Pacaya-Samiria
by Scott Kloos
The jungle rejects me. She wants to kill me, to suck my lifeforce out with her oppressive, engulfing, thick, heavy air. Her evil buzzing mosquitoes, who generation upon generation have been nurtured on angry mammalian blood, bite sharply into my flesh. She wants to consume me, to reorganize my molecules. She wants to make me her own, but I am a man of the mountains. It is to the deserts that I go for renewal, but in this moment I can't think of a better place, under the right circumstances, to lose my mind. I now better understand Conrad's Heart of Darkness and Col. Kurtz of Apocalypse Now, Terrence and Dennis McKenna's experiment as La Chorrera, and William S. Burroughs. Richard Evans Schultes and his ability to stay so normal remains a mystery.
I soon realize that this rejection is really an invitation-a call to join in the verdant existence that only this place can offer. The jungle wants to make me a part of her. But if I am not strong or careful I will quickly be consumed and become nourishment for the myriad lifeforms here. If I can maintain my form, I will be integrated, but parts must die. Pieces must be given over. I must let go of certain aspects of myself, or I will very simply and efficiently be broken down.
The bugs bring information to my energy body, teaching it how to morph and absorb the knowledge of jungle existence. If I decline the lessons I may get malaria. Already today, my second in the jungle, I feel lighter and looser, my head swoons a little. I feel less sure on my feet but know I won't fall. The grip around my belly loosens. I wonder why the jungle has called me.
The forest is alive with an electricity that could power the entire world. Already I can sense the subtle shifts in energy that occur throughout entire areas-as weather and light shifts so do the songs of birds and the buzzings of insects. I can only imagine what it would be like to be an integral part of this ecosystem. Would I go willingly? I don't know. Would I paint my face and put on a loincloth? I don't know. Most likely I would have to be kidnapped Emerald Forest or Manuel Cordova Rios Wizard of the Upper Amazon style.
The reflection of the black water swamp shimmers on the underside of leaves and the half submerged trunks of trees. Fish jump, the plop plop sounds like ripe fruit falling into the water, macaws shriek by, crocodiles grunt and harrumph before sliding into the water, monkeys howl in the distance, from all directions birdcall fills the thick jungle air. As the sun sets the pitch of the bug drone changes and the sky through the trees turns pink orange and seems to brighten.
All night the sound of river dolphins breaching mixes with the buzzing of insects and the hoots and croakings of owls and frogs. I look to the edge of the water from my campbed and see a dolphin. I try to contact it mentally. It hops onto the shore to lie with me. We curl up. I put my arm around her pink shiny body. I try to feel her heart but it is not like mine. It is a splashing of water. She gazes longingly towards the water and is gone. I sit by the shore telling someone about my experience but realize the landscape is different. I was only dreaming and then I wake again and it is time for a nighttime canoe ride and hike.
The boat moves through the strangely starred Southern Hemisphere sky of obsidian sheen, bats fly by, the night monkey Coco calls, green luminescent dots ride upon floating plants, fireflies glow about, root tendrils hang from branches trying to enter my brain. The boat glides smoothly through the water, the splashing of the paddle and the dripping off of water from its face frame the soundscape beyond.
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