On being afraid

A while back, I ruffled some feathers, as I do sometimes, on a  facebook group, and thus was told that I was afraid ... afraid of people...and silly me, I tried to justify myself as if being afraid was a "sin" or a moral lack!
I have since, meditated and cogitated on the matter and came to two conclusions.

One - no, I am not afraid.
And two - yes, I am afraid.

Here is what I have not been afraid of

I have not been afraid at 50 + to leave a comfortable house to live in a ruin and start a new life more in keeping with my theories.  And yes,  in the beginnings which lasted quite a while ( and some would argue weare still at the start of this adventure)  we had snow coming in the house because the windows and doors didn't close  and there were great big gapping holes in the roof.  As documented in an earlier blog, we did wake up at times to a rather invigorating 2°C in the bedroom.

I haven't been afraid to switch to composting toilets, or to choose permaculture to grow my own vegs, fruits.  Nor have I have been afraid to:  have chickens, bees, root the bins for materials,  bring my children to take ayahuasca and take it myself despite my advanced age ;-)

Not afraid to build a rocket stove and fail.

I am not afraid to love and be loved by a man younger than me or to be called a weirdo, a hippy, even sometimes by people I love.
Not afraid to go to confront abusers.
Neither am I afraid to dream and hope for a different world based on different values. Not afraid either, to live as artistically as I possibly can, instead of being a slave of a system I despise.

BUT...

It is true that I am afraid of people ...  people who are afraid to step out of line, people who are content ignoring the suffering of others, of the Earth, afraid of the bureaucrats, the apathetic, the hypocrites, the sheeple, the fake gurus, the instant spirituality merchants, the politically correct, the pedophile priests and  politicians, the venal healers.  I am afraid of those pickled in convention and bigotry, afraid of stupidity, afraid of dogma, afraid of the self-righteous, afraid of the obtuse, afraid of those who don't dream any more, of a better world.PS: And to be completely honest I am also very afraid of snakes, heights and bus journeys through the Andes.

Ayahuasca - a healing journey ( part 3)

                                                  The truth is that,  I am generally a cynic and also a bit of a skeptic.

 I guess it is genetic, we French having perfected for the last three centuries, the art of shrugging our shoulders whilst looking slightly disgusted whenever the supernatural or anything vaguely unexplained is mentioned.   But I  must, at this stage, talk about the healing I did receive.

It is difficult to envisage being healed when you drink a potion  which make poison tastes positively appealing  and  you spend all night purging but five days into the retreat, I suddenly realized that “that pain” in my lungs, which had been bugging me close on six months, was now gone. 

“ That pain” I have to admit, I had  diagnosed (again, I have to admit to being a hypochondriac, a condition which comes with the territory when you're  French) as that most scary of diseases and I had though at the time, that the best course of action was ignoring it.  I had recently lost a very dear friend to lung cancer or rather to chemo I believe.  The stories of him receiving third degree burns on is head through chemo and all the other desperate times that he lived through during his treatment and until his death, conveiced me that I did not want to try the allopathic road.  A path, I believe to be ultimately a corrupt one, where the pharmaceutical and medical bandits lurked at every corner. 

But yes, the pain was gone and further more I noticed that a calcified cervical vertebrae which had given grief for years, a hard lump on the back of my neck, had just … melted away? When I mentioned those facts at Satsangha, no body seemed particularly interested in the various developments in my health even if for me they were nothing short of miraculous!

But you can’t blame them, people had been very busy meeting Ganesh or Shiva, or both in some cases.  Some of us revisited their early childhood and discovered things about themselves that, at last,  explained all their life’s problems to them.  Some went to hell, some where rocked  to sleep by a divine mother… on the same night.  Words like unconditional Love and daemons cohabitated .  One man puked a blue demon in his bucket, and the spritely little chap jumped back down his throat!  The wannabe hobbit saw his death one night whilst the universe and all its stars  sped towards him.  Some saw ancestors, tormented souls, jungles, jaguars and snakes. I saw …yellow cartoon figures, Homer Simpson like and sketchy pyramids…for ten minutes…then vomited. But, as Alex said – “if you want visuals, go to the cinema!” 

Even the ducks hesitated!

After the dieta, once we had taken salt again, I immersed myself (very briefly) into the frozen water ( it is glacier water!)of the pond.  I felt intensily alive. The fact is, that I have never felt more a live, the other fact is that my skin had become smooth and glowing, better than a facelift! After a week, I looked ten years younger …yes..really, and my lung and vertebrae were cured…And, not negligeable,  I lost 5kgs!  Miraculous stuff altogether!

Now a month on, the effects remain, though I am sure the apocalyse stach of liqueur chocolates  might remedy the five missing kilos.  I have gained a certain serenity and have to admit that I have not felt any pangs of depression, a curse that has plagued me forever.  I have also taken some executive decisions as to my future.  It seems also that I have gained  a certain self-confidence,  fingers crossed,  it’s still early .  
As for the dark ones…which is probably the only reason you're still reading this blog- yes, they do exist! Sometimes they take the shape of a blue devil you throw in you bucket  and which jumps back inside you...that type are your own demons who are reluctant to leave the comfy home  you have provided for them. The other sort is a human who, usually for power, has chosen to walk a  dark road, driven by egoticism and the gratification of all the basest urges . I have met a few in my life, thankfully not that many.   This Diablo, a big man, rather arrogant, wearing sunglasses, even indoors (hiding his eyes?) and very much a poseur.  He had, on arrival, insulted the very mild mannered hobbit, by passing some derogatory comments on the hobbits cultural background and spirituality.  Now, I hadn't witnessed the exchange and so decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. A doubt which quickly vanished however when he became my neighbour in the circle, that very evening!  He sort of took over the  ceremony, constantly gesturing emphatically in a wannabe shamanic manner, loudly addressing in  the two maestros continually.  He insisted on pointing his feet towards the mesa/altar despite being asked not to do so by the shamans (it shows lack of respect and is a bit like going to mass insisting on turning the crucifix upside down...not the done thing),  spoke non stop, touched me on a few occasions, whilst I was mariada, a very disconcerting and freaky thing to do to anyone under the power of ayahuasca, as you really do lose your sense of space.  I found it upsetting, it did feel like a violation of my own space (you’ve got a mat, a blanket, a bucket and this is your world for 6 hours a night, you ‘ve got to feel safe there).  He eventually grabbed my puke bucket ( he had lost his,  kicked it on to the Mesa/altar again not very respectful) whilst I was mid vomit leaving me to throw up in my hands - a rather  evil and not at all sociable thing to do. He also went on to vomit on top of the guy next to him, again, a a bit of a no no in the ayahuasca etiquette.  It was very much an “exorcist” sort of experience!  The next day he and his girlfriend left, saying this wasn't the place for them.  I was very ill subsequently, I think it was altitude sickness myself, but some have mentioned psychic attacks ( I had complained about his behaviour) I can’t help thinking they had a purpose on coming to this most magical of retreats, where goodness is omni-present and it wasn’t a good one.  But all the same, it was interesting, and quite amusing, to see the dark ones at work! 

  

It wasn’t all darkness and black magic however, for when my turn came to receive the healing from Don Roman, he told me he could see “dos caballeros de luz” "two men of light", one on each of my shoulders, who were there to protect me.  Straight away I thought of of my grand uncle and my father - my two aviators.

 "Caballeros de luz?" my father, and grand uncle with my beloved Blanche

So when later on, Leo brought me outside, I saw a shooting star and I saw the sky upside down.  I saw the very stars that Saint Exupéry, Guillaumet and Mermoz had read and I remembered 

The heavens over TiticacaNight sky

Night sky

She grew up amongst men

who flew by the stars

who read in the embered scrawl

each others stories mapped

hastily over the Sahara..

...Age nine,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          her father gave her 

the beaded sky.   Like them                                                                                                she read truths and prayers

in the flickering alphabet of fireflies...                                                                                                                                      

extract from Night Sky. "A Taste of Hemlock" Michèle Vassal (Salmon Publishing)

Ayahuasca - a healing journey (part deux)

The visuals stopped once I had vomited,  a phenomena which, unfortunately, was to be be the norm with all my ayahuasca encounters.  I remained however quite “mariada” - a state of  intense and incapacitating drunkness and found myself unable to even go to the toilets by  myself when  the purging began.  Thank goodness, I was able to ask for help and someone lead me through the darkness (aya needs darkness) to the toilets, one of the longest walks ever!  

That first night, whilst lying a state of altered consciousness, as the visuals were eluding me, I realized however that I was a very negative person.  I had always thought that I was a positive person and couldn’t understand how my children ended up having such negative, self defeating attitudes.   The medecine made me realise that I was completely deluded and that, in reality,  I was extremely toxic and negative. Ouch!

When, at the end of the night, him indoors/the hobbit came to me, I said to him - don’t touch me,  I am contagious, I am so negative, I will contaminate you!   and I meant it!  It was a revelation.
From then on I decided that my intention during the retreat,  should be "help me to heal myself so I could heal others. " 

Before I go any further, I think I have to clarify a couple of points.  Ayahuasca is not everyone, it is VERY physically and emotionally challenging.  On the physical side, you have to be quite ready to vomit and have diarrhea all night long ( well most of the night) whilst being quite unable to function in this dimension.  On the emotional side, you have to be able to accept  seeing who you really are, demons and all!  There are reasons why it is called the Vine of the Dead, some of us - the Hobbit for one, thought he was going to die on a couple of occasions but I don't want to scare anyone, the experience can and is often a blissful, one of total love and of course there is the healing aspect! 
We had 5 ceremonies in all, accompanied by a dieta.  The dieta’s purpose is to help  the ayahuasca in its healing process and it comes in the form of  bark teas and some dietary restrictions, no physical contact and one day of total silence.  We were quite lucky being in altitude 3800 m, we had to have a more sustaining diet but I believe in the jungle camp, it is even more strict and is basically just yukka (not the most delicious veggie!).  The dietary restrictions extend in time with no alcohol or sex  of any  kind, masturbation included, no french kissing for a month, no pork, venison, or duck for 6 months as well as a whole list of no no’s before the drinking which incluse things like antihistamines, valium etc... The dieta IS ESSENTIAL for a proper experience and healing.  I would strongly discourage anyone, to just pop up to Iquitos and drink one cup with some dodgy shaman who is probably just a brujo (a witch and some can be quite nasty as can some shamans) and has only done a 2 years traing as opposed to the 10 years of a proper curandero.  
Ayahuasca is NOT a recreational drug, it is NOT a drug at all…She is a very powerful plant spirit,  a teacher plant you need to approach with respect and understanding  and for this, good guidance is needed.

Gumé

Roman

It is also important to shed our Western conditioning, AYAHUASCA IS MAGIC and yes there are all sorts of things that we have forgotten about magic or chose not to believe in, but the shaman knows the dangers.  This is why he supervises the ceremony, constantly singing icaros (songs of power) for 5/6 hours, healing, fighting forces of darkness, helping.  We were blessed to have two shamans, Gumé and Roman who worked together, on us and made all the difference.  If you want a mature healing experience, first do your research well, find a center and find out the curriculum vitae of the shaman(s), ask if they do the dieta. If you decide to go, don’t go blindly, you owe it to yourself to do this right. A lot of the centers are expensive which isn’t a guarantee of quality either…research research research…what are you looking for?  maybe you don’t want to be in the jungle because of mosquitoes etc, or you prefer female shamans or  you want some comfort or not…it is your call and you should be able to find something that answers your demands. I enjoyed being  in  a retreat because sharing   experiences was so valuable, and I did come back with some valued friends. I can’t imagine that it would either safe or pleasant to go back to your hotel room alone after drinking your aya with some fake shaman who’s in it for the $$$!

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayahuasca

Next installement…The dark stuff, the healing and more!

Ayahuasca - a healing journey (part 1)

    This is a brief account of my ayahuasca journey, it only lasted a week  and I wasn’t necessarly

 the most gifted of student but still, I got a lot more out of it than I had hoped.

This is dedicated to those who like me, are at the back of the spiritual class.

    The bus journey through the Andes was harrowing, particularly for someone who suffers from fear of heights, which I do,  and by the time we arrived at the retreat, I was a blubbing mass.  “Bring on the ayahuasca” I said, “ it can’t be any more scary than being on the top front seat of an out of control double-decker, speeding through the Andes” and lo and behold they did!

 Yeps, as we were picked up from our meeting point, the California Café, we were told that the first ceremony would be that very night!   Mmm, I wasn’t expecting that, but, in a way, I was glad to be thrown at the deep-end straight away.  Waiting to start, is usually the scariest part of any journey. 

Our group of searchers was smallish, eight or so (two were missing  and were to arrive the next day  but that’s a whole different story) most people from the US, except for a Russian/Chinese young couple, based in Italy.  Rickety taxis took us on a dirt track, even higher than the already vertiginous 3100 meters. Women in bright traditional clothes and towering hats carried enormous bags of herbs on their backs or babies, some tilled the fields, small black pigs and bizarre dogs roamed happily and children waved at us.  I got the feeling of a happy people, not so preoccupied with the artificial values of our world.

Andes 

Eventually we arrived at the lodge, a haven surrounded by the sharp canines of the Andes. As we were to drink that evening, the dieta had started at lunch. We were given some instructions, then some tree bark tea… the spirits of those chosen trees help you on the journey, they are kind of allies of madre Ayahuasca. 

The centre

As dusk fell, we trotted down to the ceremony room for our meditation and satsangha.  A big fire was roaring, it was very comfy and easy to forget why we were here and of course yet again, I was taken by surprise when the ceremony actually started, I guess I had expected us to go back to our rooms (as I am deaf I tend to miss a lot of what goes on).  But no, once again I was thrown at the deep-end.

Alex (co-founder of Ayahuasca Satsangha and super hero) was to perform the ceremony as Gume’s daughter was ill.  

La mesa (altar)

I sat down, feeling increasingly “drunk” or mariado/a as it is called.  Cartoon like images and pyramids flashed in my head but nothing quite as spectacular as I had expected.  It’s going to get better I thought, then I vomited in the bucket provided for that purpose and all the visions stopped!

Next installements…the rest of the night, the lessons, the dieta and how I got to meet one of the black ones.

Les chooks

    It has been eminent for now six months!
The coop has loomed its precarious but recycled frame (palettes), in various parts of the garden then about ten days ago, it settled under the shade of the ash tree.
Him indoors declared it - nearly finished , one hour at most, lets order the chickens...
We settled on two black ones, French apparently and great at ze laying of ze eggs, and two Sussex, for no other reason that I felt we would have a better communication platform with hens who ..gluck chuck? in Shakespeare's tongue. It would make life easier for everyone, including Dougal who, despite being born in France,  understand virtually no French.

I also remembered a discussion when, Him indoors had been rather deragotary  about the Frenchies vocalisations of "cot cot cot codeque and cocorico" saying something like - and they probably conjugate it as well!
Anyway, hens ordered...coop not quite finished.
Hens arrival...coop still not quite finished!
 Nothing much but a few gaps which would be sufficient for a fox or stoat to slaughter everyone.

So until those are fixed, "les chooks" have to be guarded all day!
I have been forbidden to give them names even though I thought naming them after fictional detectives and their side kicks - Poirot and Hastings, or evil nemesis such as Moriarty, was a good idea, because
 - we might have to eat them!  Aha! As if! Him indoors was totally besotted with "les poules" within minutes of their arrivals.
As we get to know each other I find that I am also getting very attached to les poules .  But goodness  what demanding and delicate girls they are! From the position of the coop (because they're jungle birds and like trees) to the colour of their drinking vessel.  After hours, days, of research on line, I found out in the the last few days that they're prone to a zillion rather revolting diseases and conditions and can be very aggressive to one an other.  The cockerel is a complete bastard who treats his lades very badly...
 and they stress easily ze chooks!
 Everything stresses them, apparently - wind, damp paws, not having a regular time table, the cockerel etc.  I assume, they did not find the presence of the huge dogs staring at their bread and the ginger cat prawling on their coop, doing his best fox impression, terribly reassuring, but despite this, after only 4 days with us, they have given us 4 eggs!
Brave little hens!

                                                          Flickr/themonnie

FACEBOOKERS ANONYMOUS

I had to leave.  facebook.  Him indoors, he can cope with it.  And so can you probably. And so can the millions of people who are very controlled and can limit their time and involvement with it .
But me?  I became hopelessly addicted in the time it took me to figure out the like button, and simultaneously, became totally unsatisfied with everything that facebook is.

  Don't get me wrong it's not all bad, not all rampant egos, CIA spying and memes.  I have met many wonderful people, some dedicated activists, renewed friendships, created some new ones and learned some new stuff...not much new stuff though.
Maybe it's the French genes which make me invariably totter towards a revolution, but I always ended up getting animated or upset, at someone or something.  Mostly it was the general apathy and moral/intellectual laziness which seem to pervade the whole place, that got to me.
  I would ruminate for days on an offending status comment and even more so, on the lack of response on something "important " I had posted.
  People I had never met, sent me into the depths of despair.  I made a few enemies as well as friends.  I oscillated most days, between paranoia  and elation.   My son called me his facebook stalker and deleted me on several occasions because I insisted on posting "wise and encouraging" comments on his page, usually in the form of some  positive thinking kittens.
   First thing I did in the morning? facebook.  At night?   facebook.  I'd lie to him indoors, telling him I was only checking my mail before switching off.   But within a couple of clicks, I was reading what someone I didn't know or care for, had posted on the status of someone I didn't know or care for.
By three am, totally indignant towards noone in particular, I'd switch off reluctantly,  pressurized by the turning and tossing of him indoors,  woken up by the nasal declamation of  some performance poet.
Sometimes we had surreal exchanges that went something like this:

me -  I see you have not commented on my status.
him -  Why should I, you're sitting beside me.  Don't you think it's a bit silly, me commenting on what you are writing whilst you are sitting beside me telling me what you're writing?
me -  That's NOT the point, I want people to know you care
him -  Which I obviously do since I am with you for twenty years and I am currently sitting beside you
me -   Have you even read it?
him -  We've been discussing IT, non-stop for the last 2 days
me -  Have you even read it?
him - No
me -  Will you read it? 
him - Yeah, ok.
me -  NOW.

I am now going through detox or rather will be when I eventually press the dreaded "permanently deleted with no option for recovery" button and finally escape  facebook.  It's been fun, it's been worthwhile.  You were all lovely.  Now for something completely different !

Making an honest man out of him indoors

Every now and then, I tackle the paper work, wrestle with it for some time before surrendering, to the law of chaos which has served both my filing system and my life plans, well enough so far.  But once again, the discrepancies between my various names, have cropped up - passport in one name, bankcard in another, it makes booking airline tickets a complicated  experience.  I am alternatively Vassal, Ring , Vassal-Ring not to mention that, the name of my ex also keeps propping up whenever I deal with anything to do with my children! I am  confused, muddled, developing multiple personalities and it all started 12 years ago:
you see, 12 years ago, him indoors and I, we got married in Thailand.
It seemed like a good idea at the time, we saved our respective family and friends  a few bob and the embarrassment of having to attend a rather unconventional union.  So, instead of spending thousands, wining and dining people in exchange for some toasters, we would have a very selfish time, somewhere where the rain was warm.
As soon as divorce was legal in Ireland ( 8 years and a referendum) we were off to Siam, to drink Singha beer.
We got married the day after our arrival.  Someone had slip a note under the bedroom  door, saying "marriage tomorrow at 10 am", a week earlier than planned! So my great plan of having a wonderful Neru cream silk suit, made for the occasion,  failed miserably, and I ended up wearing a blue shirt belonging to him indoors, which covered all the 3  dicta " something blue, something new and something borrowed" at once.  I was sporting runners and  jet lag,  a look hardly redeemed by  the very pink bridal bouquet, shoved in my hands before getting into the vw van/taxi. I remember queuing up amongst soldiers with machine guns before signing something in Thai (my kidneys?). And that was it!
We had our wedding dinner at Fisherman's Seafood, where you picked various strange sea creatures before choosing, out of hundreds of delicious sounding recipes, which way you wanted them cooked.  We had an absolute banquet -clams, prawns, lobsters and blue clawed crabs washed down with beer and coconut juice ... total -15 £  for both of us! 
Anyway...it was fast, it was fun and, after receiving some beautiful certificates, 5 to be precise, 3 in Thai and 2 in English, we felt, we knew, we were very much married...
Some months later, I  had to apply to the French Embassy ( we lived in Ireland then) for a new passport, in my new name.  It is then that I found out, that we were married in Thailand...Oh yes and in Ireland too , and in all the rest of the entire world, as a matter of fact ...but not in France! 
To cut a long story involving embassies and consulates,  short,  it seems that we were never married here, at least!
So, what was a girl to do but make an honest man out of him indoors?
After living in sin for nearly 20 years (only whilst in France of course), we decided that on the anniversary of our first kiss ( he had been complaining that he couldn't handle any more anniversaries!), we would tie the knot once more...à la française this time, all legal.
Him indoors asked our daughter to be his witness.  We had the date, the restaurant...so off I went to the Mairie to get the forms, encounters with the administration, are never an easy task but I felt very positive and confident.  Such a happy experience, after the 4 funerals this year, this was the wedding we so needed , OURS....
A Gallic eyebrow was raised when I gave our respective birth dates, but I had been expecting that -no worries.  Things started getting complicated however, when I mentioned that him indoors wasn't French.
Nice Mairie lady Irish? Has he got a permis de séjour?
Me - No, he is a member  of the EEC 
NML - Is he now?  I'll have to check.
Eventually, after some time and   much delving in big tomes of international regulations and phone calls to friends in Montauban, she found out that Ireland was indeed in Europe .  Everything was going swimmingly.
Or was it?
NML-  So now we need his birth certificate and an official  document that states he has never been married before.
Me - Well, as a matter of fact he is married to me but we have to get married again because France won't accept our marriage.  There was an embarrassed silence, I cleared my throat.
We got married in Thailand.  Bangkok?  Still silence.  I realised that our marriage had just short circuited the well oiled bureaucratic French machine.  Eventually she recovered and started  phoning all sorts of secret organizations which I believe rule the French world, whilst looking at me, as if I had just announced I was  about to contaminate the whole world with a deadly virus and she had 48 hours to save humanity! She took back the half filled forms, rather impatiently - you won't be needing those.
NML -You can't get married because your husband is married already.
Me -Yes, I know, he is married to me and I am not considered married here.
NML -Yes but he is married abroad...That would make him a bigamist
Me - but he is married to me!He cannot be a bigamist
The whole surreal scene lasted until lunch time, a sacred truce in France, even for the bureaucracy, especially for the bureaucracy.  So there will be no wedding apparently.  Yet I know that somewhere in the bowels of the French administration,   400 volumes exist, dedicated to our very problem, but until they are found 
 I am  single here and he is not !