton announces as the Shaman start into a new Icaro. “Oh no! I knew it!” the words race through my head as I sit up. “Why now, when I’m not in my dream anymore?!” Don Julio Ilerena Puenedia is my personal hero, although I never got to met him before he passed I have read many stories of his strength and bravery through Peter Gorman’s writings. Being able to honor him and maybe, just maybe meet him in ceremony were some of my greatest hopes for the trip.
Well I was going to try my best to do it. I crept up to Hamilton in the dark, “is there still time to take some more?” I asked. “No, we’re almost done.” Hamilton replied. “Rats!” I sulked back to my new spot at the end of the mats, some friends, a couple, wanted to be next to each other during ceremony so I’d given up my original spot for one on the end in front of Mimi. I stewed in my head thinking of how I’d been told that Ayahuasca would give you what you need and not what you want. And then a light bulb turned on in my mind. I already know Julio! I know him every time I make art, every time I touch the divine. I didn’t have to be in my Ayahuasca dream to meet him, I already knew him very well. And it’s very telling of Ayahuasca to teach me that in a way I would have never expected. And I wonder now if maybe it wasn’t Julio telling me to relax the whole time.
As I lay for the last few minutes of ceremony darkness, I listened to Hamilton give words of wisdom that seemed beyond his thirty-one years. “Start loving your body, because it’s the only one your ever going to have.” I thought about that, the only one you’re ever going to have. Not the only that may ever be or have been, but the only one you, the ego consciousness listening to this will ever have. Hagen Gilbert, or you reading this, will never have another body, so love it. “Everything that has ever happened to you has been a gift” he continued. “They have taught you all you know, praise them when they have challenged you, love them when you think they have defeated you”. Because they have not, they are giving you a chance to be born again, in-forming with unknown strength. “Want what you have, and you’ll always have what you want. Want the love you have, want the money you have. The amount of love or money you have may change, but your want will always be right along side it, fulfilling you with everything you need. The Universe has been providing for you since the moment you were born, even before. And it will continue to provide for you everything needed to be you, as that is the only thing you ever are. Trust it.”
And the lights came back on.
I raise my hands on my own waiting for the spirits to say hello in the same way. I feel the Ayahuasca sloshing around in my belly, saturating it. The nausea has already set in, throw it up, throw it up! a voice says. Who is this that’s so eager to have the medicine out? Somebody wanted it out and it wasn’t me. I’m waiting for the ghost hands again, but they don’t come, a vengeful poltergeist takes hold instead. The visions come, fast and pulsating. I’m in and there is no dragon kissing my fingertips tonight. Only time and space swirling around me as I stay anchored down. Hamilton has said that you never move, time and space move around you. You are not your body. I can feel the world spinning around me, my eyes are wide open and a great cavernous space opens. Diffused light scrapes the ceiling of the cavern, all else is darkness. A ledge reaches up before me, outlined with glowing veins.
I notice the pressure everywhere, my head, my heart, in my soul. The cavern is pressing down, getting smaller. The cavern is changing appearance as it shrinks. The medicine veins lining the walls pulse purple, pink, green. I’m deep within myself, or deep within the spirit of the vine and it’s all I can do to control my breathing. I feel it want to slip away, to gasp for breath to call out for help, for water on my head to ease the visions and fear. But I focus on my breath, my survival line, the ambillical cord to the life I’ve always known. And I realize for the first time that that world isn’t the only one, that this world is waiting for me. There’s my world and this world and who knows what others. None more real than another. I realize that my life as Hagen is but one of them, and there’s no getting out of this. Ever. You just pass from one to the next when the time comes. Fear sets in, accompanied by icy loneliness I’ve known for only fleeting moments in life, and had hoped never to feel again.
I’m huddled in on myself, there is only breathing. I go through the breathing techniques I’ve been taught by Mimi, count to four on the inhale, hold, count to four on the exhale. It’s all I can do. My mind reaches for panic if I let up for even a moment. It’s dark and lonely and cold. I don’t know if this is the medicine teaching me respect for it, telling me a full cup is too much, or if it’s the fear winning, being stirred from peaceful little homes it has set up through out the corridors of my life. Wake us up will you? Well, we’ll teach you. And they were, the nausea was permeating my whole body. It ached to be out. I roll over to my bucket at the end of my mat, the ceremony room reappears and spins around. All I see is the black hole of my puke bucket in front of my eyes as I empty my stomach into it. The smell of the Ayahuasca fills my nostrils, as each retch starts before the last one finishes. The Icaros drift back in. The Icaros! Are they what have brought out my purge? I’ve been so consumed with my survival that I haven’t even heard them, which has certainly been part of my problem. “Follow the Icaros”, Hamilton warns us, “let them come in and do the work.” I feel like Bilbo Baggins having disobeyed Gandalf’s warning not to leave the trail in Mirkwood.
I lay beside my purge bucket, somewhere I see little feet come with a bright light, take it away and replace it with another. The medicine is still so strong I can hardly make it out, and I certainly don’t care. The Icaros come and go, Don Alberto’s beautiful, foreign and frightening voice comes in loud and clear, clearing a new path. I lay down on my back. The nausea starts to pass, the perfection of energy flowing through me starts. I’ve read of Peter speaking of the doctor spirits and I feel them coming to see me now. A light opens on my chest, darkness outside its parameters. I wonder where their tools are. My right hand raises up in the light and it dawns on me, why would they need to bring tools to work on me when they have the huge beautiful tool of my hand to do their work with. They take my hand and move it over my body, gently pressing into my ribs and abdomen, moving up around the outside of my chest, checking lymph nodes as any good doctor would do. My hand softly pats my chest and they’re gone, apparently satisfied with the examination.
The Ayahuasca’s grip is loosening early tonight, and I find myself back in me while the lights are still out. “Everyone take a deep breath and remind yourself you have a body.” Hamilton offers. “It’s just a little Ayahuasca.” he says. Groans from the group follow. “just be happy it’s not a little more.” he finishes. A little more I think. There is still plenty of ceremony left, I could go in for more if I wanted. Hamilton wouldn’t turn me down if I did. “Relax” the spirits tell me, “you’ve learned enough tonight.” I agree, readily I must admit. “You haven’t learned enough!” the voices start. “You threw up too early, you’re weak, you’re afraid!” I begin to believe them when some of the wisest words I’ve ever heard start to drift back in over the voices like snowflakes. Words that Hamilton had given to us earlier in the day.
“The only time insecurity demons show up is when the opposite of what their saying is true. It’s what attracts them, it’s what they feed on, it’s why they live. You have to take the idea of your ability and turn it into knowledge. Knowledge is fact. When those demons come and say you can’t, you won’t, you’re a failure, you’re shit, it’s because the opposite of that is the truth. Hold on to the knowledge of your ability, it’s steel. Your insecurities actually support your abilities, to the man who’s eyes are open to it.”
I laid on my back, occasionally rolling over to my stomach. Taking in the ceremony as I started to sober up. I have to admit that sobering up during a ceremony is not a particularly good time. The jokes aren’t funny, the nagging sense of not having done enough, the jealousy of seeing others still in their dreams. “Relax” the spirits tell me again. All right, I decide. But it feels like something’s coming and it was. “We’re channeling Don Julio now.” Hamilton announces as the Shaman start into a new Icaro. “Oh no! I knew it!” the words race through my head as I sit up. “Why now, when I’m not in my dream anymore?!” Don Julio Ilerena Puenedia is my personal hero, although I never got to met him before he passed I have read many stories of his strength and bravery through Peter Gorman’s writings. Being able to honor him and maybe, just maybe meet him in ceremony were some of my greatest hopes for the trip.
Well I was going to try my best to do it. I crept up to Hamilton in the dark, “is there still time to take some more?” I asked. “No, we’re almost done.” Hamilton replied. “Rats!” I sulked back to my new spot at the end of the mats, some friends, a couple, wanted to be next to each other during ceremony so I’d given up my original spot for one on the end in front of Mimi. I stewed in my head thinking of how I’d been told that Ayahuasca would give you what you need and not what you want. And then a light bulb turned on in my mind. I already know Julio! I know him every time I make art, every time I touch the divine. I didn’t have to be in my Ayahuasca dream to meet him, I already knew him very well. And it’s very telling of Ayahuasca to teach me that in a way I would have never expected. And I wonder now if maybe it wasn’t Julio telling me to relax the whole time.
As I lay for the last few minutes of ceremony darkness, I listened to Hamilton give words of wisdom that seemed beyond his thirty-one years. “Start loving your body, because it’s the only one your ever going to have.” I thought about that, the only one you’re ever going to have. Not the only that may ever be or have been, but the only one you, the ego consciousness listening to this will ever have. Hagen Gilbert, or you reading this, will never have another body, so love it. “Everything that has ever happened to you has been a gift” he continued. “They have taught you all you know, praise them when they have challenged you, love them when you think they have defeated you”. Because they have not, they are giving you a chance to be born again, in-forming with unknown strength. “Want what you have, and you’ll always have what you want. Want the love you have, want the money you have. The amount of love or money you have may change, but your want will always be right along side it, fulfilling you with everything you need. The Universe has been providing for you since the moment you were born, even before. And it will continue to provide for you everything needed to be you, as that is the only thing you ever are. Trust it.”
And the lights came back on.
Friday, November 21, 2008
flicker page photos from Peru
http://www.flickr.com/photos/hagenshape/show/with/3047833930/
copy and paste this link in your browser
copy and paste this link in your browser
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Sapphire Song or Ayahuasca in the Amazon (part 1)
And the little gas lantern is turned off. The ceremony house is cloaked in darkness, the light from the night sky beyond the mosquito net windows not yet penetrating my eyes. The room is tense as the haunting and foreign sounds of the Shaman’s Icaros and shakapas break the silence of the vaulted, circular room surrounded by Peruvian jungle. I’m lying down on a small mat, in front of an altar of crystals, waiting for my first ever cup of Ayahuasca to start taking effect. The first-time drinkers were nervous about their first taste of the vine of the little death, the experienced drinkers more so. Even Mimi and John, the two apprentices, seem apprehensive. Mimi is a three and a half year veteran of Ayahuasca and seems well on her way to becoming a Maestro. John is a fairly new apprentice who drinks a traditional full cup every ceremony and does not speak with the Maestros of his experiences. Only the Maestros seem fully in their element. Maestro Hamilton Souther, who is originally from California and came to Peru to apprentice after a calling from the spirits, sits facing me on the left. Facing me to my right is Maestro Don Alberto Torres, who has participated in over four thousand Ayahuasca ceremonies and started drinking Ayahuasca with his Maestro Father and Grand Father at age nine.
“Everybody ready for some Ayahuasca?” Hamilton asks pleasantly. A few feeble yeses and hoots stumble their way out from the fourteen guests attending this nine day shamanic retreat at Blue Morpho. “That’s good ‘cause we just drank some!” Hamilton jests. I can just make out his tall frame and ever-present smile sitting in one of the four executive chairs at the front of the ceremony house. And the Icaros, medicine songs of the Shaman, begin again. Mimi’s matronly voice dances around the Maestro’s songs, and John sits and plays his shakapa next to Don Alberto, waiting for the spirits to teach him his Icaros so he can join in the singing. My mind and heart race as I lay listening in the dark. What will happen to me? Will I be throwing up the whole ceremony? What if I throw up to soon? Will I be a recipient of the platinum star?(awarded when a guest doesn’t make it in time to one of the toilets in the back for a lower purge). All this is running through my mind when I feel a tingle in my finger tips, like a curious ghost making his presence known for the first time to the new residents of his home.
“Ok, it’s starting.” I tell myself. My heart is racing and the tingling is spreading. Invisible hands seem to raise my hands up at the elbows and I watch them. My fingers begin to grow and spread out in dark spindly shafts, branches growing from them as they weave into their new form, domain over them no longer just mine. These must be the tree spirits I’m now sharing my body with. Along with the Ayahuasca I’m taking part in a shamanic diet. Generally only practiced by apprentices it involves the consuming of additional tree spirits through a tea prepared with the bark of the corresponding trees. This goes along with a highly restricted diet during my stay. When you take in these new spirits they live with you in your body forever, hence them trying to return to their natural form via my alien human hands. What a beautiful way to say hello I thought, while still being frightened by the fact that my body was now a shared tenement.
My heart is pounding away in my chest, and I think back to what Mimi had said to the group when preparing us for the first ceremony “when your heart starts going crazy, just talk to it. Talk to it like you would talk to a friend. Say hello, don’t worry heart we’re in a Ayahuasca ceremony and everything is going to be fine. So relax and enjoy the ride!” I repeat this to my heart and find it receptive. I am really starting to be enveloped by Ayahuasca’s embrace at this point. I find I really love my heart. I love it so much I want to give it a hug. And I realize I’m already giving it the greatest hug I’ve ever given anything. I’m hugging it with my whole body, it’s a pearl at the center of my being, being hugged the way my brain seems to hug my consciousness. My heart slows and is cool with me at least for the rest of tonight’s journey.
Peter Gorman, an investigative journalist and friend of mine, has written extensively on Ayahuasca. Something he’s said to prove the legitimacy of his experiences to himself is if he sees something he wouldn’t have expected in a million years it has to be something outside of his imagination creating it. I thought of that when I met the spirit of breakfast. I saw breakfast, who presented himself as a fried egg, casually sitting at a kitchen table, a flap of egg white hanging over the top of his chair holding a cup of coffee, another flap expertly holding a cigarette. The unimpressed look on his face as I descended some stairs to meet him said “Look at you. You were out at the bar all night with your friends when you knew you had work in the morning and now you look like hell. What am I going to do with you?”. “Here” he said and slid a plate over to me “I made you some breakfast.” I laughed as I realized that breakfast is like your cool older brother. He’s already been up for an hour by the time you drag your sorry ass out of bed, but he’s not too hard on you because he remembers when he was like that, and he’s got your back and has breakfast waiting for you when you wake up. Breakfast is cool.
The invisible hands returned, breakfast rolled his eyes and disappeared. The hands began to move my arms in a strange but somehow familiar way. It felt as though a puppeteer was moving me, as if I had rods coming out the sides of my wrist and elbows and he was master of recreating animal motions with a vessel such as my arms. I realized my arms were the front legs of a wolf. And as my arms ran through the air in perfect K9 motion I began to see the ground rushing by below me as I looked up. My back legs became the crooked hind legs of a wolf and joined in perfect unison with my front paws. I felt what it’s like to run as a four legged animal. It was my spirit animal taking me for a run through the forest. I ran through the forest at sunset, dodging trees at high speed, stopping and using my heightened senses to feel the forest and its inhabitants, then rushing on. I started to peak a hill in the tall golden grass, basking in my speed and cunning, and felt the sun shining in my eyes. And with that brightness I realized something new. This adventure of being the great grey wolf is the same adventure every little puppy dog has while playing in the living room. The same adventure every house cat has as the lion stalking around the furniture. So Ayahuasca kindly reminded me I was still a pup in her world, but I still thanked the wolf for the ride.
I sat up after my run, momentarily aware of my surroundings, but only as much as a lucid dreamer is of his. It was dark and I seemed to be the only one of us on the floor who was sitting up. The Icaros had stopped for the moment and the ceremony house was bathed in silence. I heard the strike of a lighter in front of me and an explosion of light, and saw Don Alberto’s face illuminated in the flame of his lit mapacho. “ Hola, Hagen.” He said, but not to me to my spirit. And he nailed my name which is very difficult for Spanish speakers, and Don Alberto doesn’t speak any English. And besides that I had given him my name both times we drank the tree spirits for the diet before this ceremony and both times after. But he nailed it then and he seemed to know me perfectly in my spirit form. I saw him look over to Hamilton and thought I heard him say “I like this one.” And I didn’t know how I knew he said it because I wouldn’t have been able to make that out in Spanish in my state, but I heard it. Hamilton replied “Si,Si”. I felt very honored to be noticed by the maestros.
As I sat there an Icaro started again, sung by one of the maestros it seemed to me Don Alberto. I sat facing sideways on my mat with the Maestros to my right and listened and watched the walls of the ceremony house fade away to be replaced with an American southwest scene. I was atop a mesa facing the red setting sun, the wind lightly blowing wisps of hair in my face. I felt my worries and insecurities drop away in the wind and I began to feel like this was no longer myself, but in fact the opposite was true. It was my true self, minus all my baggage. It was the clearest moment of my life. I was proud to be me.
I felt the invisible hands come and reach down into my stomach and pull out a small purge, the fear of my first ceremony being cleansed perhaps. I lay down on my mat after this, tired as a baby and curled up into a fetal position. I heard my friend, lying on the mat next to mine, moan in pain. The moan was not my friend himself, but perhaps a forgotten part of him. It was crying out “I’m deep and wise, why won’t you listen to me, why am I ignored?”. The moan started to creep over to me, tried to start enveloping me, but I said no. I took some deep breaths and made myself bigger than it and I told it “I hear you and acknowledge and respect you, but you are not my journey. I give you my blessing and love but please be on your way.”. It left me then, and I curled back up and found my toes to be flexed against the floor, as though my fetal form was encased in something. And I realized I was, I was in the womb. Time doesn’t exist linearly in Ayahuasca. As Hamilton explained it to us, you are not manifestation. Manifestation is what you were. You are limitless possibility. What Ayahuasca allows you to do is be both at the same time. So in realizing that, I didn’t know if this experience of being in the womb was an actual memory of my time spent there unlocked from it’s secret hiding place, or if there was one time that exists for me being in the womb and I was experiencing it now instead of linearly when I thought I would or should have.
I stayed there and rested for a long time and as I felt myself leaving that place I found myself adrift on my mat. The black floor surrounding my mat was no longer floor but an inky dark, and bottomless ocean. I was afraid of the dark water surrounding me. I then thought of something I had told myself that fear is the giving up of your freewill to the idea of something more powerful. The idea of the ocean swallowing me up in this case. I drove my hand into the murky water only to have it stop at the surface, once again the floor. I sat up only wanting to say thank you to the Maestros and Ayahuasca for all my journeys this night. I found my mind trying to project thank you psychically and repeatedly. Then I realized I didn’t have to do that to say thank you. In Ayahuasca you can actually be thank you. I knelt down and laid my body over my knees and pulled my arms in next to me and emanated with my being the essence of thank you. I was a stone in a river smooth, clean, and glowing a dark green of thanks for my Maestros and for the medicine. What a perfect night of meeting the medicine. And as I lay in this position the lantern was lit once more.
“Everybody ready for some Ayahuasca?” Hamilton asks pleasantly. A few feeble yeses and hoots stumble their way out from the fourteen guests attending this nine day shamanic retreat at Blue Morpho. “That’s good ‘cause we just drank some!” Hamilton jests. I can just make out his tall frame and ever-present smile sitting in one of the four executive chairs at the front of the ceremony house. And the Icaros, medicine songs of the Shaman, begin again. Mimi’s matronly voice dances around the Maestro’s songs, and John sits and plays his shakapa next to Don Alberto, waiting for the spirits to teach him his Icaros so he can join in the singing. My mind and heart race as I lay listening in the dark. What will happen to me? Will I be throwing up the whole ceremony? What if I throw up to soon? Will I be a recipient of the platinum star?(awarded when a guest doesn’t make it in time to one of the toilets in the back for a lower purge). All this is running through my mind when I feel a tingle in my finger tips, like a curious ghost making his presence known for the first time to the new residents of his home.
“Ok, it’s starting.” I tell myself. My heart is racing and the tingling is spreading. Invisible hands seem to raise my hands up at the elbows and I watch them. My fingers begin to grow and spread out in dark spindly shafts, branches growing from them as they weave into their new form, domain over them no longer just mine. These must be the tree spirits I’m now sharing my body with. Along with the Ayahuasca I’m taking part in a shamanic diet. Generally only practiced by apprentices it involves the consuming of additional tree spirits through a tea prepared with the bark of the corresponding trees. This goes along with a highly restricted diet during my stay. When you take in these new spirits they live with you in your body forever, hence them trying to return to their natural form via my alien human hands. What a beautiful way to say hello I thought, while still being frightened by the fact that my body was now a shared tenement.
My heart is pounding away in my chest, and I think back to what Mimi had said to the group when preparing us for the first ceremony “when your heart starts going crazy, just talk to it. Talk to it like you would talk to a friend. Say hello, don’t worry heart we’re in a Ayahuasca ceremony and everything is going to be fine. So relax and enjoy the ride!” I repeat this to my heart and find it receptive. I am really starting to be enveloped by Ayahuasca’s embrace at this point. I find I really love my heart. I love it so much I want to give it a hug. And I realize I’m already giving it the greatest hug I’ve ever given anything. I’m hugging it with my whole body, it’s a pearl at the center of my being, being hugged the way my brain seems to hug my consciousness. My heart slows and is cool with me at least for the rest of tonight’s journey.
Peter Gorman, an investigative journalist and friend of mine, has written extensively on Ayahuasca. Something he’s said to prove the legitimacy of his experiences to himself is if he sees something he wouldn’t have expected in a million years it has to be something outside of his imagination creating it. I thought of that when I met the spirit of breakfast. I saw breakfast, who presented himself as a fried egg, casually sitting at a kitchen table, a flap of egg white hanging over the top of his chair holding a cup of coffee, another flap expertly holding a cigarette. The unimpressed look on his face as I descended some stairs to meet him said “Look at you. You were out at the bar all night with your friends when you knew you had work in the morning and now you look like hell. What am I going to do with you?”. “Here” he said and slid a plate over to me “I made you some breakfast.” I laughed as I realized that breakfast is like your cool older brother. He’s already been up for an hour by the time you drag your sorry ass out of bed, but he’s not too hard on you because he remembers when he was like that, and he’s got your back and has breakfast waiting for you when you wake up. Breakfast is cool.
The invisible hands returned, breakfast rolled his eyes and disappeared. The hands began to move my arms in a strange but somehow familiar way. It felt as though a puppeteer was moving me, as if I had rods coming out the sides of my wrist and elbows and he was master of recreating animal motions with a vessel such as my arms. I realized my arms were the front legs of a wolf. And as my arms ran through the air in perfect K9 motion I began to see the ground rushing by below me as I looked up. My back legs became the crooked hind legs of a wolf and joined in perfect unison with my front paws. I felt what it’s like to run as a four legged animal. It was my spirit animal taking me for a run through the forest. I ran through the forest at sunset, dodging trees at high speed, stopping and using my heightened senses to feel the forest and its inhabitants, then rushing on. I started to peak a hill in the tall golden grass, basking in my speed and cunning, and felt the sun shining in my eyes. And with that brightness I realized something new. This adventure of being the great grey wolf is the same adventure every little puppy dog has while playing in the living room. The same adventure every house cat has as the lion stalking around the furniture. So Ayahuasca kindly reminded me I was still a pup in her world, but I still thanked the wolf for the ride.
I sat up after my run, momentarily aware of my surroundings, but only as much as a lucid dreamer is of his. It was dark and I seemed to be the only one of us on the floor who was sitting up. The Icaros had stopped for the moment and the ceremony house was bathed in silence. I heard the strike of a lighter in front of me and an explosion of light, and saw Don Alberto’s face illuminated in the flame of his lit mapacho. “ Hola, Hagen.” He said, but not to me to my spirit. And he nailed my name which is very difficult for Spanish speakers, and Don Alberto doesn’t speak any English. And besides that I had given him my name both times we drank the tree spirits for the diet before this ceremony and both times after. But he nailed it then and he seemed to know me perfectly in my spirit form. I saw him look over to Hamilton and thought I heard him say “I like this one.” And I didn’t know how I knew he said it because I wouldn’t have been able to make that out in Spanish in my state, but I heard it. Hamilton replied “Si,Si”. I felt very honored to be noticed by the maestros.
As I sat there an Icaro started again, sung by one of the maestros it seemed to me Don Alberto. I sat facing sideways on my mat with the Maestros to my right and listened and watched the walls of the ceremony house fade away to be replaced with an American southwest scene. I was atop a mesa facing the red setting sun, the wind lightly blowing wisps of hair in my face. I felt my worries and insecurities drop away in the wind and I began to feel like this was no longer myself, but in fact the opposite was true. It was my true self, minus all my baggage. It was the clearest moment of my life. I was proud to be me.
I felt the invisible hands come and reach down into my stomach and pull out a small purge, the fear of my first ceremony being cleansed perhaps. I lay down on my mat after this, tired as a baby and curled up into a fetal position. I heard my friend, lying on the mat next to mine, moan in pain. The moan was not my friend himself, but perhaps a forgotten part of him. It was crying out “I’m deep and wise, why won’t you listen to me, why am I ignored?”. The moan started to creep over to me, tried to start enveloping me, but I said no. I took some deep breaths and made myself bigger than it and I told it “I hear you and acknowledge and respect you, but you are not my journey. I give you my blessing and love but please be on your way.”. It left me then, and I curled back up and found my toes to be flexed against the floor, as though my fetal form was encased in something. And I realized I was, I was in the womb. Time doesn’t exist linearly in Ayahuasca. As Hamilton explained it to us, you are not manifestation. Manifestation is what you were. You are limitless possibility. What Ayahuasca allows you to do is be both at the same time. So in realizing that, I didn’t know if this experience of being in the womb was an actual memory of my time spent there unlocked from it’s secret hiding place, or if there was one time that exists for me being in the womb and I was experiencing it now instead of linearly when I thought I would or should have.
I stayed there and rested for a long time and as I felt myself leaving that place I found myself adrift on my mat. The black floor surrounding my mat was no longer floor but an inky dark, and bottomless ocean. I was afraid of the dark water surrounding me. I then thought of something I had told myself that fear is the giving up of your freewill to the idea of something more powerful. The idea of the ocean swallowing me up in this case. I drove my hand into the murky water only to have it stop at the surface, once again the floor. I sat up only wanting to say thank you to the Maestros and Ayahuasca for all my journeys this night. I found my mind trying to project thank you psychically and repeatedly. Then I realized I didn’t have to do that to say thank you. In Ayahuasca you can actually be thank you. I knelt down and laid my body over my knees and pulled my arms in next to me and emanated with my being the essence of thank you. I was a stone in a river smooth, clean, and glowing a dark green of thanks for my Maestros and for the medicine. What a perfect night of meeting the medicine. And as I lay in this position the lantern was lit once more.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Real Mettle
I saw a video on youtube a week or so ago that made me think of what real strength of spirit and a real hero is. The video was a documentary of a family whose children, 4 girls, are suffering from a rare genetic disease called Harlequin Ichthyosis. It's a disease that causes the skin to grow in a day what it normally would in 2 weeks. It causes severe deformation of the infant and babies suffering from it generally don't survive. It is a painful and incurable disease. It is caused by both parents having the gene dormant in them, as they are not suffering from the disease themselves. The likely hood of being born with it is one in a million. These girls did survive infancy,and Laura,Hana,Dana, and Lucy Betts, were 4,10,11, and 14 years old when this documentary on their lives was made. The youtube video I saw was a segment from that.
What really touched me and got me thinking about this is a scene were the girls are having medical photos taken of their face and bodies, which are similar to a burn victim's, for medical research. The 14 year old, Lucy Betts, seemed to be coming to grips with the disease, but still suffering. As a child she said she thought all children had skin like hers and as she grew up her skin would become normal, like her parents. I imagine Laura the 4 year old is having a similar experience. Dana seems mature and well adjusted. Then it's Hana's turn for pictures of her face, "can I smile?" she asks, "of course you can." the photographer answers. Hana, all through out the shoot is smiling a huge smile in all the group pictures with her sisters and can't seem to help smiling at the camera crew capturing the scene for the documentary.
When I heard that little girl ask permission to smile, while having medical pictures taken for a frighting, painful, and permanent disease, I had never felt more admiration for anyone in my life. That's a hero, that's real mettle. When seeing a spirit like Hana's, it should make you re-evaluate your hero's being junkie rock stars and arrogant, childish athletes. The strength of spirit to face a battle
like this with nothing but a smile on your face deserves the respect of any warrior. And if you shed a tear for these girls make sure it's out of admiration and not out of pity.
What really touched me and got me thinking about this is a scene were the girls are having medical photos taken of their face and bodies, which are similar to a burn victim's, for medical research. The 14 year old, Lucy Betts, seemed to be coming to grips with the disease, but still suffering. As a child she said she thought all children had skin like hers and as she grew up her skin would become normal, like her parents. I imagine Laura the 4 year old is having a similar experience. Dana seems mature and well adjusted. Then it's Hana's turn for pictures of her face, "can I smile?" she asks, "of course you can." the photographer answers. Hana, all through out the shoot is smiling a huge smile in all the group pictures with her sisters and can't seem to help smiling at the camera crew capturing the scene for the documentary.
When I heard that little girl ask permission to smile, while having medical pictures taken for a frighting, painful, and permanent disease, I had never felt more admiration for anyone in my life. That's a hero, that's real mettle. When seeing a spirit like Hana's, it should make you re-evaluate your hero's being junkie rock stars and arrogant, childish athletes. The strength of spirit to face a battle
like this with nothing but a smile on your face deserves the respect of any warrior. And if you shed a tear for these girls make sure it's out of admiration and not out of pity.
i also saw Julio as a giant passage
The passage that inspired the painting:
I also saw Julio as a giant. Often. But one night in particular I saw him bigger than at other times. I'd been lain on my back by the medicine. I couldn't feel my body much less move it. Wind began to howl. From every direction. Not just howl, but howl like the wind at the four corners of the universe howls. And I realized that that's where I was, at the place where the wind begins. And in order not to be blown out of the universe I grabbed a coattail and held on for dear life. And I realized the coattail was worn by someone so large I couldn't see their knees. But I held on and let the wind rush through me, tearing me to glorious pieces. And then the sky opened up like a curtain being pulled back, and there was Julio, riding a bicycle as big as the sky. Attached to it's rear wheel were two flaps being powered by the motion of the wheel. And the flaps were making the wind that was blowing through me, the wind that was at the beginning of all wind. And Julio was pedaling fast, keeping the wind blowing, and laughing the most gentle and giving of laughs.
And in the morning he laughed when he asked if I liked his bicycle. I said I found it the most amazing thing.
Peter Gorman
http://www.pgorman.com/index.htm
I also saw Julio as a giant. Often. But one night in particular I saw him bigger than at other times. I'd been lain on my back by the medicine. I couldn't feel my body much less move it. Wind began to howl. From every direction. Not just howl, but howl like the wind at the four corners of the universe howls. And I realized that that's where I was, at the place where the wind begins. And in order not to be blown out of the universe I grabbed a coattail and held on for dear life. And I realized the coattail was worn by someone so large I couldn't see their knees. But I held on and let the wind rush through me, tearing me to glorious pieces. And then the sky opened up like a curtain being pulled back, and there was Julio, riding a bicycle as big as the sky. Attached to it's rear wheel were two flaps being powered by the motion of the wheel. And the flaps were making the wind that was blowing through me, the wind that was at the beginning of all wind. And Julio was pedaling fast, keeping the wind blowing, and laughing the most gentle and giving of laughs.
And in the morning he laughed when he asked if I liked his bicycle. I said I found it the most amazing thing.
Peter Gorman
http://www.pgorman.com/index.htm
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