One´s Pilgrim´s True Treasure

I am a writer, a filmmaker, a photographer, and a traveler on a spiritual pilgrimage who had his backpack stolen in broad daylight while partaking of chocho on a street corner across from Caraz-Huaraz collectivo stop on 24th of June just gone. The money belt with cash and bankcards, the laptop, the cellphone, the medicines, all gone in a swift swipe of a trained hand.

I've sold my house and my land to travel to the sacred land of Peru, a land of mystical knowledge and ancestral traditions upheld in purity of heart, respect and reverence. It cost me more than a penny to walk this path but I do not wish to be anywhere else. There are not many countries in the world where I feel so welcome and accepted. People have much willingness to help out and do their best because hardship is commonly shared. When one suffers, one gains compassion and understanding. In my experience there is more understanding in Peru than in all the developed countries put together.

I've come here to learn from people dwelling in the mountains and in the jungle how to live in harmony with nature and with each other, how to heal oneself and how to heal the others. I have invested my savings in raising a healing center outside of Pucallpa with a single desire to help the curanderos to do their work because I have experienced the benefits of healing firsthand; a healthy person lives in harmony and peace. He shares his joy and celebrates existence for the very celebrationsand sharing inspire one's spiritual growth and well-being.

I find it ironic that my only possessions should be stolen from me on a bright sunny day in full view of the public when so much of my effort and work is dedicated to helping others one way or another as this is where I find my joy and fulfillment. My laptop and my cell phone are tools of trade I use to document the healing process of patients, myself included, to sing praise to curanderos and their medicine that cures epilepsy, diabetes, cancer and addictions amongst many ´incurable´ conditions.

Without my tools I cannot do this work, which is 100% voluntary and unpaid. Furthermore, the media devices taken from me contain irreplaceable footage and writing that have much value to the people in the plant-healing endeavor and have no value whatsoever to whoever has taken them as these people have neither vision nor understanding of what living a life is all about. They don't know themselves, unaware of their true treasure and their unique spirit and justify their violence by being poor. Last place we look for riches is inside ourselves. It´s easy to blame a gringo for your underprivileged condition.

I understand them. Peru is one of the poorest countries worldwide, not because people are lazy or unwilling to work. They work ten times harder than your average American. The profits of their labor, however, are harvested by Western world that has been using Peru as its colony ever since Francisco Pizarro claimed the land of Incas and all its people as Vatican's dominion. I've seen enough dirt-poor farmers stomping around in rubber sandals fashioned out of car tires and burning llama dung in windowless chosas of rough stone walls with blackened from soot thatched roofs that make their eyes run. The jungle hovels are not royal palaces, either. In Pucallpa where I stay with my Shipibo family I get waken up at dawn every morning by the noise of ripping saws coming from a sawmill factory next door where children of primary school age hammer away at camo-camo boxes destined for export. In eight-year time not a single improvement to the working conditions have been made. The factory building teeters on the verge of collapse, workers barely make a living, and mounds of sawdust keep growing at the back effectively converting virgin jungle to compost.

Statistically an average U.S. citizen's income amounts to an income of a thousand Peruvians. I'm not an average U.S. citizen, however. I was born in Russia. I cook on fire and split wood with an axe and chew my coca leaf because it's a sacred God-given plant that supplies my body with a complete list of minerals and regulates oxygen levels in the blood, a plant much revered by the Incas. I sing my gratitude to Pachamama and the Four Elements and tread the earth gently because she sustains life and I am but a part of it. I have no vested interest in exploiting Peru and its people and neither am I responsible for the deeds of conquistadors and present-day oligarchs milking third-world countries for all their worth.

I'm not a tourist, either. One has to understand the difference between a tourist and a traveler. A tourist frequents hotels with Gold Star rating, gets shuttled between sightseeing destinations and books tours with gazebos erected in advance on picnic spots in the alpine wilderness. A tourist is a purveyor that samples the atmosphere, but never risks the immersion, never goes deep enough to mingle and mix and become part of the culture. A traveler, on the other hand, risks it all. The bumpy rides, the closed gates, the shared domes in cheap hostels, the frozen toes, the rain and the blustering wind and the mosquito clouds in the sweltering jungle. A traveler learns the language of people, he relies on his wits and intelligence to get around the country he travels and opens his heart to receive the blessings.

A traveler carries his most precious possessions with him, like a snail with his house on the back. You rob one of his house, what shall it become of a snail?!

It will appear naked, with nothing to lose. It will appear vulnerable and exposed.

Apart from all the possessions that were in my backpack, the electronic devices that make social media connections possible and allow sharing of images and video, the kambo stick, rapé and kuripe applicators, apart from hand-rolled cigars of pure tobacco, I had lost a number of precious things mostly gifted to me and therefore highly valued. I lost a hand-made tobacco pouch sawn by my beloved partner and companion Rachel for my birthday, decorated with needles of porcupine that visited us in the wild jungle during a ceremony of ayahuasca. The pouch had a tobacco pipe inside, a gift from the Shipibo maestro who dieted the pipe for me. There is no replacement for such things but the joy of receiving these gifts cannot be taken away that easily; it is with me and will remain stored in my heart.

Whatever happens, happens for a reason, I´ve been told. It is most certainly true. Especially on the medicine path.

I thank the mountains for the healing vibrations and send my gratitude to the medicine family of Maynas-Bardales for their support, wisdom and encouragement. I am most grateful to Rachel for being there every step of the way, through thick and thin. I take my hat off to Huaraz Tourist Police who negotiated security camera reviews with patience and persistence. And finally, I am grateful to the experience of being robbed, for it taught me a great lesson in knowing myself.

What can be taken away is not of true essence. I can only send love and understanding to whoever robbed me, for this is what I choose to cultivate within myself. The experience, being nothing short of a test of spirit, also made me realize that I cannot give up writing in spite of losing all my notes taken to document healing experiences at Rao Kano Shobo Healing Center with Maestro-curandero Cesar Soimetsa, who deserves much celebration and recognition for his tremendous and selfless work at saving lives and souls.

The notebook with my writing is probably trashed by now, which is a great shame as someone could truly benefit from transmissions contained therein, hence the sadness. Insights keep knocking on my door, however, and their gifts are too precious not to be shared: true treasure grows through sharing. The more you give it away, the more you have it. Sounds like Alice in Wonderland, and it is.

I've come to Peru to grow in spiritual understanding, and I've put myself in service of the Spirit because this brings me much joy and fulfillment. My life has become a true adventure, full of mystery and surprise. Each test on a spiritual journey is a hidden blessing; losing my precious things inspired me to write this dedication to new friendships and new connections of open heart and common recognition of spirit dwelling within, for Creation is indeed One and inseparable.

Already me and Rachel are fortunate to be welcomed by the family of Nelson and Cristian Yauri at the sacred Wilcahuaín site; thank you!

I trust the universe to support us on our journey and provide us with means to do our work and continue learning from maestros in the sacred land of Peru. We wish to share our medicine and songs with those who seek healing and spiritual connection, and if you feel inspired to invest your spare change or a mighty dollar into our noble cause and help out Rao Kano Shobo to have a maloca outside of Pucallpa to be able to do their amazing work we will merrily accept donations. Here´s a link to the Soimetsa Healers page to facilitate the contribution which will reach us:

SOIMETSA CURANDEROS FUND

Friends, do feel free to reach out… there must be a reason you are reading this, after all and we are awfully curious to know what will come of all this testing on the medicine path.

Thank you!