Part of my research for Ecstasy and the Dance Culture concerned the use
of Ecstasy for spiritual purposes. Not only do ravers often experience a
spiritual uplift, but I interviewed a rabbi and three monks who made occasional
use of Ecstasy as an aid to meditation or prayer. One was a Soto Zen abbot
of about fifty who teaches Buddhism in Switzerland. His own first spiritual
experience was induced by taking LSD while at university, and he believes
that most of his students came to Buddhism as a result of drug-induced 'openings'.
The rabbi, a respected middle aged writer who I interviewed in a London
synagogue, went as far as to say that "The major world religions have
become spiritually sterile. The best chance a young person has to find a
spiritual experience nowadays is through drugs like LSD and Ecstasy".
One of the monks was a Benedictine of about forty who started using Ecstasy
in the USA before it was illegal, and still does so two or three times a
year when prayer is difficult "To open up a direct link with God."
He later persuaded me to write a book on the use of psycho-active drugs
for spiritual purposes. As a result, I eventually found myself on the back
carrier of my friend Arno's bike riding along the canals of Amsterdam. Arno
had travelled to Peru where he spent time with a shaman who used the plant
drug ayahuasca, but was now visiting an Amazonian church near his home in
central Amsterdam.
We were on our way to a service of the Santo Daime, an unorthodox Brazilian
religion which makes use of ayahuasca, where we were greeted by a Dutch
woman in her early fifties. Arno had told me good things about her: after
being diagnosed as having an incurable brain tumour, she had travelled around
Europe and then South America in search of cures until she reached Mapia,
deep in the Amazon rain forest, to seek help from the Santo Daime. They
taught her how to use ayahuasca as a medicine which she brought back home
and drank every night while playing tapes of their hymns. Two years later,
her cancer apparently cured, she founded the Amsterdam church which she
now devotes her life to as 'madrinha' (spiritual leader), providing care
and support for members. Here she was, and my immediate impression was of
a very special person: sensitive, strong and warm; someone I could entrust
myself to even in a vulnerable state of mind.
As the congregation of over a hundred arrived, I was surprised to see that
they looked like respectable Dutch office workers. Most were between thirty
and fifty and two-thirds of them were women. But the most surprising part
was the uniforms worn by the initiates. The men reminded me of sheriffs
with their black trousers, white shirt and a brass star embossed with a
flying eagle, while women wore calf length heavily pleated dark blue skirts,
white shirts and black bow ties.
Chairs were neatly laid out to face a central altar, a table displaying
an incongruous collection of religious ikons including a double barred crucifix,
a statue of Mary and star of David besides a twisted piece of vine which
I learned was ayahuasca. Men and women sat on opposite sides facing each
other, with senior members at the front around the altar.
Some services involve dancing, a simple side step shuffle to the rhythm
of the hymns, but this was to be a 'healing ritual' where we would have
silent meditation. The madrinha briefed us: we should allow the energy to
flow through us freely without crossing arms or legs as that may block the
flow. Vomiting was regarded as a purification and so should not be held
back; helpers would provide buckets.
We were each told precisely where to sit, then the service began with a
few 'Our Father's and 'Hail Mary's in Dutch. It appeared to be lead by the
elders around the altar rather than anyone in particular. Prayers were followed
by hymns accompanied by a guitar and other instruments brought along by
the congregation. The simple repetitive tunes were sung with great gusto
in Portuguese, more like sea shanties with a bouncy lilt than the Catholic
hymns I was brought up with. We didn't kneel, but there was lots of standing
up and sitting down.
We had hardly settled into the singing when it was time for us to receive
the sacrament. We got up in line and, just like going up to the altar to
receive Holy Communion, followed a prescribed route to a side table behind
which a Brazilian elder stood in uniform. He held a jug of dark brown liquid
as thick as tomato juice, and as each person approached, he glanced up at
them before pouring a judged dose into a glass. I was given an average half-tumbler
which I accepted with a formal gesture and although it smelt bad and tasted
worse, I forced it down.
Back in my seat (by defined route) I sat through more and more hymns until
the time came for silent meditation. The first thing I noticed was that
I yawned and yawned again, then when I leaned back and closed my eyes I
saw flowing geometric patterns. But that was about all. After half an hour
everyone stood up and started to move out of their places, and my first
thought was: "Well, this must be the end. Pretty weak stuff, but I
suppose it might impress someone who's never had a psychedelic before."
But I was wrong. We were getting up to take another dose, and this time
the drink was darker. The taste was also stronger, so much so that I gagged.
As I glanced up, penetrating eyes met mine and left me in no doubt that
I must swallow the lot. And so I did.
Back in my seat, I looked around at the room full of straight-looking people
dressed up in thirties uniform, standing in neat lines after drinking this
foul tasting psychedelic tea... it was too much and I got the giggles. My
immediate neighbours were either on another plane or politely refused to
notice, but my friend Arno leaned over to me and whispered that he had once
had the same problem and got over it by turning his mirth into a beatific
smile.
This time the effect was stronger and I had to hold onto the back of the
chair in front when we stood up. I also felt more nauseous, and I hastily
got out of my seat to avoid disturbing my neighbours. I threw up a little
bit, but stopped the flow: my mind wanted to 'let it all out' but my body
refused. I felt rotten, not helped by my insight that this inability to
vomit was a metaphor for being unable to let go emotionally. I had a block
which I hung onto for fear of what lay beneath, and knew that I had to let
go to overcome that fear. The harder I tried to vomit, the more my body
resisted.
I desperately wanted to lie down but that was clearly not appropriate. At
first I felt resentment for this restraint since I held the belief that
psychedelics were to do with letting go and exploring. On reflection later,
however, I understood how this formal, controlled setting was a way of combining
and directing the flow of energy by focusing attention on the ritual. The
discipline provided a secure setting in which to allow the congregation
to go deeply into their own religious experience, while discouraging individuals
from flying off into other realms.
As I still could not let go, I made the best of it by observing the scene.
[Being on the men's side] I was facing the women, and saw that many of them
glowed with beauty and inner joy. Some were apparently miles away, perhaps
having deep spiritual experiences. A few looked upset (one had tears rolling
down her cheeks) and were being attended by helpers who cared for them with
obvious love and devotion, being supportive without interfering. Then I
focused on the madrinha who radiated energy and health. It was clear that
she was not blocked like me and could not possibly have cancer... then she
caught my eye and I looked away in shame.
The Santo Daime religion emerged from the Brazilian rain forest to the Amazonian
town of Rio Branco in the 1930s, and reached the cities in the eighties.
The founder was Raimundo Irineu Serra, a remarkably tall black man, whose
occupation as a rubber tapper in the twenties brought him into contact with
indigenous people and their use of ayahuasca, a 'magic potion', valued both
as a medicine and to make contact with plant and animal spirit entities
seen in visions. The contents vary, the mix used by the Santo Daime consisting
of the bark of a vine, Banisteriopsis Caapi, which contains harmine, and
leaves of a plant called Psychotria Viridis (referred to as the Queen Leaves)
which contain dimethyl tryptamine or DMT. Separately, each component has
an unpleasant taste and little effect, so it is often asked how on earth
did primitive people discover the magic effect of using them together?
Irineu was brought up a Catholic, but he was also influenced by Spiritism
(a religion based on the spirits of plants and animals that is still widespread
in Brazil), and by the native Indian beliefs, possibly handed down from
the Incas. His visions were of the Queen of the Forest, a white woman clad
in blue and indistinguishable from the Virgin Mary, who told him that his
task was to found a new religion making use of ayahuasca. She appeared to
him many times, instructing him how to use the ayahuasca tea as a sacrament,
and guided him through the political hurdles in establishing the church
in the Amazonian town of Rio Branco. In addition to visions, Irineu 'channelled'
hymns containing teachings which formed the doctrine of the new religion.
The word 'Daime' (Portuguese for 'give me') occurs in so many of the hymns
that the religion became known as the Santo Daime. Members also use the
word Daime to mean their sacramental form of ayahuasca.
The doctrine of the church, as revealed in the hymns, include beliefs from
every religion in Brazil. The predominant theme is that the spirit of the
ayahuasca vine is a teacher, but hymns also consist of prayers to the Queen
of the Forest / Virgin Mary and the Christian God. Some hymns refer to reincarnation
and salvation but the religion is mostly concerned with enlightenment in
the here and now:
I have come to receive the teachings
That are in the Holy Daime
I have come to release the power
That is deep within my mind
The church spread, particularly amongst poorer Brazilians attempting to
settle in the rain forest. However, it was harassed by the authorities to
the extent that in 1981 Irineu's successor, Sebastiao, decided to leave
Rio Branco. [I can't find more details of this at present] Like Moses, he
lead them on an arduous journey to a site deep in the jungle where they
could practice their religion as part of a community lifestyle. Their ashram-like
village is called Ceu do Mapia (Heaven of Mapia) and now has about 700 inhabitants
who live a simple, ecologically-sensitive life without money, electricity
or running water.
Mapia, and Sebastiao's magnetic personality, held a romantic appeal for
city dwellers including some well known Brazilian TV stars. The result was
that the Santo Daime acquired a glamourous, fashionable image in the second
half of the eighties, resulting in rapid growth and the establishment of
new churches in all the major cities. The Mapia nucleus, who were poor and
mainly illiterate, found themselves outnumbered by sophisticated city people
which caused inevitable friction. Many of the newcomers were involved in
New Age spiritual practices and personal development workshops, but Sebastiao
managed to include these new methods in much the same way as Bhagwan Rajneesh
incorporated them into his teachings. (Incidentally, both Bhagwan and Sebastiao
died on the very same day in 1990.)
Popular enthusiasm was followed by disillusionment and a media backlash,
with scandals about members being brain washed and cheated of their money.
In 1987 the Brazilian government held an enquiry into the use of ayahuasca
by the Santo Daime and another church, the União do Vegetal which
is even more widespread in Brazil. The Federal Drug Council concluded that,
in the context of its use in religious rituals, ayahuasca was a positive
influence in the community, encouraging social harmony and personal integration.
"The followers of the sects seem to be happy and tranquil people. Many
ascribe to the religion and to the tea reintegration with their family,
renewed interest in their work, encounters with the self and with God."
As a result, the churches have government approval to use ayahuasca, just
as the US government allows the Native American Church to use cactus containing
mescaline.
In Europe, too, there is the danger of the church being portrayed as a dangerous
cult, indoctrinating their followers under the influence of a mind-altering
brew after being persuaded to make donations. Unlike a cult, the organisation
is not secretive nor does it ask followers to give up their normal life,
and the guru they are devoted to is the Daime rather than the human head
of the church, Padrinho Alfredo. A lot of money is raised to support Mapia
and to pay for padrinhos and madrinhas to visit Europe, but there are as
yet no signs of exploitation or extravagant living.
In 1994, an American research team compared members of the União
do Vegetal, who had been drinking ayahuasca for at least ten years, with
matched controls. Users scored significantly higher in a number of psychological
tests: they tended to be successful people and many claimed they were more
confident, happy and calm than before they joined the church. However, these
benefits may have less to do with ayahuasca than the churches themselves
whose devoted members care for one another, providing a rich social life
and spiritual support.
Apart from those exceptions in Brazil, DMT is prohibited all over the world.
In Holland, the police actually raided a service and took away a sample
for analysis. But instead of being charged with being in possession of an
illicit drug, they were prosecuted under the Public Health Act for the tea
containing too many bacteria! In Italy, Germany and Japan the police have
also taken samples for analysis but made no charge. Followers have told
me the reason is that they are 'protected', but an alternative explanation
may be that the tea contains no DMT: an experienced research psychologist
tells me that the effects I observed could have been produced by harmine
alone.
Over the past two years, branches of the Santo Daime church have been established
in Japan, the USA, Spain, Holland, Switzerland, Austria, Germany, Italy,
France and now Britain. Some members regard the expansion in Brazil as a
prelude to becoming a world wide religion. Could the Santo Daime become
as popular in the nineties as Eastern religions in the sixties?
Certainly there is a lot going for the Santo Daime as a religion of our
time. Its origins in the rain forest, the use of a traditional sacred plant
medicine and the ecologically aware lifestyle of the Mapia community paint
an attractive image, one of being uncorrupted and in touch with nature.
Its holistic viewpoint accords with the prevailing New Age philosophy where
physical, psychological and spiritual well being are seen as one. It has
incorporates shamanism and the 'Goddess'. It allows for individual spiritual
experience 'in the here and now'. But most of all, it brings people into
contact with the divine far more rapidly than the established European religions.
A cynic might add that it is the religious equivalent to fast food, providing
spiritual nourishment without thorough preparation.
However, it is not an easy path. Rather than having a blissful time, ayahuasca
makes most people feel nauseous, and only a small minority persevere. The
Daime is said to seek out emotional blocks which are revealed on vomiting,
forcing one to confront them. Geraldine, the Dutch madrinha, vomited and
cried for the first six months and still winces with disgust at the taste.
As in psychotherapy, awareness of blocks and even insight into their causes
is no quick fix and often reveals deeper problems. On the other hand, there
is the tantalising expectation of visions and deep mystical experience.
I have now taken part in ten religious rituals using ayahuasca. I felt uncomfortably
nauseous in seven of them, twice felt nothing and only once had an enjoyable
experience. That was in the União do Vegetal in Salvador when I had
a vision: I was in a forest where I was 'introduced' to the spirits of the
trees and plants, and they accepted me into their world. Once in the Santo
Daime, also in Brazil, I went out to vomit when I was overcome by an strong
flow of energy that connected me to a higher plane, but it merely came and
went as waves without providing any useful insight for me to learn from.
One of the three Dutch churches consists mainly of ex Sanyassins, followers
of Bhagwan Rajneesh. A follower told me that the Santo Daime included all
Bhagwan's teachings within the framework of a ritual setting. A typical
Dutch member would be a woman in her forties who used to be involved in
personal development and joined the church after her marriage broke up.
Many were brought up Catholics which they had rejected in favour of Buddhism
or other Eastern religions, and later found that these too were unsatisfying.
"When I came to the Santo Daime, it felt like coming home. I thought
that I had got over Christianity, but its in our roots. This path is based
on acceptance, not rejection, and allows one to build on all that one has
learned." A Dutch elder explained: "You can make fast progress,
but its too tough for many people. The Daime forces you to face yourself
with nowhere to hide, and most people are not prepared for that."
I interviewed first timers after the first official service to be held in
London. A 52 year old shiatsu practitioner exclaimed: "This is the
way to do psychedelics!" Although he had no visions and only the slightest
closed-eye images, "like an acid trip that never got off the ground",
he felt uplifted and free to share the service as a group celebration. A
designer of 25 said he felt the flow of life force in every cell of his
body, but the formality of the ritual put him off coming again. A shopkeeper
in her forties who regarded herself as an atheist told me she felt very
little, but simply knew that God existed. A massage trainer of thirty felt
extremely nauseous and swore "Never again", but next day, after
only three hours sleep, she felt "crystal clear, full of energy and
gave a wonderful class." I have also felt surprisingly good after nauseous
nights on ayahuasca.
Is the Santo Daime a model for religions of the future? It certainly has
great appeal, especially to the growing numbers who have a yearning to make
sense of spiritual experiences encountered on psychedelics. I believe that
the Daime can provide insight into oneself which is the basis for an effective
holistic spiritual and psychotherapeutic path. But this may be the problem:
quite apart from the taste and nausea, how many people are really prepared
to confront and deal with their inner problems?
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