Whistles and Those Who Hear Them

Alright, Ecua-blog is back with a vengeance. Here, in four parts, is the crazy story of our shaman experience.

Part I: The Whistleblower

A very brief history of John Perkins: For over two decades, Mr. Perkins worked to undermine the economies, and often the rights and general well-being of third-world nations in favor of the profits and power of multi-national corporations, international banks (namely the IMF and World Bank) and the United States government. If you want the details, and I recommend them, because all the same things are going on today all over the world, you can read his book Confessions of an Economic Hit Man and/or his follow up, The Secret History of the American Empire. Since retiring from that life, Perkins has written these whistle-blower books, spoken all over the country, and started a non-profit called Dreamchange to empower indigenous people and promote certain shamanic ideas and practices.

In May of this year, I went to Greenfest in Chicago to check out the various vendors, nosh on samples, and see an amazing line-up of speakers that included Perkins, Alice Waters and Paul Stamets. Perkins was first in that threesome. He recapped the major points of his book, and emphasized that every time we buy something, we vote for at least one company and everything that it's doing. Waters, it turned out was ill and couldn't make it, so instead they put on videos of her edible schoolyard, and stuff that I didn't stick around for, because if I wasn't going to see her talk, I figured I'd get a bite and wander around some more. John Perkins had a booth in the bookstore area where he was signing books and chatting with people. I didn't have a book for him to sign, but I got in line anyway, because I did have a question for him.

While I was waiting, someone handed me a card that told me how to get some sort of discount through the website of the bookstore. I generally resist acquiring slips of paper that I know I won't do anything with, but somehow I ended up with one in my hand. Eventually my turn to say hi to Mr. Perkins came and I said something like, "Hi, I don't have anything for you to sign, but I loved your book and your speech, and I'm going to Ecuador in a month, what should I do?" (He spoke a fair amount about Ecuador in his talk).

"What are you interested in?" he asked. As it happens, I am very interested in shamanism of all varieties, and have been getting more and more interested in South American shamanism for a while, and I knew that I shared this interest with Mr. Perkins. I didn't think to say that when he asked me, though. Instead I talked about the jungle and seeing what life is like for your average Ecuadorian.

He nodded, and took the card that was dangling awkwardly out of my hand. There was enough white space, amidst the offers of free shipping and 10% off, for him to write "Kapawi" on one part of the card (both he and a server at an upscale tea lounge in San Francisco recommended Kapawi. It's a lodge in the Amazon that looks amazing, but it's expensive to get there and stay there, so we ended up opting for a cheaper Amazon adventure) and on another part of the card he wrote:
"Otavalo
Carabuela
Esteban Tomayo"

"You're flying into Quito?"
"Yes."
"Take a bus to Otavalo, and find a cabdriver who knows Esteban Tomayo in Carabuela. He's my godson and a shaman. Tell him you're my friend. How's your Spanish?"

I'm getting chills just writing about it. I didn't have any particular expectations for that brief meeting, but that was a better outcome than I would have considered reasonable to hope for. Thanks again John.

Part II: The Whistler

After doing some research, Rachel and I planned a leg of our trip around being in that area and seeing Sr. Tomayo. There was plenty to do around there, including a famous Saturday market in Otavalo, a nearby bird-of-prey reserve and a stunning waterfall, so even if nothing special happened with Esteban, we could justify a couple of days there.

I was tentative about following Mr. Perkins' advice and stopping cabs to ask if they knew a specific person in another town (I grew up in New York City where that would be borderline crazy-person behavior), but I gained some confidence when we happened to tell a random guy at a bus stop where we were headed, and he said he knew Esteban Tomayo. The first cabdriver we stopped didn't know him, but the second, Luis, was a friend of his.

Once we were in Carabuela, it was clear why we weren't told to take a bus there and then find Sr. Tomayo. It was a hilly, rural area with rambling, unmarked, unpaved roads. There didn't seem to be a main drag, or any particular area where cabs might have been trolling around for business. Finding a specific house from the highway on foot would have taken hours.

Luis the cabdriver told us that Sr. Tomayo is famous in the area, and that his sons live nearby and are shamans as well. At this point you know about as much about Esteban Tomayo as we did when we were dropped off at his door.

There was a courtyard in front of his house that was littered with lazy dogs. They didn't pay us much mind as we cautiously stepped around them. A short, middle-aged woman appeared out of a little side building and greeted us friendlily. We explained ourselves as best we could, and said that we didn't want to inconvenience anyone, but we would love to meet Sr. Tomayo. She turned out to be the shaman's wife, and she showed us to a room in the larger building where we would wait for him.

The room was sizable, but contained only a refrigerator, a table and two benches. We waited maybe 15 minutes. Rachel asked me if I wanted to ask him anything specific, and I said no, I'll just say my semi-prepared opening and let whatever happens happen.

Enter Esteban Tomayo. He was maybe five feet tall, probably in his 50s or 60s (I either misheard John Perkins when he said that Esteban is his godson, or its possible for godparents and children to be roughly the same age). He had a wrinkled face and a slow, stable walk. He wore blue jeans, a white button down shirt, and a cowboy hat. He had a definite presence- not necessarily a room-commanding presence, but something that projected that he was sure of himself, and was sure of being sure of himself.

We introduced ourselves, and I explained that I was a friend of John Perkins and that he told us to come see him. I also presented a small gift to him, a smooth, skipping-stone sized rock with a turtle painted on it that I had gotten in Hawaii. I told him that in Hawaii, the turtle is a symbol of energy and power.

My Spanish isn't great, and he probably doesn't hear my accent too often, but I think he understood most of it. He asked us a number of questions, mostly basic stuff like our names, where we were from, our relationship, etc. Some questions he asked several times, but never (if memory serves) repeating the same one twice in a row. It was unclear if he didn't understand, needed clarity, or just wanted to hear the answer again. His peculiar but calm and present demeanor made it feel like his questions were akin to a musician getting to know the timbre and feel of an instrument, sometimes returning to a note to hear it again. He was learning about us, but also getting attuned to our vibrations.

He also repeated certain statements, perhaps to help his thought process and to reinforce certain ideas being passed between us. He said a number of times that I was a good person (usually accompanied by a warm touch on the shoulder) and that I would live a long life. He also told Rachel that the most important thing for her right now is her work (he said this not knowing that she was a month from starting law school) and the most important thing for me was my un-calm, discontent heart. I can still hear him leaning into the adjectives as he said "No es calma. No es contenta." in reference to mi corazon.

Somewhere during that conversation I remember thinking that if this was what the Esteban Tomayo experience amounted to, I was perfectly okay with that. It was one of those things where half of the importance to me was just to do it. Whatever came out of it was mostly bonus, and the interaction had already been positive. It was also, as it turned out, just beginning.

Part III: The Whistling

Sr. Tomayo asked us if we would like to have him and his wife perform a ceremony on us, and we said yes. What that meant, we had no idea, but I had quietly been hoping that some sort of formal healing would come out of this.

The first stop was to the bathroom, which was an outhouse- the sort where dainty Westerners like us try not to touch anything while using it. The time spent waiting for the other one involved the closest thing that either of us had to small talk with Sr. Tomayo. His slow, measured way of speaking meant that there wasn't a lot of conversational space to fill, and he talked to both of us about the mountains in the area and their various spirits and energies.

From there we proceeded into a long, dark room that wasn't much fancier than the ones we had seen so far, but did feel more like a room where a shamanic ceremony might happen. Sr. Tomayo told us that the healing would involve a general cleaning of our energy fields, and additionally would address Rachel's work and my heart. The procedure was not different for each of us, other than, perhaps, the intentions that our two shamans were holding during it. It cost $40/person.

He showed us the tools of his trade that would be involved in the ceremony. They were stones of a size that would fit in your palm, rose water, aguardiente (sugar-cane liquor), tobacco (traditionally, American shamans would use tobacco leaves rolled up or in a pipe, but these days, many, including Esteban Tomayo, just use cigarettes), eggs (in shell), and a fragrant brush, most-likely sage, that resembled a feather duster. Each had a sacredness to it, and a specific purpose in cleaning our energy field. (His wife had been going in and out of the room, getting things ready, but she was there the whole time once things got going.)

He checked with us one more time to make sure that we were on board for this, we affirmed, and it was time to begin.

He lit two candles, and stated that each would represent one of us for the ceremony. He had us remove our shirts (by good fortune, Rachel happened to be wearing a sports bra that day) and stand in the middle of the room with enough space between us that we could stick out our arms and not bump into each other.

They began chanting, which they did more or less continuously throughout the experience. It was neither particularly loud nor obscure. Just a steady repetition calling for our spirits to walk with the spirits of the mountain, of Pachamama (Mama Earth), of nature, and so on. He and his wife handed us each a stone and covered it with the rose water and told us to use it like soap to wash ourselves. When we were done they went over our bodies, holding one stone on a certain spot, the middle of the chest for instance, and tapping it with another stone. I had to bow my head so that Esteban could reach the top of it.

After that came the aguardiente... and the first major surprise. (We weren't expecting anything in particular, but there were some things we really weren't expecting.) He had us hold our arms out to our sides, and then he and his wife walked behind us with aguardiente in hand, chanting the whole time. Then, without any warning that I was aware of, he took some liquor in his mouth and sprayed it at our backs (I don't remember who got it first, I just remember hoping Rachel was okay with all of this). That happened a few times on both sides. It was bizarre and, in a strange way, thrilling.

We "washed" ourselves again with rose water covered rocks (that happened after every step), while Sr. and Sra. Tomayo prepared for the next step. The next part was much like the previous, with one added element: a candle (not either of the ones that represented Rachel and me). Even as Esteban was walking behind us, chanting, holding the bottle of aguardiente in one hand and a candle in the other, I didn't anticipate what was about to happen. He had us turn perpendicular to him with arms out, stood a few paces away, took some aguardiente in his mouth and used it and the candle to breathe fire at us! He did this at least twice on both of us (once per side). The plume of flame was large, and came close to my arm, but I never felt afraid- I trusted Sr. Tomayo to know what he was doing. It was more surreal than anything else. Each step on our journey leading up to that moment, to Ecuador itself, to Otavalo, to Carabuela, to that room, was a further step away from my normal reality. Esteban Tomayo breathing fire at us was the pinnacle of other-worldness for that whole experience.

The remainder of the ceremony involved both Tomayos rubbing us with the eggs (they thankfully did not break), blessing us and our "washing stones" with cigarette smoke and whacking us from head to toe with the sage brush. While he used the brush, he whistled. It was a haunting and beautiful whistle, the sort you might be asked to imagine when reading a fairy tale.

Part IV: New Songs

When it was all done, Sr. Tomayo returned to his seat on the other side of the room with the two candles. He said a closing blessing that acknowledged us, the candles and the healing. We thanked him many times, said goodbye and went outside. We did the same for his wife, who had returned to the little room she was in when we first approached.

We left glowing. It was sort of like the glow that stays with you after getting really good news, but this glow felt higher, and not attached to any particular item. We felt up and happy and alive. Most of all, we felt reset. All the stories and issues that we had been carrying around had been scrubbed off, and we were just ourselves. There was space to reassess the wiry mental structures that are generally part of my day-to-day life, and to see how snugly they fit. I even felt that dreams that I had realismed out of consideration had new life.

Dreamchange, John Perkins' organization mentioned above got its name from something a shaman in Ecuador told him (it was in the jungle, so it probably wasn't Tomayo, but I suppose it could have been). From Perkins' The Secret History of the American Empire (Penguin Group, 2007),

"The world is as you dream it," he told me. "Your people dreamed of huge factories, tall buildings, as many cars as there are raindrops in this river. Now you begin to see that this dream is a nightmare."
I asked what I could do to help.
"That's simple," he replied. "All you have to do is change the dream... You need only plant a seed. Teach your children to dream new dreams."

After our experience with Esteban Tomayo, that wisdom of dreams, and how they can change, was somehow apparent. No one needed to say it. It was as true as love and gravity.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Post-campaign I got lots of praise and thank-yous. There was many a "good job" and "thank you for your service," (which I'll admit feels pretty appropriate), and a friend of my roommate who stayed with us after the election bought me coffee and a donut for "bringing change we can believe in to North Carolina." And that was awesome. But the one I always come back to, the thing that solidifies that whole experience as worthwhile (I never questioned that it was, but it's nice to have little moments to crystallize things) is when my friend Aria told me she didn't recognize me at first when I got back. She figured I was my own cousin or something like that, and I don't think it had anything to do with a tan or facial hair. I think (and those of you who know Aria will back me up here), she recognized some sort of transformation that occured over those three months.

Part of it was the sheer volume of work. There's something transformative, hopefully positively so, about pushing yourself to a limit, any limit, because "to a limit" usually means beyond those limits. When you wake up after it all ends, you're a person with new, farther limits.

There was also the stranger in a strange land element. I honestly felt more out of place in southern North Carolina than I did during my year in Japan, but to be fair, no one expected me to act Japanese, so it was easier to define my space and self in Japan than it was in Richmond where every new acquiantancing started with some sort of tacit "See, I'm not from here." Constantly defining myself made me examine my lines more than usual. Never before had I considered how I fit the archetypes of "northener" and "yankee." As the Richmond County perspective seeped in a little, unusual (for me) thoughts and feelings would come out of my own mind. My decision to not eat meat felt snootier. My feelings on spirituality felt removed and over-intellectual. The fact that I had been asked to do little more than read, write and think for most of my life... not that I'd never considered that, but breathing RC air for three months gave me a new take on it.

Beyond all that, and at least partly because of all that, reality just seemed to play by subtly different rules down there. Perhaps it was the overall backdrop that contributed the most to that. I'm in Berkeley now (so far, every bit as awesome as advertised), and when the sublime and/or ridiculous happens here, it feels like NoCal tossing me a little extra sunshine from its perpetual surplus. When something truly nutty happened in Richmond, it was like a walrus in the living room. It was frogs and snakes falling from the sky or Curly spontaneously combusting while Larry and Moe merely feel a draft. Everything there was in a different context, and so the meaning was different too, and the whole poetry of experience was brand new for me.


So, all of that and more for three months, plus six weeks in Durham on the front end. That'll change a guy (or gal), and that's a big reason why I did it. I wasn't in a rut exactly, and I don't think I had gotten complacent, but, like the country, I needed a change.

That said, after three months of Richmond, I can't even describe how good it felt to go home.