Black Smoke: Healing and Ayahuasca Shamanism in the Amazon
Autor Margaret De Wysen Limba Engleză Paperback – 3 iul 2014
Sharing a journey not only through cancer but also through self-transformation, De Wys provides an intimate inside look at the shamanic ceremonies of ayahuasca and the ways this spiritual medicine can heal the emotional origins of disease now plaguing our modern technological culture. Capturing her physical, emotional, and "holy voyage" through a world that differs vastly from our own in its perception of healing and wholeness, she offers a revealing chronicle of spiritual insight and a trenchant exploration of the limits of idealism. She not only provides a probing look at how our society can learn and benefit from indigenous wisdom but also weaves a cautionary tale about how potentially dangerous it is--on both sides--to try to cross those frontiers.
Preț: 55.86 lei
Preț vechi: 87.90 lei
-36% Nou
Puncte Express: 84
Preț estimativ în valută:
10.69€ • 11.12$ • 8.87£
10.69€ • 11.12$ • 8.87£
Carte disponibilă
Livrare economică 17-29 ianuarie 25
Preluare comenzi: 021 569.72.76
Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781594774621
ISBN-10: 1594774625
Pagini: 224
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 13 mm
Greutate: 0.24 kg
Ediția:2nd Edition, First Paperback Edition
Editura: Inner Traditions/Bear & Company
Colecția Inner Traditions
ISBN-10: 1594774625
Pagini: 224
Dimensiuni: 152 x 229 x 13 mm
Greutate: 0.24 kg
Ediția:2nd Edition, First Paperback Edition
Editura: Inner Traditions/Bear & Company
Colecția Inner Traditions
Notă biografică
Margaret De Wys is a composer and sound installation artist whose musical works have premiered with dance groups and orchestras across the country and been performed at venues including the Museum of Modern Art and the Whitney Museum. Since her initial experience with ayahuasca, she has traveled extensively and worked closely with many traditional healers throughout the world. Currently working with João de Deus in Brazil, where they see more than 1,200 people a day, she also takes groups to the Amazon in Ecuador to work with Carlos, the shaman who healed her of breast cancer. The author of Ecstatic Healing, she lives in upstate New York.
Extras
The Holy Terror
Carlos took his place behind the altar to rearrange his ritual paraphernalia: bottles of liquid medicines, aguardiente--150-proof cane alcohol for cleansing the spirit of a patient, which he had infused with agua de florida and herbs--quartz crystals, and a fan of leaves. He lifted a bottle filled with ayahuasca and began to sing in Shuar, invoking the spirits and asking that those in need be healed. Pouring la medicina from plastic Coke bottles, Carlos offered it to each person in a small, hard, seedpod cup. He moved among us, solemn and serene, handling the cup with precision and studied inflection.
“Drink it quickly,” said Carlos. Doubtful, tormented, I raised it to my lips. The liquid was as dark and viscous as molasses. Carlos’s stare was searing; he nodded, motioning for me to drink. I swallowed it all in one gulp. The taste was acrid and putrid at once, like the entire jungle rotting on my tongue. My mouth and throat revolted against it. But I sat quietly among the Shuar and the Quechua, conscious of the power and authority of the ritual, as Carlos drank his potion.
I waited for what seemed like an endless period for the medicine to take hold. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I expected!
Suddenly the stars zoomed down from the heavens, turning into electric particles in the air around me, inside me. I was in the spaces between them. I looked skyward and saw Carlos flying to the four corners above the group. I was in the sky, following him, and I understood that he was cordoning off the area for our protection.
Boom! Carlos was moving among us, spraying a liquid from his mouth. It was aguardiente. Its icy mist seared my face and shoulders. Some people screamed when he blasted them with it. I began to shake violently. Penetrating shadows paced. My sinuses vibrated and my skull shimmied. I felt I was on the razor’s edge where life meets death. It was thrilling and terribly real, the edge of the unknown.
Carlos, chanting, smacked me on the head with a fan of condor feathers and instructed me to sit in front of him. His chanting turned into a soft whistling sound that blew over me. He swept my body with the shiri-shiri, the sheath of leaves used by the shaman to cleanse and to call the helper spirits.
Carlos looked into me, through me, and began to pull something from my chest, right where my cancer was. I could feel the sickness being sucked out. He worked quickly and methodically, drawing a black smoke from my flesh, shooting it out into space where its particles vanished. When he shook a rattle over me a cold silver aura enveloped my body. He drove a forceful breath into the top of my skull. It rushed through me with a powerful surge. He hit me again with the aguardiente, and I shrieked.
As he passed the fan over me again he snapped his wrists as if to discharge the energy. I heard him whisper in my ear, “Look inside where you are hurt.”
Every cell in my body twinkled like starlight. The cells were alive and pulsing. They were beating the rhythm of the cosmos. Some were spontaneously regenerating, sending live signals to others beside them. Dark spots in my breast were black holes sucking energy into another sphere, one in which living things were doomed.
Carlos was pressing hard and swirling his fingertips deep into fleshy parts of me where the black smoke lay. I cried in pain. His touch was intimate and at the same time not so. The force he used was harsh and also practical. Many times his touch was physically painful as he tugged dark smoky ribbons from me, black ribbons of sickness. I watched as Carlos’s hand magnetized the black smoke. It spread like army ants in file and followed his motion away from my body.
Carlos was sucking on me again. Then he pulled away to spit a foul substance onto the ground. He growled as if he had something caught in his throat. He spat again, barked like a jaguar, and then whistled a long sound blast skyward.
I wanted to squeeze myself back into my former unknowingness, but that was impossible. A feeling of deep sadness came over me. I felt exposed in all my frailty and weakness.
Carlos sang over me and breathed into the crown of my head, sending a feeling of well-being through me, the sense that a curative energy was filling my body. I felt transparent but also concrete and powerful. Never before had I experienced anything so vivid and alive. My body befitted me, more so than I had known or appreciated. I was aware of the fullness of who I was, and it was an ecstatic feeling.
Ecstasy was a potent medicine, I thought. The power that passed through Carlos into me, what was it? Union with creation? I hummed with an immense, joyous vitality. As dawn was breaking I found myself at peace, but I knew my life had been profoundly changed.
Before coming to Ecuador it had seemed that even the potential for joy had been driven from me, never to return. I sat in the ceremonial longhouse reviewing the horrors I’d survived just to get to the point of feeling peace. Carlos believed his medicines could purify the body and release the subconscious contents that can cause illness. Was this what had happened to me?
Yes. I had released toxins from my body, and the emotional part of me had started flowing. Something seemed to have shifted on a cellular level. I believed Carlos had touched the roots of my disease, which I began to suspect were fear, repression, and the calcification of love and the life force within me. I didn’t know what was coming next, but at that moment I decided there was no turning back from it.
Carlos took his place behind the altar to rearrange his ritual paraphernalia: bottles of liquid medicines, aguardiente--150-proof cane alcohol for cleansing the spirit of a patient, which he had infused with agua de florida and herbs--quartz crystals, and a fan of leaves. He lifted a bottle filled with ayahuasca and began to sing in Shuar, invoking the spirits and asking that those in need be healed. Pouring la medicina from plastic Coke bottles, Carlos offered it to each person in a small, hard, seedpod cup. He moved among us, solemn and serene, handling the cup with precision and studied inflection.
“Drink it quickly,” said Carlos. Doubtful, tormented, I raised it to my lips. The liquid was as dark and viscous as molasses. Carlos’s stare was searing; he nodded, motioning for me to drink. I swallowed it all in one gulp. The taste was acrid and putrid at once, like the entire jungle rotting on my tongue. My mouth and throat revolted against it. But I sat quietly among the Shuar and the Quechua, conscious of the power and authority of the ritual, as Carlos drank his potion.
I waited for what seemed like an endless period for the medicine to take hold. Maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as I expected!
Suddenly the stars zoomed down from the heavens, turning into electric particles in the air around me, inside me. I was in the spaces between them. I looked skyward and saw Carlos flying to the four corners above the group. I was in the sky, following him, and I understood that he was cordoning off the area for our protection.
Boom! Carlos was moving among us, spraying a liquid from his mouth. It was aguardiente. Its icy mist seared my face and shoulders. Some people screamed when he blasted them with it. I began to shake violently. Penetrating shadows paced. My sinuses vibrated and my skull shimmied. I felt I was on the razor’s edge where life meets death. It was thrilling and terribly real, the edge of the unknown.
Carlos, chanting, smacked me on the head with a fan of condor feathers and instructed me to sit in front of him. His chanting turned into a soft whistling sound that blew over me. He swept my body with the shiri-shiri, the sheath of leaves used by the shaman to cleanse and to call the helper spirits.
Carlos looked into me, through me, and began to pull something from my chest, right where my cancer was. I could feel the sickness being sucked out. He worked quickly and methodically, drawing a black smoke from my flesh, shooting it out into space where its particles vanished. When he shook a rattle over me a cold silver aura enveloped my body. He drove a forceful breath into the top of my skull. It rushed through me with a powerful surge. He hit me again with the aguardiente, and I shrieked.
As he passed the fan over me again he snapped his wrists as if to discharge the energy. I heard him whisper in my ear, “Look inside where you are hurt.”
Every cell in my body twinkled like starlight. The cells were alive and pulsing. They were beating the rhythm of the cosmos. Some were spontaneously regenerating, sending live signals to others beside them. Dark spots in my breast were black holes sucking energy into another sphere, one in which living things were doomed.
Carlos was pressing hard and swirling his fingertips deep into fleshy parts of me where the black smoke lay. I cried in pain. His touch was intimate and at the same time not so. The force he used was harsh and also practical. Many times his touch was physically painful as he tugged dark smoky ribbons from me, black ribbons of sickness. I watched as Carlos’s hand magnetized the black smoke. It spread like army ants in file and followed his motion away from my body.
Carlos was sucking on me again. Then he pulled away to spit a foul substance onto the ground. He growled as if he had something caught in his throat. He spat again, barked like a jaguar, and then whistled a long sound blast skyward.
I wanted to squeeze myself back into my former unknowingness, but that was impossible. A feeling of deep sadness came over me. I felt exposed in all my frailty and weakness.
Carlos sang over me and breathed into the crown of my head, sending a feeling of well-being through me, the sense that a curative energy was filling my body. I felt transparent but also concrete and powerful. Never before had I experienced anything so vivid and alive. My body befitted me, more so than I had known or appreciated. I was aware of the fullness of who I was, and it was an ecstatic feeling.
Ecstasy was a potent medicine, I thought. The power that passed through Carlos into me, what was it? Union with creation? I hummed with an immense, joyous vitality. As dawn was breaking I found myself at peace, but I knew my life had been profoundly changed.
Before coming to Ecuador it had seemed that even the potential for joy had been driven from me, never to return. I sat in the ceremonial longhouse reviewing the horrors I’d survived just to get to the point of feeling peace. Carlos believed his medicines could purify the body and release the subconscious contents that can cause illness. Was this what had happened to me?
Yes. I had released toxins from my body, and the emotional part of me had started flowing. Something seemed to have shifted on a cellular level. I believed Carlos had touched the roots of my disease, which I began to suspect were fear, repression, and the calcification of love and the life force within me. I didn’t know what was coming next, but at that moment I decided there was no turning back from it.
Cuprins
Initiation
Gum Boots
Purging
Burial
Vine of the Maestros
The Holy Terror
The Jungle Lives in Us
Spirit of the Waters
The Ghost Child
Petroleros
The Boiling Waterfall
Woman from the North
Apprenticeship
Dangerous Nonsense
Threats of Drought and Famine
Bare Arms Touching
Madre
A Billowing Light
I Want to Be Alone
Rosita
The Women of Gualaquiza
God of the Black Jaguars
A Crystal Palace
Union
Bird Bones and Plastic Bags
Possession
Partnership
Flechas
The Dueño of New York
A Poultice of Tar
A Different Kind of Power
The Bay of Beavers
Medicine of the Stars
The Quill
The Bust
Running Naked in Toronto
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Gum Boots
Purging
Burial
Vine of the Maestros
The Holy Terror
The Jungle Lives in Us
Spirit of the Waters
The Ghost Child
Petroleros
The Boiling Waterfall
Woman from the North
Apprenticeship
Dangerous Nonsense
Threats of Drought and Famine
Bare Arms Touching
Madre
A Billowing Light
I Want to Be Alone
Rosita
The Women of Gualaquiza
God of the Black Jaguars
A Crystal Palace
Union
Bird Bones and Plastic Bags
Possession
Partnership
Flechas
The Dueño of New York
A Poultice of Tar
A Different Kind of Power
The Bay of Beavers
Medicine of the Stars
The Quill
The Bust
Running Naked in Toronto
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Recenzii
“Black Smoke is a wonderful, beautifully written story . . . a true adventure told in a style that rivals the best of novels. This first-person account by an extraordinary woman of her inner and outer journey through darkness into light is a must read for anyone interested in healing.”
“This is unlike other books on ayahuasca in that it is not just a Westerner’s romanticized memory of a ‘wild time once had.’ The author offers us an honest appraisal of the impact on her, on her shaman/mentor, and on Western participants of the clash of cultures and ideologies that is usually also a part of the ‘ayahuasca experience’ for non-natives who drink the brew. Are the visions ‘real’? Can ayahuasca really heal a Westerner who is so ‘in his head’ that he wants to psychologize (and so disempower) every spiritual encounter he has? How does immersion in a rational, mind-and-money-orientated Western culture begin to affect the medicine man himself? And what happens when the American legal system becomes the judge of an age-old practice of rainforest healing? Margaret De Wys has written an interesting book that explores these questions, making it an adventure story that is more grown-up and real than other books on a similar subject.”
“De Wys has written an extraordinarily informative book about Carlos, a Shuar Ecuadorian shaman, who uses not only ayahuasca and tobacco but many other plants and practices for healing. His ways of teaching her illuminate the real complexity and rigor as well as the amazing successes of his own tradition’s training. In addition, De Wys’s personal story of healing, learning, and transformation is unsentimental, engrossing, and explores the confusions that arise when one mixes indigenous cultural values with Western materialism and medicine.”
“This book will thrill and support all readers traveling--or wishing to travel themselves--into the unknown and the mystery of the human spirit.”
“Black Smoke is a profound, vibrant personal story of healing and transformation, both medical and spiritual. A clear, objective account of how immersion in ayahuasca shamanism cured De Wys’s breast cancer and transformed her into a healer. As we follow her path, we come to understand her calling and grow with her as she comes into her truest self--the most valuable gift an author can offer. I highly recommend you receive this gift, in De Wys’s beautiful, healing memoir.”
“In the end, Black Smoke’s greatest strength is the theme of liberation, which de Wys examines quite consistently through a number of devices.”
“This is unlike other books on ayahuasca in that it is not just a Westerner’s romanticized memory of a ‘wild time once had.’ The author offers us an honest appraisal of the impact on her, on her shaman/mentor, and on Western participants of the clash of cultures and ideologies that is usually also a part of the ‘ayahuasca experience’ for non-natives who drink the brew. Are the visions ‘real’? Can ayahuasca really heal a Westerner who is so ‘in his head’ that he wants to psychologize (and so disempower) every spiritual encounter he has? How does immersion in a rational, mind-and-money-orientated Western culture begin to affect the medicine man himself? And what happens when the American legal system becomes the judge of an age-old practice of rainforest healing? Margaret De Wys has written an interesting book that explores these questions, making it an adventure story that is more grown-up and real than other books on a similar subject.”
“De Wys has written an extraordinarily informative book about Carlos, a Shuar Ecuadorian shaman, who uses not only ayahuasca and tobacco but many other plants and practices for healing. His ways of teaching her illuminate the real complexity and rigor as well as the amazing successes of his own tradition’s training. In addition, De Wys’s personal story of healing, learning, and transformation is unsentimental, engrossing, and explores the confusions that arise when one mixes indigenous cultural values with Western materialism and medicine.”
“This book will thrill and support all readers traveling--or wishing to travel themselves--into the unknown and the mystery of the human spirit.”
“Black Smoke is a profound, vibrant personal story of healing and transformation, both medical and spiritual. A clear, objective account of how immersion in ayahuasca shamanism cured De Wys’s breast cancer and transformed her into a healer. As we follow her path, we come to understand her calling and grow with her as she comes into her truest self--the most valuable gift an author can offer. I highly recommend you receive this gift, in De Wys’s beautiful, healing memoir.”
“In the end, Black Smoke’s greatest strength is the theme of liberation, which de Wys examines quite consistently through a number of devices.”
Descriere
A diagnosis of cancer leads to healing and transformation in the Amazon jungle.