Cactus of Mystery

by Ross Heaven

  Finally I managed to escape him and create a place of safety for myself and my children. My life has turned around now in many ways and I’m safe and mostly happy. For some reason I have felt compelled to work with teacher plants and I have taken part in two of Ross Heaven’s healing journeys to Peru—with no real clue why I was there except knowing that I had to follow my soul. The first of these journeys was to the Amazon to drink ayahuasca and the second was to the Andes a year later to drink San Pedro.

  I knew that San Pedro would be different from ayahuasca and I felt calm and relaxed about drinking it. Within thirty minutes, however, I felt my body fill with overwhelming emotion, and I took myself off to a quiet place outside the garden—actually a ditch that surrounded the house. I appreciate that doesn’t sound very glamorous, but for me it was perfect in many ways. I had to be alone, which was significant in itself. I had to be away from others so they would not see my suffering. I had to suffer alone. I always suffered alone.

  I’m not sure how long I was lying on the floor cradling myself sobbing. It felt like a long time and I know that I have never cried like that before. I cannot really recall either what I was crying for; I just knew that it was about my past.

  When my conscious mind returned I realized that I was sobbing and I struggled to sort myself out and desperately tried to stop it. As I resisted my emotions, however, I heard (or, rather, felt) a voice telling me to “let yourself cry, it’s okay.” It was such a soft and soothing sensation and I think this was the first time I really ever cried for myself and for what I had experienced, without judgment toward myself. Normally I would stop crying and be strong for my children and others. Now, however, I had no power to be strong. I could not move, could not stop crying. Any resistance was futile. I recall just collapsing in a heap again after trying to pick myself up. I fell into my own arms once again, feeling quite pathetic. Alongside the discomfort I felt at displaying such emotion for myself, there was a part of me that did not think I needed to cry for my past, that I should just get over it and that it was done and gone.

  I couldn’t stop, however. I just cried more. Yet it wasn’t unpleasant. It felt strange to be so out of control of my emotions, but it felt safe and okay, even though I was afraid to let go for some reason I wasn’t sure of.

  This sobbing in the ditch is still a very vivid memory, and one I hold tightly to my heart. It was a moment of true love toward myself and represented a real sense of self-acceptance and an acknowledgment that my past had been incredibly painful.

  This kindness to myself sadly didn’t last, however. I forced myself up from the ground and made myself regain control over my legs so I could regain stability with my inner world. I feared being out of control; it reminded me of the many times in the past where I also had no control over my life, and I was determined never to let this happen again.

  I made my way back to the garden and vomited violently for around three hours. The pain needed to be released and if not through tears and self-love, then it would be spat out in vomit. This, at least, was something I just couldn’t control.

  Finally the vomiting stopped. This seemed to open the gate to feelings of immense fear that really overwhelmed me. It felt as though these fears were being poured into my mind by the bucketful and I knew they belonged to me: all the fears I had experienced in my past and then repressed over the years. I wonder now if the crying and vomiting had broken down the walls of my own prison, leaving me feeling vulnerable and exposed, but newly open to the environment and to others.

  But then the environment around me began to seem strange and surreal and the people there all looked unhappy. I felt that I had to get away from them again or they would infect me, so I left the garden once more. I needed to be alone, away from others. I had to protect myself.

  I understand now that San Pedro was showing me how I wouldn’t let other people get too close to me and that their infection was actually an infection within me: my own fear that others would understand me and then hurt me.

  San Pedro forced me to acknowledge that part of me who was still young and frightened, locked inside a prison of memories and pain. As I rested in the mountains I remembered a series of violent, terrifying, sad, and lonely experiences from my early teens and twenties. I had worked incredibly hard over the years to let go of that pain, fear, and hurt and the patterns of behavior and thoughts they had created in me. For the previous eight years I had been incredibly focused and felt mostly happy and content with myself and the world. And yet I realized now that on another level there was residual stuff within me, deep, deep down, which I had kept locked away from others and even from myself, and it was very painful: nasty, dark, dirty, and cruel.

  Still sitting outside, now upright against the Andean mountains, I felt safe and I spent time just observing what seemed like an internal amphitheater within my mind of my past. I felt some annoyance at this as I didn’t want to keep revisiting it, and slightly paranoid and frightened at the imagery that was being presented to me. I thought that San Pedro was being unkind in even showing it to me again. But then I heard a soft voice or a feeling that seemed to come from beyond me: the voice of San Pedro that said, “You can let go of this now. There is no need to stay here anymore. Let yourself out and you won’t need me anymore.”

  At this point I knew I just had to give up and surrender. I knew I could not fight anymore. And then it was as if my younger self walked right out of me, out of what were once the strong thick walls of a prison to a place of safety, which ironically was also me. I was shown memories of a particular ordeal in which I was tortured for hours, beaten and terrorized. I felt my life slip away into bizarre and altered states of consciousness. I knew something seriously had left me or changed within me. I’m not completely sure which and I really don’t care. What was important was that I was now able to observe this in my mind with no fear or hurt and without a single tear.

  Now I have written this and I still feel no painful emotions anymore. I do not even hold any anger toward those who hurt me. I have forgiven them and moved on. I have even offered thanks to them for playing their parts in my life. They gave me hard and painful but wonderful gifts. The real issue was with me because I had not forgiven myself or even allowed myself to grieve for what I had lost: not my faith in humanity but my teenage years.

  San Pedro altar at the Temple of the Moon, showing a mixture of Catholic and spiritual symbols

  San Pedro growing in Huaraz, a short bus ride from Chavin de Huantar, said by anthropologists to be the birthplace of the “San Pedro cult.”

  San Pedro brew and rings at the Temple of Condor Heart in the mountains above Cusco. The brew is to be drunk and the rings exchanged as a part of a wedding ceremony

  Puma, curandero and diviner, once-struck by lightning, performing a blessing with agua de florida (“flower water”). (Photograph by Darryl Guy)

  The author and a participant at the heart of the Temple of the Condor, a ritual site above Cusco. (Photograph by Darryl Guy)

  The San Pedro mesa used by Andean shaman La Gringa, laid out prior to the ceremony.

  The author’s mesa, a hand-woven Qero fabric, at the start of a San Pedro ceremony. The keys represent St. Peter who also appears in the center as a lithograph.

  San Pedro participant at a ceremony in La Gringa’s garden at the Temple of the Moon. The cactus before him represents an average dose drunk in ceremony.

  A nighttime ceremony in Spain with the mesa

  The author at Chavin de Huantar, next to one of the obelisks that depict the San Pedro experience

  La Gringa (right) with Andean musician and sound healer Carlos at the beginning of a San Pedro ceremony at the Temple of the Moon

  Mummified skeletons of shamans and others at an open graveyard just outside Nazca. (Photograph by Sarah Coleman-Heaven)

  Andean shaman Chaska (left) performing an energy healing during a San Pedro ceremony

  Andean shaman Chaska performs a limpia (cleansing)—using feathers, sound
, and the smoke of Palo Santo (“holy wood”)—for a participant prior to a ceremony

  The Temple of the Moon, an ancient ritual site above Cusco

  Author Ross Heaven standing before a wall at Chavin de Huantar decorated with tenon heads representing the spirit beings and guardian animals summoned by San Pedro. (Photography by Sarah Coleman-Heaven)

  Everything I had done to try to heal myself in the past had been aimed toward me being functional, but I see now that the result of this was only to bury my pain and guilt deep within myself.

  I felt fragile for the remainder of the day and I told myself that there was no way I would ever drink San Pedro or go through that again. I spoke to the shaman Puma about this the following day and he said that my vibrations were very high and there was no need for me to take San Pedro again. I must admit to feeling relieved and very pleased that the experience it had given me was purposeful and there was no need for me to repeat it.

  Despite this knowledge, however, there was something within me that knew that I did need to do it once more. I think it was to prove to myself I was okay and that my soul was cleansed of the past.

  I remained undecided about drinking again until the last few minutes of the ceremony, then at the last minute I drank San Pedro again. This time I had the most wonderful experience and felt so connected to myself and totally at peace. In the past when my life had been unbearable, during beatings or an intense emotional grilling, I would leave myself and visit what I called my Magical Land. The day I drank San Pedro for the second time I found the Magical Land finally within me. I’m overwhelmed to know that it does exist and to realize that this magic existed in my soul all the time.

  As my experience shows, San Pedro isn’t always pleasant to drink and you may face things you prefer not to see. It will, however, show you the things you need to pay attention to, in a kind, albeit persistent, gentle, but practical manner.

  In conclusion, I did feel immense pain throughout the process of the first ceremony, but in truth and as a therapist myself, I do not know of any other approach that would have cleansed my soul in the way San Pedro did. I reflect on that experience now with love and huge respect for the wonderful sprit of San Pedro, and I know that I will return to it to continue my learning in a wider sense.

  11

  New Insights, Emotional and Physical Healing

  Robyn Silvanen

  I had decided to travel to Peru to work with huachuma (San Pedro) because I had read that it could help a broken heart to experience joy again, and sometimes even alleviate a physical disorder. I’m always looking for a miracle, whether I need one or not, so it was inevitable that I would find myself eight thousand kilometers from home drinking this amazing cactus juice.

  I had brought with me in my thoughts a quote by Einstein that you cannot solve a problem from the same level of consciousness that created it. In other words, take a quantum leap into the next dimension, and while you are outside of time take out your emotional “garbage” and heal yourself. And that’s what I felt happened during the ceremonies I took part in, all of which were guided with compassion for all beings and respect for the spirit of the plants.

  I was part of Ross Heaven’s November 2009 workshop in Peru called “the Cactus of Vision,” which he had organized with the curandera La Gringa. My biggest fear was that my delicate grasp of reality would slide off into paranoia, or that my body would find the plant useful for purging and nothing more, but neither of those things happened.

  During my first ceremony my awareness took off about ninety minutes after drinking. A higher intelligence began to communicate with me for as much as I would give it my attention and permission to do so. It spoke to me in ways I already had some fluency in, using terms like pain body and chakras, but the information it gave me was more Yodalike and profound than my own level of study and the tone it used was “San Pedro” (or maybe my “higher self ” with a sense of humor), and not my usual Robyn mind. These effects lasted about fifteen-plus hours, yet I awoke at 7:30 a.m. the next morning and felt quite “normal”—in fact, more grounded and peaceful than usual.

  With the second ceremony, I had chosen to drink only half a glass and the effects were more blissful, much less verbal or visual, and I felt the transcendent state fade after nine hours.

  I went into each ceremony with a feeling of honor for the incredible opportunity it was, and allowing whatever huachuma and my higher self wanted to heal or teach me. I had little interest in moving around and so would sit like a stone(d) garden gnome communing with the plant spirit in La Gringa’s color-saturated nature sanctuary of a garden. Or I’d be listening to the wisdom that a rock, flower, or dragonfly was sharing with me. The San Pedro experiences were absolutely fascinating, and I decided even then that after my second ceremony with Ross’s group I would be back to drink again in just a few months.

  Every time, soon after drinking, my hearing would become amplified and sounds that were at a distance would seem like they were whispering in my ears. I would be sure that my iPod had been accidentally set at full volume yet would find the next level down was mute. I had brought my mp3 player thinking it would be interesting to listen to brainwave frequencies and sacred mantra chants while in the huachuma state to see what would happen. It was like a deep meditation, but possibly limited the potential of the medicine. I later felt that San Pedro had adjusted my own frequency to suit what I needed to rebalance, and that it seemed to wait until I finished experimenting with technology before it stepped forward. I also found that I didn’t want to be near much outside noise, including people who were laughing or even the musicians who had been organized to play such beautiful San Pedro-inspired music for the group (sound healing), because the vibrations felt to my energy field like being jabbed with a stick. However, when I played simple mantra chants (the “Om” type stuff), this was helpful in deepening my state of consciousness and connection to nature.

  There was a discernible contrast to the thinking of my own inner voice when huachuma began to speak. The words flowed effortlessly with a greater sureness and clarity. “He” (San Pedro) commenced by telling me why so many of the relationships throughout my life have been disappointing. There were a few reasons. But in particular he was clear that I needed to understand and respect my “feminine” energy, to allow my heart to stay open and to trust it, not to live primarily by way of the male (as in, expression through intellect and physical action) as I had been doing most of my adult life. I had to heal my relationship with my mother first and know her truth behind her “social mask.” And then become aware of the masks I wore too and realize that it was also essential that I forgive myself. This would help me to spiritually grow up out of a somewhat extended adolescence so I would “stand in my power,” be present and of greater service to others in this stage of life.

  By withholding love through judgment and rejection of my primary female role model (of her emotional coldness and distance) unknowingly I was gradually becoming more like her than not. It was the same quality of energy except hidden from my awareness by it being expressed uniquely in my own “right” way. I don’t have a family of my own, but other than the fact that my work necessitates contact with living bodies (entirely—I do bodywork), I had become more solitary every year. Sensitive and nurturing with my own inner circle of friends, I was emotionally armored around other people.

  Simultaneously during this time of learning I was shown by sensation the effect of my manner of living. I could feel coldness build and grow heavier along my left side and into the center of my chest and heart, making it hard to breathe. I was told that if I continued to live as I had been, like my mother I would also have issues with my heart (my mother had survived a major heart attack fifteen years ago). I also received the impression that when I acted aloof socially, my presence literally felt cool and uncomfortable to others.

  This lesson went on for many hours. The revealing of my mother as she is in spirit beyond her personality, surprising me, brought out s
o much emotion. I cried from a depth I had no idea existed. I felt gentleness and compassion in her heart then and learned the reasons for her choice to be my mother in this life and the lessons we would learn from one another. I saw too that her emotional distancing had influenced me to take care of myself and find my spiritual support within, my character strengths developing out of a negative.

  Another gift I discovered after this experience was that I could breathe more fully and it has been that way ever since, even in the high altitude of Cusco. I sense it was from letting go of sadness from my past that previously I hadn’t felt able to express and from forgiveness.

  Then something like an argument began between—I swear this is the best I can describe it—my feminine side (my emotional side, the heart, perhaps) and my masculine side (my rational mind?). While in San Pedro’s mystical world somehow it all made sense. The feminine side had quite a bit more to say, assertively and with love. Something along these lines:

  Do not tell me how I should look, move, smell, or sound. Stop controlling me and just let me BE. Your idea of perfection is unknown to me. There is no good or bad, there just is. There are no mistakes, only lessons for soul evolution. My energy must be allowed to flow and change. Tune in to me first before you will the body to work, to feel what I’ve inspired to you. Then you decide if and how to take action to create what was inspired. The divine masculine protects the space of the divine feminine. The feminine holds the energy of love and nurturing and inspires the masculine to take right action. That way what is created will not do harm.