The indigenous belief that “In this universe all things are connected” has a corollary:  we can never be alone, except in our own heads.  The attempts we make to isolate pieces of the universe—identifying the wave as separate from the ocean, or the single body of water that covers the planet into five separate oceans—are linguistic conventions, artificial categorizations.  While they may have been created to help us understand reality—to break it down into manageable segments, suitable for scientific investigation—they have become so fixed in our thinking that they now camouflage what, for the indigenous, is an incontrovertible truth: We cannot be separated from creation, from each other, from the Infinite, from whatever we call God, no matter how we categorize bits of the universe.  There is one life, and it flows through all of us.  Moreover, in the indigenous view, life flows through even inanimate objects—earth, water, fire, stone, planets, air—through Gaia and the entire cosmos.

Since we cannot be separated, we can never be alone—despite how isolated we may feel.  In fact, the most compelling evidence that the Western worldview is profoundly misguided comes from the fact that so many of us do, in fact, feel isolated, cut off, estranged—not just from each other, but from meaning, purpose, and significance.  What people of the world are the most depressed?  According to a 2004 study by the World Health Organization and Harvard Medical School, that would be Americans.  What country has the most obsessive-compulsive disorder, panic disorder, and other forms of anxiety, as well as the highest rates of post-traumatic stress disorder, murder, car accidents, and other violence?  If you guessed the United States, you’re right again. 

Although indigenous people may appear—from the Western point of view—to have more to worry about—survival, for instance—they also have sound support systems.  First among them is the belief that the universe they inhabit is friendly; that it cares for them—right down to providing their daily nourishment.  They know who they are, where they belong, and who they can call on for help—including their ancestors.  Moreover, they know they were born for a purpose—a purpose that Creator also equipped them to fulfill.  As a result, it has nothing to do with how much money they accumulate or status they achieve.  Their talents came with their original equipment; all that is required of them is to express them, to place them into service.

A primary reason that Westerners feel estranged and isolated from the natural world is that we seldom listen to it.  We consider it dead, or at best, unconscious, so what’s there to listen to?  Yet indigenous people do listen to the natural world; for them the natural world is always communicating and one who ignores this communication is either foolish, or perhaps disabled.  Either way, their lives are at risk because they make decisions oblivious to a wealth of information that is available to them.

How is it available?  Through listening.

Tom Brown, Jr., founder of the Tracker School who acquired his skills as a boy at the side of a Lipache Indian named Stalking Wolf, says that one can be so attuned to the natural world that one can know which plants and which parts are edible, which plants are medicinal, and which are toxic, even if one has never encountered the plant before, simply by attuning oneself to the plant.  In other words, by listening.

This requires a willingness to spend a certain amount of respectful time in the natural world, in a receptive mode, observing, listening, and quieting the mind from its incessant broadcast. At a weekend workshop with Ecuadorian elder, Don Alverto Taxo, participants were encouraged to go outside and “make friends” with a plant that called, or spoke, to us. “Make friends” was an expression chosen intentionally to convey consideration and respect—an equal give and take of energy, rather than a one-sided conversation in which the poor plant would have to hear all about us and never have a chance to get a word in edgewise.

The experience was very instructive—as we learned when we shared our experiences later.  When we took the time to listen to the plant we had selected, we did receive intuitive, felt responses to our emotional and conversational offerings.  In fact, many of us were sad to say goodbye to our new friends, our exchanges had been so meaningful.

Skeptics might say, “It wasn’t the plant speaking; you simply communicated with another part of yourself.”  To whom an indigenous elder might answer, “Exactly. There’s only one Great Spirit here, expressing through all creation. When we speak with nature, we are speaking with Great Spirit, with oneself.”

If the end result is greater empathy and understanding, and a sense of being connected to all Life, and of never being alone, what is the problem?

And so it is.

This statement of the fundamental unity of all creation is perhaps the foundational principle of the indigenous worldview—which differs starkly from the prevailing Western view. 

“In this universe, all things are connected” implies far more than just the “knee bone is connected to the thigh bone” type of connectivity (although even this most basic statement of the obvious frequently eludes Westerners, as we see in modern medicine).  Indigenous connectivity implies a universe so intricately ordered and interwoven that it confounds the mind—which is perhaps the point.  As the ancient Greek philosopher Plotinus said,

The stars are like letters which inscribe themselves at every moment in the sky. Everything in the world is full of signs. All events are coordinated. All things depend on each other; as has been said: Everything breathes together.

(Emphasis added.)

The notion that “everything breathes together” also implies that the universe is alive—a concept that conforms to the indigenous worldview, as well.  Indigenous people speak to the stones as “grandfathers,” call upon the sky for rain, sing songs for the health of the oceans, pray to the mountains, and invoke the four directions. Moreover—and perhaps more importantly—they listen to the communications and observe the signs from the natural and inanimate world—because, after all, humans are not the only intelligent life here.

In contrast, the Western mindset continuously seeks to separate pieces of the whole into discrete parts, and to treat them as isolated phenomenon.  We do this with scientific experimentation, seeking to control all variables except for the one factor under investigation.  We do it with human beings, separating this group from that group, blaming, castigating, demonizing—and all too often—brutalizing those who are “other” than “us.” 

We do this with the natural world—holding man apart from the rest of creation, presuming that only human beings are intelligent, can communicate, are worthy of our consideration.  We certainly don’t grant them any “rights.”

The lessons of history, the teaching of karma, and even the Christian admonishment to “Love thy neighbor as thyself”—are lost upon us.  We continue to divide and conquer, believing we can separate out pieces of the unified whole, damage part, and leave the rest unaltered.

This is why indigenous people—and a growing number of awakening Westerners—wonder at how long the Earth can possibly tolerate our willful ignorance.  The ongoing disaster at Fukushima—which has prompted at least one headline that “the Pacific Ocean is dying” (http://www.opednews.com/populum/linkframe.php?linkid=150559) and British Petroleum’s disaster in the Gulf of Mexico—prompting at least one headline that “the Gulf of Mexico is dying” (http://www.globalresearch.ca/index.php?context=va&aid=22514) —are but two “isolated” incidents that are not—in reality—isolated.  The nuclear power plant at Fukushima remains radioactive; the Gulf remains poisoned with oil and—worse—chemical dispersants.  Although we talk about the Gulf and the Pacific as separate bodies of water, there is in fact one continuous body of water on the planet.  Although we talk about separate ecosystems, there is in fact one food chain, one web of life.  We have inflicted massive damage on the planet in just these two “discrete” incidents.  In addition, human activity is causing the extinction of an estimated 200 species daily; the decline in every major fishery and every major ecosystem on the planet; the loss of habitat for all predators and virtually all complex forms of life; the threat to groundwater, glaciers, rivers, lakes, and most freshwater sources from mining, pollution, and over-use; the rise in average temperatures that is melting glaciers, lowering water tables, and causing ever more radical weather; the loss of forests—both temperate and tropical; the list goes on and on.

The Buddhist Declaration on Climate Change states, “Today we live in a time of great crisis, confronted by the gravest challenge that humanity has ever faced: the ecological consequences of our own collective karma. The scientific consensus is overwhelming: human activity is triggering environmental breakdown on a planetary scale. Global warming, in particular, is happening much faster than previously predicted…Eminent biologists and U.N. reports concur that ‘business-as-usual’ will drive half of all species on Earth to extinction within this century. Many scientists have concluded that the survival of human civilization is at stake. We have reached a critical juncture in our biological and social evolution.”

Westerners believe they are immune to all of these events that do not affect them personally.  But indigenous people understand that there are no discrete events. In this universe, all things are connected.  All of creation is the intelligence of the Godhead expressing itself.  When a canary dies in a coal mine, it is a warning to the miners to get out, oxygen levels are precipitously low.  Instead, Westerners are likely to think, “Oh, what the hell.  It was just a canary.”  If humanity is to survive, we must return to the indigenous wisdom that teaches us there is only one life here.  We are all a part of it, and we must care for all of it.

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It’s quite sobering to consider the number of high military officials who become compelling–perhaps the most compelling–proponents of peace. General Douglas MacArthur gave this speech to the Los Angeles County Council of the American Legion on January 26, 1955, calling on the people to demand an end to war:

“The leaders are the laggards. The disease of power seems to confuse and befuddle them. They have not even approached the basic problem, much less evolved a working formula to implement this public demand. They debate and turmoil over a hundred issues — they bring us to the verge of despair or raise our hopes to Utopian heights over the corollary misunderstandings that stem from the threat of war — but never in the chancelleries of the world or the halls of the United Nations is the real problem raised. Never do they dare to state the bald truth, that the next great advance in the evolution of civilization cannot take place until war is abolished. It may take another cataclysm of destruction to prove to them this simple truth. But, strange as it may seem, it is known now by all common men. It is the one issue upon which both sides can agree, for it is the one issue upon which both sides will profit equally. It is the one issue — and the only decisive one — in which the interests of both are completely parallel. It is the one issue which, if settled might settle all others.

…

“I am sure that every pundit in the world, every cynic and hypocrite, every paid brainwasher, every egotist, every troublemaker, and many others of entirely different mold, will tell you with mockery and ridicule that this can be only a dream — that it is but the vague imaginings of a visionary. But, as David Lloyd George once said in Commons at the crisis of the First World War, “We must go on or we will go under.” And the great criticism we can make of the world’s leaders is their lack of a plan which will enable us “to go on.” All they propose merely gravitates around but dares not face the real problem. They increase preparedness by alliances, by distributing resources throughout the world, by feverish activity in developing new and deadlier weapons, by applying conscription in times of peace — all of which is instantly matched by the prospective opponent. We are told that this increases the chances of peace — which is doubtful — and increases the chances of victory if war comes — which would be incontestable if the other side did not increase in like proportion. Actually, the truth is that the relative strengths of the two change little with the years. Action by one is promptly matched by reaction from the other.

…

“I recall so vividly this problem when it faced the Japanese in their new Constitution. They are realists: and they are the only ones that know by dread experience the fearful effect of mass annihilation. They realize in their limited geographical area, caught up as a sort of no man’s land between two great ideologies, that to engage in another war, whether on the winning or the losing side, would spell the probable doom of their race. And their wise old Prime Minister, Shidehara, came to me and urged that to save themselves they should abolish war as an international instrument. When I agreed, he turned to me and said, ‘The world will laugh and mock us as impractical visionaries, but a hundred years from now we will be called prophets.’

“Sooner or later the world, if it is to survive, must reach this decision. The only question is, when? Must we fight again before we learn? When will some great figure in power have sufficient imagination and moral courage to translate this universal wish — which is rapidly becoming a universal necessity into actuality? We are in a new era. The old methods and solutions no longer suffice. We must have new thoughts, new ideas, new concepts, just as did our venerated forefathers when they faced a new world. We must break out of the straitjacket of the past. There must always be one to lead, and we should be that one. We should now proclaim our readiness to abolish war in concert with the great powers of the world. The result would be magical.”

Don Marco has given me a homework assignment for my last night in Peru.  He has asked me to write what I received from each of the shamans I worked with: Don Nasario, Don Pedro, and Don Ysidro.

Don Nasario is easy. He was my warm welcome to Peru and to Andean shamanism. His childlike openness, non-judgmental acceptance, and ready friendship put me instantly at ease. While Don Marco ensured my physical safety, Don Nasario helped me feel emotionally safe, as well.  I remember our first ceremony together: we took a short hike up to a cave where Nasario smudged me clean and reintroduced me to the ancestors. As if I were a child, Don Nasario held my hand on all the steep parts, coming and going.

As the ceremony began, I loved how he called upon all the apus, all the spirits, all the power places, running through a long list of names, and whenever he stopped, I knew it was my turn to say, “Leslee,” because he had forgotten how to pronounce my name.  His willingness to be imperfect, to make “mistakes” good-naturedly, made it safe for me to be a beginner, to not know much. When the ceremony was over, he spread his arms wide and gave me a big hug, saying, “Gracias, gracias,” although it was I who had received the gift. Standing there in that thousand-year-old cave, having been reintroduced to the ancestors and spirits of a place thousands of years old, made me feel grounded and connected in a way I have seldom experienced.  I could only cry tears of gratitude.    

Don Nasario also presided over my first despacho at the feminine power spot, Kiliarumiyoc. I loved how Don Nasario purposefully set about our task—yet without making me feel that anything I did was wrong, even though I didn’t know how to do anything properly. I was grateful that he added the power of his prayers to mine. I was grateful to have the opportunity to pray for so many aspects of my personal and collective life—and to have those prayers compounded by the power of the shamans.

When the despacho was complete and bundled up, I loved the genuine devotion with which Don Nasario kissed the giant rock that is an altar to the moon. Later, when we intended to burn the despacho in a fire ceremony, I loved the purpose and concentration with which he set about building the fire.  I loved his free-flowing, childlike energy, and his sense of humor—always ready to find something to laugh about—or to create something, if necessary.

After the despacho had burned away, Don Nasario and I sat in the tall grass with our mesas and I was grateful to have him bless my “beginner’s mesa” kuyas with his. He admired my little bear, which I had bought several months ago to remind me of the power animal Don Tomas encountered in the underworld when he visited on my behalf. The bear in the underworld was actually a fierce adult, standing on his hind legs to protect me, but this little “osito” was my reminder.

I was so charmed by Don Nasario’s kindness and attention that I offered the bear to him, and although he seemed surprised, he accepted.  Thus, I got a graphic lesson in how readily I give my power away.  I was very upset about it that night, wondering how I could so casually give power animal that meant something significant to me, to someone who had no reason to appreciate its significance. It was as if I had casually given away a child, or a pet. Materially, it was just a plastic bear, but symbolically, it was my defender in the underworld.

I told Don Marco about it and he encouraged me to talk to Don Nasario and make it right.  I did talk with Nasario, but something was lost in translation.  As it turned out, we agreed to exchange kuyas.  I prayed over my little bear and gave it to him again; he prayed over one of his kuyas and gave it to me.  I got to keep the lesson about giving away my power.

Don Nasario also presided over my San Pedro experience, my baptism in the waterfall at Mandor, my visit to Apu Veronica, over a short ceremony at the river in Ollantaytambo, and a foot-washing on another day at Ollantaytambo. The waterfall ceremony at Mandor was especially powerful—in large part because of the exhilaration of immersing myself in the cold, rushing water.  But it wouldn’t have been the same to do it alone, or to do it recreationally.  It was made powerful by the prayers and intention of Don Nasario, calling forth my own prayers and intention.

In all of the ceremonies Don Nasario performed with and for me, he showed great kindness—never minding the discomfort, the rain, the cold, the repetitiveness, my ignorance—nothing. He was always generous and affectionate, treating me as if I were a child that might know nothing now, but could learn—and my learning would cause him happiness. After every ceremony, he gave me a hug and repeated the words, “Gracias, gracias,”…but it is I who will always be grateful.

Don Pedro and I didn’t spend nearly as much time together as Don Nasario and I, but the ceremony he conducted for me at the waterfall cave, Chacan, was perhaps the most powerful of my trip to Peru.  It was a ceremony of balancing, of bringing the masculine and feminine, the divine duality, into equilibrium. He also performed the illumination ceremony on me, using his brass disks to reflect the sunlight on my chakras.  It may have been the force of his personality, but I really felt the energy move when Don Pedro drew it through my arms—and particularly my legs.  When the ceremony was over and I had washed myself and my mesa in the cascading water, Don Pedro turned to me and yelled three times, “Todo esta en orden!  Todo esta en orden!  Todo esta en orden!” I get tears in my eyes recalling this even now, because one of the fears I caught from my teacher in Washington is that the world is going to be destroyed.  That may be what is required to restore the balance, but it doesn’t feel “en orden” to me.  It feels dangerously precarious, and I expend a lot of my mental/emotional/spiritual energy somehow thinking I can tip the balance back…”save the world,” help wake humanity—or the sleeping portion of it—up, and that I know better than Creator how to manage things.  (I know that’s ludicrous, but I try.)  Don Pedro’s ceremony at Chacan was a powerful lesson for me that the Universe is intricately ordered in ways I can’t even begin to imagine, and that perhaps it’s time for me to trust.

Interestingly, the ayahuasca ceremony reinforced that lesson in a fundamentally practical way. Although I’d wanted to have a vision—an experience of the order in the Cosmos—I had all I could handle dealing with my body’s upset.  When I was at last in my bed and somewhat comfortable, the thought came to me, “You’re not so worried about the world right now, are you?  You’re just worried about yourself, and in a way, that’s all that’s appropriate.”

I have found myself saying, “Todo esta en orden! Todo esta en orden!” on several occasions when appearances might have indicated otherwise—for example, when I realized that cancelling my flight from Cusco to Lima had created more problems, rather than solving one.  Yet affirming Don Pedro’s mantra helped to manifest the order that later appeared.  The same thing occurred the night of the May Day party at Hostal Inti-Kala.  Affirming “Todo esta en orden” while music blasted at 3 a.m. helped me, at least, to relax—and perhaps had an effect on the revelers, too.

I received the Hampe rites from Don Ysidro, as well as his kuyas for performing them on my own for other people. The ceremony itself was powerful—it was very helpful to feel the energy being drawn down my body from my crown chakra and up my body from the Earth.  The confirmation of feeling the energy in my wrists and temples was also helpful, as was the admonition to concentrate.  But what perhaps was most helpful—even if rather humbling, overwhelming, and intimidating—was Don Ysidro’s comment that he liked my manera preparing the ayahuasca despacho, and that we could perhaps work together in the future—male and female—and help people at Ausungate.  He reiterated this after the hampe initiation.  Although I don’t really know how to integrate this thought, I nevertheless feel honored and humbled that a shaman saw something of potential value in my efforts.

There are two final (ha! “Final”!) gifts I received from all three of the shamans.  One is the example of people who live easily in their bodies and not in their heads.  People who are balanced.  People who can even puke and shit in the presence of others and not feel conflicted about it.  People who flow easily with life, despite its challenges and hardships.  People who are truly childlike, in the way that Christ said we all must be “to enter the Kingdom.”

The other is the example of people who are profoundly aware in each moment of the natural world and what it is telling them. They are always listening, observing—and understanding—the messages they receive from the sun, the wind, the birds, the clouds, the grass, the stones. Nothing is inconsequential.  This is a very important lesson, and one that requires me to slow down in order to emulate.  But what powerful rewards one receives from the effort.

I am so grateful to have had the opportunity to work with these shamans, and for all of the experiences of the last 15 days.  I am sure that this recounting merely scratches the surface of all that I have received, so I consider it a work in progress.

Gracias.  Gracias.

And so it is.