The Ayahuasca Diaries

The Ayahuasca Diaries

Caspar Greeff

Language: English

Pages: 296

ISBN: 1770097619

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


A lively travelogue, this book follows the author's psycho-spiritual odyssey in search of ayahuasca—a dark, psychedelic brew known as “the vine of the dead."  Trekking through the rain forests of Peru, Colombia, Brazil, Venezuela, and Ecuador in search of enclaves where ayahuasca is taken in the dark of night at ceremonies presided over by shamans, the author shares his experiences with otherworldly songs that are both magical and healing and ignite in him a new enchantment with life and a burgeoning sense of connection with the natural world.

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could travel through time and space and that love, love which ‘rejoices in the truth ... bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things’ (as Paul wrote to the Corinthians) was the purest and most potent force in the universe. Despite, or perhaps because of, all this, I felt saner than ever. Yes, it was possible that ayahuasca could change the world, but were human beings ready for this change? Ready to be purged of their misery, ready to have their illusions peeled

take control of my consciousness; by now I knew that breathing deeply, shifting position, and lighting up a mapacho would smooth – to some extent – the rough and often terrifying dark edges of an ayahuasca ceremony. I returned to the present. ‘Scott, have you ever thought of putting hammocks in this ceremony room?’ ‘No.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘Too Mexican.’ ‘So what sort of style have you got here?’ ‘Samurai.’ 116 AYAHUASCA_DIARIES_CS3.indd 116 10/15/09 7:23:36 AM 18 The eye of the storm Jungle, a

into a gnome in the moonlight in front of me. ‘I can’t do a tracheotomy on this baby here and it’s suffocating,’ he said quickly. ‘I’m going to take them to the hospital in Tamshiyacu.’ ‘Can I come with you?’ The shaman sighed again and said, ‘Okay, but carry the baby. The woman is about to collapse from fear and lack of food, and the guy’s drunk.’ The four of us walked towards the river, in the direction of the boathouse. Scott unchained the boat and grabbed a can of petrol. ‘Sit in front with

lover. Um, what was his name?’ ‘John Holmes?’ said Juan, referring to the porn star with the 13-inch penis. ‘No man.’ ‘Casanova?’ I asked. ‘No. Not Casanova. This man was imprisoned in an asylum. He was French …’ ‘Oh, you mean the Marquis de Sade,’ I said. ‘Ja that’s right. The Marquis de Sade. The movie’s really amazing. It’s about how this man explored the outer limits of his own mind and of sexuality, and how he was obsessed with writing it all down. He was locked away because of what he

a circular tube. Light danced round and round the tube. A line from a Bob Dylan song came to mind: ‘The ghost of ’lectricity howls in the bones of her face’. I shut my eyes, thought back to the ceremony. What a show. Never experienced anything quite like it. I thought of the cops standing metres away from me, staring at me, while I stared back at them. I thought of the nine-hour boat ride that lay ahead. Hoped I would get some sleep on the boat. I closed my eyes for a few seconds. Then my alarm

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