How I work with Huachuma [San pedro]

I didn't find Huachuma when I had my shit together. I found it somewhere on the long road back from having almost completely lost myself. There were years when I knew how to disappear. Addiction. Lying to people I loved. Lying to myself. Becoming whatever version of me I needed to be to keep things moving. So when I talk about huachuma, I'm not talking from some fucking mountaintop. I've been in some pretty dark rooms.

My relationship with Huachuma eventually took me to Peru, into the Andes, and into relationship with the Q'ero. I received teachings and initiations there and spent time with wisdom keepers who have been carrying these traditions for generations. And honestly the thing I remember most isn't some profound teaching. It was watching the Paqos and Nustas laugh. They were completely themselves. They'd joke around, stumble over a sentence, get distracted, laugh at each other. Then they'd turn around and do something sacred with a seriousness that was primordial and palpable.

Image courtesy of Bailey Toksoz

Nobody seemed particularly interested in looking like a holy person. We've gotten pretty good at the performance of spirituality over here. The long slow breezy voice. The flowy whites and neutral beiges. The crystals arranged just so. Somehow always speaking exclusively in metaphors. I've never been able to pull that off. And I don't want to.

I'm Fletcher. I wear beat up shirts and jeans to ceremony. I swear. I roll my own cigarettes. I've fucked plenty of things up. I have a heavy sense of humor and a pretty low tolerance for bullshit. I also have an enormous amount of respect for this master plant and a lot of reverence for the lineage. And for me those things coexist pretty comfortably.

When we sit with Huachuma, I'm not trying to create some perfect spiritual experience. I'm there to pay attention. To the fire, to the people, to the medicine. I watch for the person who's getting overwhelmed and the person who's trying too hard to have an experience. I notice when somebody needs help and when they need to be left alone. Sometimes I'll say something. Sometimes I'll sit beside someone quietly. Sometimes the best thing I can do is hand them some water and stay the fuck out of the way. I know my role, and I also have enough humility to remember that I’m working with something I could spend a lifetime learning from.

The ceremony has a rhythm to it. We open the space, acknowledge huachuma and the lineage. Those who came before us and those who will come after us. We drink. Then we go down toward the arroyo. Through the desert. Toward the water. The day gets big. People wander. They talk. They laugh and cry, sit under trees and lay on rocks. Eventually the afternoon starts giving way into evening and we make our way back up the mountain. There's a fire. There's food. Somebody has a story. Somebody else is staring into the flames.

And after all the strange and beautiful shit that can happen during a day with Huachuma, we're eventually just sitting around a fire eating together. That's one of my favorite parts. Because eventually you have to come back to your life. The dishes still need washing. Time becomes a reality again. You still have the same house and the same people waiting for you there . The question is what you do with what happened.

I've never been interested in collecting extraordinary experiences. I've had enough in my own life to know that you can have the biggest experience imaginable and still go home and do the same stupid shit on Monday. I'm more interested in what gets quieter. What becomes harder to lie about. What you finally stop carrying. What you decide is worth your time and where you're going next. I take the lineage seriously. I take the medicine seriously. I take the responsibility of sitting with people seriously. I just don't think any of that requires me to pretend to be somebody that I’m not.

The Q'ero taught me something without ever needing to turn it into a lesson. You can carry something sacred and still be completely human. You can laugh when you’re not “supposed” to. You can fuck up a sentence. You can smoke a cigarette. You can sit around a fire and talk shit. And when the moment comes, you can become very still and quiet and remember exactly why you're there.

That's how I work with Huachuma. I show up as myself. I bring everything I've lived through with me. And I make room for you to do the same.k