Page 64 of Hopelessly Wild


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Samuel also has his eyes closed and his brow is pinched. I place a hand on his knee yet say nothing, not wanting to distract his thoughts. We remain like this for some time for the tea to infuse their blood and brain. Kaikare pushes up to her feet, retrieves a cane mat, and rolls it out for her father. I follow her lead and lay out a mat beside Samuel. We gather empty bowls, much larger than those served with the tea, and place them beside the men.

Now we wait.

* * *

Samuel remains on all fours, panting, waiting for his fifth purge.

I’m aware it’s to expel negative energy and the pathways of our past lives to lead the way into the next stage of the ceremony. Only it seems brutal to me. I mean, who likes puking?

Kaikare breaks out into song—a harmonic tune that speaks to my heart.

To my surprise, the shaman has puked only once. Then again, this is something he practices regularly, and it’s part of their culture. And I assume the rituals provide him with cleansed, purified energy pathways.

I leave Samuel to empty the bowl outside the round hut and return to sit beside him. He curls up onto the mat, and I move away so my presence doesn’t interfere with his aura and energy.

Homing in on Kaikare’s beautiful voice, I allow the repeated syllables to infiltrate my mind, absorb the song of healing into my cells just as Samuel and the shaman do. Even without the presence of ayahuasca, my entire self feels present, and I close my eyes and allow the serenity to envelop my aura.

There’s no light show, no kaleidoscope of color in my mind, and yet I detect a powerful presence around us.

There is a pull from beyond the waipa, a pulsing life, energy, and growth. Life seeks more life to be as one. The rainforest calls to all of us to understand what we need to survive, and now the shaman is calling to the trees in the most powerful way known to man.

Samuel’s heavy breaths jolt me out of the trance.

Light flickers from the fire and casts an eery shadow around the room. Yet I make out his pain. His eyes are tightly closed, and deep lines highlight his brow. He pants quick breaths like one would in labor.

Samuel groans. At first, I believe it’s from nausea or his stomach twisting in pain from the tea. I know that feeling—he doesn’t know which part of his body will try to eject the poison next. Only the way Samuel’s fingers grip his long locks makes me freeze. Could there be more to his pain?

His breaths amplify into grunts with sounds of fear and panic equally mixed. I shoot Kaikare a questioning look, asking whether I should do something, at the very least touch him and whisper consoling words?

Only her eyes are closed, her song continues without alarm. Are her visions within our space as strong as the shaman’s?

Breathe.

Be patient.

The minutes pass, and Samuel is moaning, yelling incomprehensible words. To me, it’s clear something is wrong, but neither the shaman nor Kaikare flinch at Samuel’s reaction.

I have to do something.

What if he’s in trouble, and they’re both—I don’t know—maybe in another dimension, another realm and are beyond helping him?

His breaths come faster. His chest is racing. I place my fingers over his pulse point on his wrist just like he does to me. His pulse is pounding. It’s so fast I can barely keep up.

Shit, now he’s hyperventilating!

Think.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

What the hell is happening?

25

EDEN

Kaikare stops singing.

She creeps over to where Samuel lies in the fetal position and places a hand on his shoulder. Her father remains in a trance. With his legs crossed, his seated position reminds me of a buddha, only his eyes are open, staring out to the forest.

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