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By Maria Fernanda Gebara
My work with Indigenous peoples has always put me in this position of trying to better understand imagination and spirituality. I would always wonder if what I was experiencing in their rituals or ceremonies was part of my imagination or if it was the spiritual world “talking to me”. The more we explore the spirit, the more we can discover how the world of imagination lies at the core of the unseen world, a world often unknown to its inhabitants. Imagination is the tool that allows us to dream and to believe that we can actually change our world with our dreams. Imagination is a compass that guides us through our time. It is what enables the magic to occur. It is what allows the magician to throw a fireball at the expense of a bit of fire. This is what allows the writer to turn blank pages into an entertaining story. Imagination is a magic all its own. Sacrifices are often made for the sake of a great work of art. Imagination is always the death of some other thing.
Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me: “To dream is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. It is a source of magic that gives us the power to change our world.” For the Yawanawá and for other Indigenous peoples as well, dreams inform how they make sense of the invisible world. According to Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, an Indigenous leader, writer and philosopher: “the white people, they do not dream as far as we do. They sleep a lot but only dream of themselves. Their thoughts remain blocked, and they slumber like tapirs or turtles. This is why they are unable to understand the infinity of beings in the cosmos”.
Strangely enough, this is what I have been deeply in touch when I was doing my spiritual diet with the Yawanawá people in the Amazon. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies, much like them, typically inhabited territories spanning many dozens or even hundreds of square kilometers. For them, home encompassed the entire expanse of their territory, complete with its hills, streams, woodlands, and expansive open skies. It is easier to share animist beliefs. The beliefs, myths, and stories that they all share, then become a reality. It is as real as they imagined it to be. This made me realize that the imagined reality we are in modern society is a social fact, even if it is a fantasy. Their knowledge is not written, and their memory is long and strong. Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me that he did not need to write things down to his students because by drinking ayahuasca, one of their main traditional medicines, they will learn better, they will keep their memory strong and multiply their ancestral words, echoing the lessons from the spiritual world.
Today, our houses measure a few dozen meters, and we developed a compelling attachment to this structure, a separation from our community in a much self-centred reality. Furthermore, in recent decades, we have introduced countless time-saving devices intended to simplify our lives—washing machines, vacuum cleaners, telephones, dishwashers, mobile phones, computers, email, and social media. In the past, composing a letter, addressing and stamping an envelope, and mailing it required a significant amount of effort. It could take days, weeks, or even months to receive a response. Nowadays, I can quickly send an email or a WhatsApp message, which travels halfway around the world and garners a response within minutes. While I have spared myself the trouble and time of the past, has my life become easier and more relaxed? Unfortunately, it has not.
During the era of traditional mail, people typically wrote letters only when they had something significant to convey. Instead of hastily composing messages or spreading false information, they carefully considered what they wanted to express and how to phrase it. They anticipated receiving similarly thoughtful responses. Today, we receive dozens of emails each day, each sender expecting a prompt reply. We believed we were saving time; instead, we accelerated the pace of life to ten times its previous speed, leading to heightened anxiety and restlessness in our daily routines.
This all made us very disconnected from the rest of nature and as a consequence from our imaginative perception. Genuine, imaginative perception possesses inherent qualities of synesthesia, participation, and animism. It reveals the world around us not as lifeless objects but as expressive entities, beings with their own powers and potentials. Unfortunately, in today's world, many of us have drifted far from such experiences. Trees rarely, if ever, communicate with us; animals no longer approach us as messengers from realms of unique intelligence; the sun and moon no longer inspire prayers but appear to move across the sky without purpose. It is possible that spiritual experiences occur within the imaginative space that opens in our minds when we engage in such perceptive acts, and all forms of selfishness disappear.
During these moments, ordinary defences crumble, and we become receptive to the wonders and terrors that exist at the farthest reaches of the sensory spectrum, typically hidden from us. Our senses suddenly admit experiences that are usually invisible. While the ego rests, our imaginative perception comes alive, presenting unexpected patterns of thought and new connections and new rays of relation, or "religares." The gap that separates the self from the world, that no-man's land patrolled by the ego during ordinary hours, closes, allowing us to feel less isolated and more interconnected—integral components of a larger entity. Whether we call this entity Nature, the Universe, the Creator, or God hardly matters.
In our ancient diaspora, a distinctive capacity emerged within us, one characterized by magical, symbolic, and spiritual thought. This capacity allowed us to delineate the boundaries of existence and understand the intricate relationships between the individual, the extended group, the broader natural world, and the cosmos. We do not know exactly when these capabilities developed but late Ice Age cave art tells us that humans melded the living and spiritual worlds at least 30,000 years ago.
By the time of the Agriculture Revolution, human cosmology shared several common beliefs that form the framework of our scientific society. Some of these beliefs included the fact that the material world, the world of living things was part of a multi-layered cosmos, the spiritual world inhabited by our ancestors (be they humans or other-than-human beings). Another prevailing belief was the idea of a seamless connection between the material and spiritual realms, devoid of any clear boundary between them. The external landscapes on Earth were viewed as reflections of our internal landscapes, representing our shared memories. It is precisely this element of unity and oneness that we have now entirely lost.
Ayahuasca and other psychedelic compounds may play a key role in our society to bring back this element of oneness, as research has showed that they can induce such a state of being and feeling[1] . English philosopher Walter Terence Stace is the most frequently quoted about such sense when it comes to experiencing a mystical experience. He wrote in his book Mysticism and Philosophy (1960):
"The most important, the central characteristic in which all fully developed mystical experiences agree, and, which in the last analysis is definitive of them and serves to mark them off from other kinds of experiences, is that they involve the apprehension of an ultimate nonsensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the senses nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness. It should be carefully noted that only fully developed mystical experiences are necessarily apprehensive of the One. Many experiences have been recorded which lack this central feature but possess other mystical characteristics. These are borderline cases, which may be said to shade off from the central core of the cases. They have to the central core the relation that some philosophers like to call ‘family resemblance’. (pp.14-15)"
What exactly is mysticism? Mysticism implies an experience that goes beyond the bounds of ordinary comprehension or scientific understanding. It carries connotations of the supernatural. Throughout the course of history, countless brilliant minds have dedicated themselves to finding words to describe this extraordinary human experience and to make sense of it. When we delve into the writings of these thinkers, we discover a remarkable commonality in their descriptions, even though we may struggle to fully grasp what they are talking about.
According to scholars of mysticism, these shared characteristics typically include a vision of unity, where everything, including the self, becomes part of a larger whole (often expressed as all is one); a deep-seated certainty about what has been perceived (knowledge has been revealed to me); feelings of profound joy, blessedness, and contentment; a transcendent experience that goes beyond the usual categories we use to structure our understanding of the world, such as time and space or self and other; a sense that whatever has been apprehended is imbued with a sense of sacredness (something far more deeply interfused) and often paradoxical (for instance, the self may seem to disappear, yet awareness persists).
I recall again a conversation with Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá, during which I inquired about the Yawanawá people's word for "sacred" in their language. He explained that the Yawanawá language doesn't possess specific words for certain concepts, including "sacred." Instead, the closest meaning they have for sacred is "the mother's breast milk" and the act of breastfeeding itself. He went on to clarify that due to the vital role of breast milk in nourishing and comforting infants, and consequently in sustaining life, the act of breastfeeding became synonymous with the concept of sacredness. This prompted me to contemplate our own sustenance—not just of our physical bodies but, more significantly, of our spirits and souls. How are we feeding ourselves? Can we nourish and soothe ourselves daily with the sacred, whatever that may mean to each of us? I am not sure.
References:
Carhart-Harris, R.L., Erritzoe, D., Haijen, E. et al. Psychedelics and connectedness. Psychopharmacology 235, 547–550 (2018). https://doi-org.manchester.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s00213-017-4701-y
My work with Indigenous peoples has always put me in this position of trying to better understand imagination and spirituality. I would always wonder if what I was experiencing in their rituals or ceremonies was part of my imagination or if it was the spiritual world “talking to me”. The more we explore the spirit, the more we can discover how the world of imagination lies at the core of the unseen world, a world often unknown to its inhabitants. Imagination is the tool that allows us to dream and to believe that we can actually change our world with our dreams. Imagination is a compass that guides us through our time. It is what enables the magic to occur. It is what allows the magician to throw a fireball at the expense of a bit of fire. This is what allows the writer to turn blank pages into an entertaining story. Imagination is a magic all its own. Sacrifices are often made for the sake of a great work of art. Imagination is always the death of some other thing.
Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me: “To dream is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. It is a source of magic that gives us the power to change our world.” For the Yawanawá and for other Indigenous peoples as well, dreams inform how they make sense of the invisible world. According to Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, an Indigenous leader, writer and philosopher: “the white people, they do not dream as far as we do. They sleep a lot but only dream of themselves. Their thoughts remain blocked, and they slumber like tapirs or turtles. This is why they are unable to understand the infinity of beings in the cosmos”.
Strangely enough, this is what I have been deeply in touch when I was doing my spiritual diet with the Yawanawá people in the Amazon. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies, much like them, typically inhabited territories spanning many dozens or even hundreds of square kilometers. For them, home encompassed the entire expanse of their territory, complete with its hills, streams, woodlands, and expansive open skies. It is easier to share animist beliefs. The beliefs, myths, and stories that they all share, then become a reality. It is as real as they imagined it to be. This made me realize that the imagined reality we are in modern society is a social fact, even if it is a fantasy. Their knowledge is not written, and their memory is long and strong. Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me that he did not need to write things down to his students because by drinking ayahuasca, one of their main traditional medicines, they will learn better, they will keep their memory strong and multiply their ancestral words, echoing the lessons from the spiritual world.
Today, our houses measure a few dozen meters, and we developed a compelling attachment to this structure, a separation from our community in a much self-centred reality. Furthermore, in recent decades, we have introduced countless time-saving devices intended to simplify our lives—washing machines, vacuum cleaners, telephones, dishwashers, mobile phones, computers, email, and social media. In the past, composing a letter, addressing and stamping an envelope, and mailing it required a significant amount of effort. It could take days, weeks, or even months to receive a response. Nowadays, I can quickly send an email or a WhatsApp message, which travels halfway around the world and garners a response within minutes. While I have spared myself the trouble and time of the past, has my life become easier and more relaxed? Unfortunately, it has not.
During the era of traditional mail, people typically wrote letters only when they had something significant to convey. Instead of hastily composing messages or spreading false information, they carefully considered what they wanted to express and how to phrase it. They anticipated receiving similarly thoughtful responses. Today, we receive dozens of emails each day, each sender expecting a prompt reply. We believed we were saving time; instead, we accelerated the pace of life to ten times its previous speed, leading to heightened anxiety and restlessness in our daily routines.
This all made us very disconnected from the rest of nature and as a consequence from our imaginative perception. Genuine, imaginative perception possesses inherent qualities of synesthesia, participation, and animism. It reveals the world around us not as lifeless objects but as expressive entities, beings with their own powers and potentials. Unfortunately, in today's world, many of us have drifted far from such experiences. Trees rarely, if ever, communicate with us; animals no longer approach us as messengers from realms of unique intelligence; the sun and moon no longer inspire prayers but appear to move across the sky without purpose. It is possible that spiritual experiences occur within the imaginative space that opens in our minds when we engage in such perceptive acts, and all forms of selfishness disappear.
During these moments, ordinary defences crumble, and we become receptive to the wonders and terrors that exist at the farthest reaches of the sensory spectrum, typically hidden from us. Our senses suddenly admit experiences that are usually invisible. While the ego rests, our imaginative perception comes alive, presenting unexpected patterns of thought and new connections and new rays of relation, or "religares." The gap that separates the self from the world, that no-man's land patrolled by the ego during ordinary hours, closes, allowing us to feel less isolated and more interconnected—integral components of a larger entity. Whether we call this entity Nature, the Universe, the Creator, or God hardly matters.
In our ancient diaspora, a distinctive capacity emerged within us, one characterized by magical, symbolic, and spiritual thought. This capacity allowed us to delineate the boundaries of existence and understand the intricate relationships between the individual, the extended group, the broader natural world, and the cosmos. We do not know exactly when these capabilities developed but late Ice Age cave art tells us that humans melded the living and spiritual worlds at least 30,000 years ago.
By the time of the Agriculture Revolution, human cosmology shared several common beliefs that form the framework of our scientific society. Some of these beliefs included the fact that the material world, the world of living things was part of a multi-layered cosmos, the spiritual world inhabited by our ancestors (be they humans or other-than-human beings). Another prevailing belief was the idea of a seamless connection between the material and spiritual realms, devoid of any clear boundary between them. The external landscapes on Earth were viewed as reflections of our internal landscapes, representing our shared memories. It is precisely this element of unity and oneness that we have now entirely lost.
Ayahuasca and other psychedelic compounds may play a key role in our society to bring back this element of oneness, as research has showed that they can induce such a state of being and feeling[1] . English philosopher Walter Terence Stace is the most frequently quoted about such sense when it comes to experiencing a mystical experience. He wrote in his book Mysticism and Philosophy (1960):
"The most important, the central characteristic in which all fully developed mystical experiences agree, and, which in the last analysis is definitive of them and serves to mark them off from other kinds of experiences, is that they involve the apprehension of an ultimate nonsensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the senses nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness. It should be carefully noted that only fully developed mystical experiences are necessarily apprehensive of the One. Many experiences have been recorded which lack this central feature but possess other mystical characteristics. These are borderline cases, which may be said to shade off from the central core of the cases. They have to the central core the relation that some philosophers like to call ‘family resemblance’. (pp.14-15)"
What exactly is mysticism? Mysticism implies an experience that goes beyond the bounds of ordinary comprehension or scientific understanding. It carries connotations of the supernatural. Throughout the course of history, countless brilliant minds have dedicated themselves to finding words to describe this extraordinary human experience and to make sense of it. When we delve into the writings of these thinkers, we discover a remarkable commonality in their descriptions, even though we may struggle to fully grasp what they are talking about.
According to scholars of mysticism, these shared characteristics typically include a vision of unity, where everything, including the self, becomes part of a larger whole (often expressed as all is one); a deep-seated certainty about what has been perceived (knowledge has been revealed to me); feelings of profound joy, blessedness, and contentment; a transcendent experience that goes beyond the usual categories we use to structure our understanding of the world, such as time and space or self and other; a sense that whatever has been apprehended is imbued with a sense of sacredness (something far more deeply interfused) and often paradoxical (for instance, the self may seem to disappear, yet awareness persists).
I recall again a conversation with Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá, during which I inquired about the Yawanawá people's word for "sacred" in their language. He explained that the Yawanawá language doesn't possess specific words for certain concepts, including "sacred." Instead, the closest meaning they have for sacred is "the mother's breast milk" and the act of breastfeeding itself. He went on to clarify that due to the vital role of breast milk in nourishing and comforting infants, and consequently in sustaining life, the act of breastfeeding became synonymous with the concept of sacredness. This prompted me to contemplate our own sustenance—not just of our physical bodies but, more significantly, of our spirits and souls. How are we feeding ourselves? Can we nourish and soothe ourselves daily with the sacred, whatever that may mean to each of us? I am not sure.
References:
Carhart-Harris, R.L., Erritzoe, D., Haijen, E. et al. Psychedelics and connectedness. Psychopharmacology 235, 547–550 (2018). https://doi-org.manchester.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s00213-017-4701-y
Maria Fernanda Gebara is a doctor in social anthropology, writer and professor who has spent the last decade working with different traditional communities in the Brazilian Amazon.
By Maria Fernanda Gebara
My work with Indigenous peoples has always put me in this position of trying to better understand imagination and spirituality. I would always wonder if what I was experiencing in their rituals or ceremonies was part of my imagination or if it was the spiritual world “talking to me”. The more we explore the spirit, the more we can discover how the world of imagination lies at the core of the unseen world, a world often unknown to its inhabitants. Imagination is the tool that allows us to dream and to believe that we can actually change our world with our dreams. Imagination is a compass that guides us through our time. It is what enables the magic to occur. It is what allows the magician to throw a fireball at the expense of a bit of fire. This is what allows the writer to turn blank pages into an entertaining story. Imagination is a magic all its own. Sacrifices are often made for the sake of a great work of art. Imagination is always the death of some other thing.
Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me: “To dream is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. It is a source of magic that gives us the power to change our world.” For the Yawanawá and for other Indigenous peoples as well, dreams inform how they make sense of the invisible world. According to Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, an Indigenous leader, writer and philosopher: “the white people, they do not dream as far as we do. They sleep a lot but only dream of themselves. Their thoughts remain blocked, and they slumber like tapirs or turtles. This is why they are unable to understand the infinity of beings in the cosmos”.
Strangely enough, this is what I have been deeply in touch when I was doing my spiritual diet with the Yawanawá people in the Amazon. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies, much like them, typically inhabited territories spanning many dozens or even hundreds of square kilometers. For them, home encompassed the entire expanse of their territory, complete with its hills, streams, woodlands, and expansive open skies. It is easier to share animist beliefs. The beliefs, myths, and stories that they all share, then become a reality. It is as real as they imagined it to be. This made me realize that the imagined reality we are in modern society is a social fact, even if it is a fantasy. Their knowledge is not written, and their memory is long and strong. Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me that he did not need to write things down to his students because by drinking ayahuasca, one of their main traditional medicines, they will learn better, they will keep their memory strong and multiply their ancestral words, echoing the lessons from the spiritual world.
Today, our houses measure a few dozen meters, and we developed a compelling attachment to this structure, a separation from our community in a much self-centred reality. Furthermore, in recent decades, we have introduced countless time-saving devices intended to simplify our lives—washing machines, vacuum cleaners, telephones, dishwashers, mobile phones, computers, email, and social media. In the past, composing a letter, addressing and stamping an envelope, and mailing it required a significant amount of effort. It could take days, weeks, or even months to receive a response. Nowadays, I can quickly send an email or a WhatsApp message, which travels halfway around the world and garners a response within minutes. While I have spared myself the trouble and time of the past, has my life become easier and more relaxed? Unfortunately, it has not.
During the era of traditional mail, people typically wrote letters only when they had something significant to convey. Instead of hastily composing messages or spreading false information, they carefully considered what they wanted to express and how to phrase it. They anticipated receiving similarly thoughtful responses. Today, we receive dozens of emails each day, each sender expecting a prompt reply. We believed we were saving time; instead, we accelerated the pace of life to ten times its previous speed, leading to heightened anxiety and restlessness in our daily routines.
This all made us very disconnected from the rest of nature and as a consequence from our imaginative perception. Genuine, imaginative perception possesses inherent qualities of synesthesia, participation, and animism. It reveals the world around us not as lifeless objects but as expressive entities, beings with their own powers and potentials. Unfortunately, in today's world, many of us have drifted far from such experiences. Trees rarely, if ever, communicate with us; animals no longer approach us as messengers from realms of unique intelligence; the sun and moon no longer inspire prayers but appear to move across the sky without purpose. It is possible that spiritual experiences occur within the imaginative space that opens in our minds when we engage in such perceptive acts, and all forms of selfishness disappear.
During these moments, ordinary defences crumble, and we become receptive to the wonders and terrors that exist at the farthest reaches of the sensory spectrum, typically hidden from us. Our senses suddenly admit experiences that are usually invisible. While the ego rests, our imaginative perception comes alive, presenting unexpected patterns of thought and new connections and new rays of relation, or "religares." The gap that separates the self from the world, that no-man's land patrolled by the ego during ordinary hours, closes, allowing us to feel less isolated and more interconnected—integral components of a larger entity. Whether we call this entity Nature, the Universe, the Creator, or God hardly matters.
In our ancient diaspora, a distinctive capacity emerged within us, one characterized by magical, symbolic, and spiritual thought. This capacity allowed us to delineate the boundaries of existence and understand the intricate relationships between the individual, the extended group, the broader natural world, and the cosmos. We do not know exactly when these capabilities developed but late Ice Age cave art tells us that humans melded the living and spiritual worlds at least 30,000 years ago.
By the time of the Agriculture Revolution, human cosmology shared several common beliefs that form the framework of our scientific society. Some of these beliefs included the fact that the material world, the world of living things was part of a multi-layered cosmos, the spiritual world inhabited by our ancestors (be they humans or other-than-human beings). Another prevailing belief was the idea of a seamless connection between the material and spiritual realms, devoid of any clear boundary between them. The external landscapes on Earth were viewed as reflections of our internal landscapes, representing our shared memories. It is precisely this element of unity and oneness that we have now entirely lost.
Ayahuasca and other psychedelic compounds may play a key role in our society to bring back this element of oneness, as research has showed that they can induce such a state of being and feeling[1] . English philosopher Walter Terence Stace is the most frequently quoted about such sense when it comes to experiencing a mystical experience. He wrote in his book Mysticism and Philosophy (1960):
"The most important, the central characteristic in which all fully developed mystical experiences agree, and, which in the last analysis is definitive of them and serves to mark them off from other kinds of experiences, is that they involve the apprehension of an ultimate nonsensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the senses nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness. It should be carefully noted that only fully developed mystical experiences are necessarily apprehensive of the One. Many experiences have been recorded which lack this central feature but possess other mystical characteristics. These are borderline cases, which may be said to shade off from the central core of the cases. They have to the central core the relation that some philosophers like to call ‘family resemblance’. (pp.14-15)"
What exactly is mysticism? Mysticism implies an experience that goes beyond the bounds of ordinary comprehension or scientific understanding. It carries connotations of the supernatural. Throughout the course of history, countless brilliant minds have dedicated themselves to finding words to describe this extraordinary human experience and to make sense of it. When we delve into the writings of these thinkers, we discover a remarkable commonality in their descriptions, even though we may struggle to fully grasp what they are talking about.
According to scholars of mysticism, these shared characteristics typically include a vision of unity, where everything, including the self, becomes part of a larger whole (often expressed as all is one); a deep-seated certainty about what has been perceived (knowledge has been revealed to me); feelings of profound joy, blessedness, and contentment; a transcendent experience that goes beyond the usual categories we use to structure our understanding of the world, such as time and space or self and other; a sense that whatever has been apprehended is imbued with a sense of sacredness (something far more deeply interfused) and often paradoxical (for instance, the self may seem to disappear, yet awareness persists).
I recall again a conversation with Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá, during which I inquired about the Yawanawá people's word for "sacred" in their language. He explained that the Yawanawá language doesn't possess specific words for certain concepts, including "sacred." Instead, the closest meaning they have for sacred is "the mother's breast milk" and the act of breastfeeding itself. He went on to clarify that due to the vital role of breast milk in nourishing and comforting infants, and consequently in sustaining life, the act of breastfeeding became synonymous with the concept of sacredness. This prompted me to contemplate our own sustenance—not just of our physical bodies but, more significantly, of our spirits and souls. How are we feeding ourselves? Can we nourish and soothe ourselves daily with the sacred, whatever that may mean to each of us? I am not sure.
References:
Carhart-Harris, R.L., Erritzoe, D., Haijen, E. et al. Psychedelics and connectedness. Psychopharmacology 235, 547–550 (2018). https://doi-org.manchester.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s00213-017-4701-y
My work with Indigenous peoples has always put me in this position of trying to better understand imagination and spirituality. I would always wonder if what I was experiencing in their rituals or ceremonies was part of my imagination or if it was the spiritual world “talking to me”. The more we explore the spirit, the more we can discover how the world of imagination lies at the core of the unseen world, a world often unknown to its inhabitants. Imagination is the tool that allows us to dream and to believe that we can actually change our world with our dreams. Imagination is a compass that guides us through our time. It is what enables the magic to occur. It is what allows the magician to throw a fireball at the expense of a bit of fire. This is what allows the writer to turn blank pages into an entertaining story. Imagination is a magic all its own. Sacrifices are often made for the sake of a great work of art. Imagination is always the death of some other thing.
Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me: “To dream is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. It is a source of magic that gives us the power to change our world.” For the Yawanawá and for other Indigenous peoples as well, dreams inform how they make sense of the invisible world. According to Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, an Indigenous leader, writer and philosopher: “the white people, they do not dream as far as we do. They sleep a lot but only dream of themselves. Their thoughts remain blocked, and they slumber like tapirs or turtles. This is why they are unable to understand the infinity of beings in the cosmos”.
Strangely enough, this is what I have been deeply in touch when I was doing my spiritual diet with the Yawanawá people in the Amazon. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies, much like them, typically inhabited territories spanning many dozens or even hundreds of square kilometers. For them, home encompassed the entire expanse of their territory, complete with its hills, streams, woodlands, and expansive open skies. It is easier to share animist beliefs. The beliefs, myths, and stories that they all share, then become a reality. It is as real as they imagined it to be. This made me realize that the imagined reality we are in modern society is a social fact, even if it is a fantasy. Their knowledge is not written, and their memory is long and strong. Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me that he did not need to write things down to his students because by drinking ayahuasca, one of their main traditional medicines, they will learn better, they will keep their memory strong and multiply their ancestral words, echoing the lessons from the spiritual world.
Today, our houses measure a few dozen meters, and we developed a compelling attachment to this structure, a separation from our community in a much self-centred reality. Furthermore, in recent decades, we have introduced countless time-saving devices intended to simplify our lives—washing machines, vacuum cleaners, telephones, dishwashers, mobile phones, computers, email, and social media. In the past, composing a letter, addressing and stamping an envelope, and mailing it required a significant amount of effort. It could take days, weeks, or even months to receive a response. Nowadays, I can quickly send an email or a WhatsApp message, which travels halfway around the world and garners a response within minutes. While I have spared myself the trouble and time of the past, has my life become easier and more relaxed? Unfortunately, it has not.
During the era of traditional mail, people typically wrote letters only when they had something significant to convey. Instead of hastily composing messages or spreading false information, they carefully considered what they wanted to express and how to phrase it. They anticipated receiving similarly thoughtful responses. Today, we receive dozens of emails each day, each sender expecting a prompt reply. We believed we were saving time; instead, we accelerated the pace of life to ten times its previous speed, leading to heightened anxiety and restlessness in our daily routines.
This all made us very disconnected from the rest of nature and as a consequence from our imaginative perception. Genuine, imaginative perception possesses inherent qualities of synesthesia, participation, and animism. It reveals the world around us not as lifeless objects but as expressive entities, beings with their own powers and potentials. Unfortunately, in today's world, many of us have drifted far from such experiences. Trees rarely, if ever, communicate with us; animals no longer approach us as messengers from realms of unique intelligence; the sun and moon no longer inspire prayers but appear to move across the sky without purpose. It is possible that spiritual experiences occur within the imaginative space that opens in our minds when we engage in such perceptive acts, and all forms of selfishness disappear.
During these moments, ordinary defences crumble, and we become receptive to the wonders and terrors that exist at the farthest reaches of the sensory spectrum, typically hidden from us. Our senses suddenly admit experiences that are usually invisible. While the ego rests, our imaginative perception comes alive, presenting unexpected patterns of thought and new connections and new rays of relation, or "religares." The gap that separates the self from the world, that no-man's land patrolled by the ego during ordinary hours, closes, allowing us to feel less isolated and more interconnected—integral components of a larger entity. Whether we call this entity Nature, the Universe, the Creator, or God hardly matters.
In our ancient diaspora, a distinctive capacity emerged within us, one characterized by magical, symbolic, and spiritual thought. This capacity allowed us to delineate the boundaries of existence and understand the intricate relationships between the individual, the extended group, the broader natural world, and the cosmos. We do not know exactly when these capabilities developed but late Ice Age cave art tells us that humans melded the living and spiritual worlds at least 30,000 years ago.
By the time of the Agriculture Revolution, human cosmology shared several common beliefs that form the framework of our scientific society. Some of these beliefs included the fact that the material world, the world of living things was part of a multi-layered cosmos, the spiritual world inhabited by our ancestors (be they humans or other-than-human beings). Another prevailing belief was the idea of a seamless connection between the material and spiritual realms, devoid of any clear boundary between them. The external landscapes on Earth were viewed as reflections of our internal landscapes, representing our shared memories. It is precisely this element of unity and oneness that we have now entirely lost.
Ayahuasca and other psychedelic compounds may play a key role in our society to bring back this element of oneness, as research has showed that they can induce such a state of being and feeling[1] . English philosopher Walter Terence Stace is the most frequently quoted about such sense when it comes to experiencing a mystical experience. He wrote in his book Mysticism and Philosophy (1960):
"The most important, the central characteristic in which all fully developed mystical experiences agree, and, which in the last analysis is definitive of them and serves to mark them off from other kinds of experiences, is that they involve the apprehension of an ultimate nonsensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the senses nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness. It should be carefully noted that only fully developed mystical experiences are necessarily apprehensive of the One. Many experiences have been recorded which lack this central feature but possess other mystical characteristics. These are borderline cases, which may be said to shade off from the central core of the cases. They have to the central core the relation that some philosophers like to call ‘family resemblance’. (pp.14-15)"
What exactly is mysticism? Mysticism implies an experience that goes beyond the bounds of ordinary comprehension or scientific understanding. It carries connotations of the supernatural. Throughout the course of history, countless brilliant minds have dedicated themselves to finding words to describe this extraordinary human experience and to make sense of it. When we delve into the writings of these thinkers, we discover a remarkable commonality in their descriptions, even though we may struggle to fully grasp what they are talking about.
According to scholars of mysticism, these shared characteristics typically include a vision of unity, where everything, including the self, becomes part of a larger whole (often expressed as all is one); a deep-seated certainty about what has been perceived (knowledge has been revealed to me); feelings of profound joy, blessedness, and contentment; a transcendent experience that goes beyond the usual categories we use to structure our understanding of the world, such as time and space or self and other; a sense that whatever has been apprehended is imbued with a sense of sacredness (something far more deeply interfused) and often paradoxical (for instance, the self may seem to disappear, yet awareness persists).
I recall again a conversation with Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá, during which I inquired about the Yawanawá people's word for "sacred" in their language. He explained that the Yawanawá language doesn't possess specific words for certain concepts, including "sacred." Instead, the closest meaning they have for sacred is "the mother's breast milk" and the act of breastfeeding itself. He went on to clarify that due to the vital role of breast milk in nourishing and comforting infants, and consequently in sustaining life, the act of breastfeeding became synonymous with the concept of sacredness. This prompted me to contemplate our own sustenance—not just of our physical bodies but, more significantly, of our spirits and souls. How are we feeding ourselves? Can we nourish and soothe ourselves daily with the sacred, whatever that may mean to each of us? I am not sure.
References:
Carhart-Harris, R.L., Erritzoe, D., Haijen, E. et al. Psychedelics and connectedness. Psychopharmacology 235, 547–550 (2018). https://doi-org.manchester.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s00213-017-4701-y
Maria Fernanda Gebara is a doctor in social anthropology, writer and professor who has spent the last decade working with different traditional communities in the Brazilian Amazon.
By Maria Fernanda Gebara
My work with Indigenous peoples has always put me in this position of trying to better understand imagination and spirituality. I would always wonder if what I was experiencing in their rituals or ceremonies was part of my imagination or if it was the spiritual world “talking to me”. The more we explore the spirit, the more we can discover how the world of imagination lies at the core of the unseen world, a world often unknown to its inhabitants. Imagination is the tool that allows us to dream and to believe that we can actually change our world with our dreams. Imagination is a compass that guides us through our time. It is what enables the magic to occur. It is what allows the magician to throw a fireball at the expense of a bit of fire. This is what allows the writer to turn blank pages into an entertaining story. Imagination is a magic all its own. Sacrifices are often made for the sake of a great work of art. Imagination is always the death of some other thing.
Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me: “To dream is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. It is a source of magic that gives us the power to change our world.” For the Yawanawá and for other Indigenous peoples as well, dreams inform how they make sense of the invisible world. According to Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, an Indigenous leader, writer and philosopher: “the white people, they do not dream as far as we do. They sleep a lot but only dream of themselves. Their thoughts remain blocked, and they slumber like tapirs or turtles. This is why they are unable to understand the infinity of beings in the cosmos”.
Strangely enough, this is what I have been deeply in touch when I was doing my spiritual diet with the Yawanawá people in the Amazon. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies, much like them, typically inhabited territories spanning many dozens or even hundreds of square kilometers. For them, home encompassed the entire expanse of their territory, complete with its hills, streams, woodlands, and expansive open skies. It is easier to share animist beliefs. The beliefs, myths, and stories that they all share, then become a reality. It is as real as they imagined it to be. This made me realize that the imagined reality we are in modern society is a social fact, even if it is a fantasy. Their knowledge is not written, and their memory is long and strong. Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me that he did not need to write things down to his students because by drinking ayahuasca, one of their main traditional medicines, they will learn better, they will keep their memory strong and multiply their ancestral words, echoing the lessons from the spiritual world.
Today, our houses measure a few dozen meters, and we developed a compelling attachment to this structure, a separation from our community in a much self-centred reality. Furthermore, in recent decades, we have introduced countless time-saving devices intended to simplify our lives—washing machines, vacuum cleaners, telephones, dishwashers, mobile phones, computers, email, and social media. In the past, composing a letter, addressing and stamping an envelope, and mailing it required a significant amount of effort. It could take days, weeks, or even months to receive a response. Nowadays, I can quickly send an email or a WhatsApp message, which travels halfway around the world and garners a response within minutes. While I have spared myself the trouble and time of the past, has my life become easier and more relaxed? Unfortunately, it has not.
During the era of traditional mail, people typically wrote letters only when they had something significant to convey. Instead of hastily composing messages or spreading false information, they carefully considered what they wanted to express and how to phrase it. They anticipated receiving similarly thoughtful responses. Today, we receive dozens of emails each day, each sender expecting a prompt reply. We believed we were saving time; instead, we accelerated the pace of life to ten times its previous speed, leading to heightened anxiety and restlessness in our daily routines.
This all made us very disconnected from the rest of nature and as a consequence from our imaginative perception. Genuine, imaginative perception possesses inherent qualities of synesthesia, participation, and animism. It reveals the world around us not as lifeless objects but as expressive entities, beings with their own powers and potentials. Unfortunately, in today's world, many of us have drifted far from such experiences. Trees rarely, if ever, communicate with us; animals no longer approach us as messengers from realms of unique intelligence; the sun and moon no longer inspire prayers but appear to move across the sky without purpose. It is possible that spiritual experiences occur within the imaginative space that opens in our minds when we engage in such perceptive acts, and all forms of selfishness disappear.
During these moments, ordinary defences crumble, and we become receptive to the wonders and terrors that exist at the farthest reaches of the sensory spectrum, typically hidden from us. Our senses suddenly admit experiences that are usually invisible. While the ego rests, our imaginative perception comes alive, presenting unexpected patterns of thought and new connections and new rays of relation, or "religares." The gap that separates the self from the world, that no-man's land patrolled by the ego during ordinary hours, closes, allowing us to feel less isolated and more interconnected—integral components of a larger entity. Whether we call this entity Nature, the Universe, the Creator, or God hardly matters.
In our ancient diaspora, a distinctive capacity emerged within us, one characterized by magical, symbolic, and spiritual thought. This capacity allowed us to delineate the boundaries of existence and understand the intricate relationships between the individual, the extended group, the broader natural world, and the cosmos. We do not know exactly when these capabilities developed but late Ice Age cave art tells us that humans melded the living and spiritual worlds at least 30,000 years ago.
By the time of the Agriculture Revolution, human cosmology shared several common beliefs that form the framework of our scientific society. Some of these beliefs included the fact that the material world, the world of living things was part of a multi-layered cosmos, the spiritual world inhabited by our ancestors (be they humans or other-than-human beings). Another prevailing belief was the idea of a seamless connection between the material and spiritual realms, devoid of any clear boundary between them. The external landscapes on Earth were viewed as reflections of our internal landscapes, representing our shared memories. It is precisely this element of unity and oneness that we have now entirely lost.
Ayahuasca and other psychedelic compounds may play a key role in our society to bring back this element of oneness, as research has showed that they can induce such a state of being and feeling[1] . English philosopher Walter Terence Stace is the most frequently quoted about such sense when it comes to experiencing a mystical experience. He wrote in his book Mysticism and Philosophy (1960):
"The most important, the central characteristic in which all fully developed mystical experiences agree, and, which in the last analysis is definitive of them and serves to mark them off from other kinds of experiences, is that they involve the apprehension of an ultimate nonsensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the senses nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness. It should be carefully noted that only fully developed mystical experiences are necessarily apprehensive of the One. Many experiences have been recorded which lack this central feature but possess other mystical characteristics. These are borderline cases, which may be said to shade off from the central core of the cases. They have to the central core the relation that some philosophers like to call ‘family resemblance’. (pp.14-15)"
What exactly is mysticism? Mysticism implies an experience that goes beyond the bounds of ordinary comprehension or scientific understanding. It carries connotations of the supernatural. Throughout the course of history, countless brilliant minds have dedicated themselves to finding words to describe this extraordinary human experience and to make sense of it. When we delve into the writings of these thinkers, we discover a remarkable commonality in their descriptions, even though we may struggle to fully grasp what they are talking about.
According to scholars of mysticism, these shared characteristics typically include a vision of unity, where everything, including the self, becomes part of a larger whole (often expressed as all is one); a deep-seated certainty about what has been perceived (knowledge has been revealed to me); feelings of profound joy, blessedness, and contentment; a transcendent experience that goes beyond the usual categories we use to structure our understanding of the world, such as time and space or self and other; a sense that whatever has been apprehended is imbued with a sense of sacredness (something far more deeply interfused) and often paradoxical (for instance, the self may seem to disappear, yet awareness persists).
I recall again a conversation with Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá, during which I inquired about the Yawanawá people's word for "sacred" in their language. He explained that the Yawanawá language doesn't possess specific words for certain concepts, including "sacred." Instead, the closest meaning they have for sacred is "the mother's breast milk" and the act of breastfeeding itself. He went on to clarify that due to the vital role of breast milk in nourishing and comforting infants, and consequently in sustaining life, the act of breastfeeding became synonymous with the concept of sacredness. This prompted me to contemplate our own sustenance—not just of our physical bodies but, more significantly, of our spirits and souls. How are we feeding ourselves? Can we nourish and soothe ourselves daily with the sacred, whatever that may mean to each of us? I am not sure.
References:
Carhart-Harris, R.L., Erritzoe, D., Haijen, E. et al. Psychedelics and connectedness. Psychopharmacology 235, 547–550 (2018). https://doi-org.manchester.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s00213-017-4701-y
My work with Indigenous peoples has always put me in this position of trying to better understand imagination and spirituality. I would always wonder if what I was experiencing in their rituals or ceremonies was part of my imagination or if it was the spiritual world “talking to me”. The more we explore the spirit, the more we can discover how the world of imagination lies at the core of the unseen world, a world often unknown to its inhabitants. Imagination is the tool that allows us to dream and to believe that we can actually change our world with our dreams. Imagination is a compass that guides us through our time. It is what enables the magic to occur. It is what allows the magician to throw a fireball at the expense of a bit of fire. This is what allows the writer to turn blank pages into an entertaining story. Imagination is a magic all its own. Sacrifices are often made for the sake of a great work of art. Imagination is always the death of some other thing.
Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me: “To dream is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. It is a source of magic that gives us the power to change our world.” For the Yawanawá and for other Indigenous peoples as well, dreams inform how they make sense of the invisible world. According to Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, an Indigenous leader, writer and philosopher: “the white people, they do not dream as far as we do. They sleep a lot but only dream of themselves. Their thoughts remain blocked, and they slumber like tapirs or turtles. This is why they are unable to understand the infinity of beings in the cosmos”.
Strangely enough, this is what I have been deeply in touch when I was doing my spiritual diet with the Yawanawá people in the Amazon. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies, much like them, typically inhabited territories spanning many dozens or even hundreds of square kilometers. For them, home encompassed the entire expanse of their territory, complete with its hills, streams, woodlands, and expansive open skies. It is easier to share animist beliefs. The beliefs, myths, and stories that they all share, then become a reality. It is as real as they imagined it to be. This made me realize that the imagined reality we are in modern society is a social fact, even if it is a fantasy. Their knowledge is not written, and their memory is long and strong. Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me that he did not need to write things down to his students because by drinking ayahuasca, one of their main traditional medicines, they will learn better, they will keep their memory strong and multiply their ancestral words, echoing the lessons from the spiritual world.
Today, our houses measure a few dozen meters, and we developed a compelling attachment to this structure, a separation from our community in a much self-centred reality. Furthermore, in recent decades, we have introduced countless time-saving devices intended to simplify our lives—washing machines, vacuum cleaners, telephones, dishwashers, mobile phones, computers, email, and social media. In the past, composing a letter, addressing and stamping an envelope, and mailing it required a significant amount of effort. It could take days, weeks, or even months to receive a response. Nowadays, I can quickly send an email or a WhatsApp message, which travels halfway around the world and garners a response within minutes. While I have spared myself the trouble and time of the past, has my life become easier and more relaxed? Unfortunately, it has not.
During the era of traditional mail, people typically wrote letters only when they had something significant to convey. Instead of hastily composing messages or spreading false information, they carefully considered what they wanted to express and how to phrase it. They anticipated receiving similarly thoughtful responses. Today, we receive dozens of emails each day, each sender expecting a prompt reply. We believed we were saving time; instead, we accelerated the pace of life to ten times its previous speed, leading to heightened anxiety and restlessness in our daily routines.
This all made us very disconnected from the rest of nature and as a consequence from our imaginative perception. Genuine, imaginative perception possesses inherent qualities of synesthesia, participation, and animism. It reveals the world around us not as lifeless objects but as expressive entities, beings with their own powers and potentials. Unfortunately, in today's world, many of us have drifted far from such experiences. Trees rarely, if ever, communicate with us; animals no longer approach us as messengers from realms of unique intelligence; the sun and moon no longer inspire prayers but appear to move across the sky without purpose. It is possible that spiritual experiences occur within the imaginative space that opens in our minds when we engage in such perceptive acts, and all forms of selfishness disappear.
During these moments, ordinary defences crumble, and we become receptive to the wonders and terrors that exist at the farthest reaches of the sensory spectrum, typically hidden from us. Our senses suddenly admit experiences that are usually invisible. While the ego rests, our imaginative perception comes alive, presenting unexpected patterns of thought and new connections and new rays of relation, or "religares." The gap that separates the self from the world, that no-man's land patrolled by the ego during ordinary hours, closes, allowing us to feel less isolated and more interconnected—integral components of a larger entity. Whether we call this entity Nature, the Universe, the Creator, or God hardly matters.
In our ancient diaspora, a distinctive capacity emerged within us, one characterized by magical, symbolic, and spiritual thought. This capacity allowed us to delineate the boundaries of existence and understand the intricate relationships between the individual, the extended group, the broader natural world, and the cosmos. We do not know exactly when these capabilities developed but late Ice Age cave art tells us that humans melded the living and spiritual worlds at least 30,000 years ago.
By the time of the Agriculture Revolution, human cosmology shared several common beliefs that form the framework of our scientific society. Some of these beliefs included the fact that the material world, the world of living things was part of a multi-layered cosmos, the spiritual world inhabited by our ancestors (be they humans or other-than-human beings). Another prevailing belief was the idea of a seamless connection between the material and spiritual realms, devoid of any clear boundary between them. The external landscapes on Earth were viewed as reflections of our internal landscapes, representing our shared memories. It is precisely this element of unity and oneness that we have now entirely lost.
Ayahuasca and other psychedelic compounds may play a key role in our society to bring back this element of oneness, as research has showed that they can induce such a state of being and feeling[1] . English philosopher Walter Terence Stace is the most frequently quoted about such sense when it comes to experiencing a mystical experience. He wrote in his book Mysticism and Philosophy (1960):
"The most important, the central characteristic in which all fully developed mystical experiences agree, and, which in the last analysis is definitive of them and serves to mark them off from other kinds of experiences, is that they involve the apprehension of an ultimate nonsensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the senses nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness. It should be carefully noted that only fully developed mystical experiences are necessarily apprehensive of the One. Many experiences have been recorded which lack this central feature but possess other mystical characteristics. These are borderline cases, which may be said to shade off from the central core of the cases. They have to the central core the relation that some philosophers like to call ‘family resemblance’. (pp.14-15)"
What exactly is mysticism? Mysticism implies an experience that goes beyond the bounds of ordinary comprehension or scientific understanding. It carries connotations of the supernatural. Throughout the course of history, countless brilliant minds have dedicated themselves to finding words to describe this extraordinary human experience and to make sense of it. When we delve into the writings of these thinkers, we discover a remarkable commonality in their descriptions, even though we may struggle to fully grasp what they are talking about.
According to scholars of mysticism, these shared characteristics typically include a vision of unity, where everything, including the self, becomes part of a larger whole (often expressed as all is one); a deep-seated certainty about what has been perceived (knowledge has been revealed to me); feelings of profound joy, blessedness, and contentment; a transcendent experience that goes beyond the usual categories we use to structure our understanding of the world, such as time and space or self and other; a sense that whatever has been apprehended is imbued with a sense of sacredness (something far more deeply interfused) and often paradoxical (for instance, the self may seem to disappear, yet awareness persists).
I recall again a conversation with Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá, during which I inquired about the Yawanawá people's word for "sacred" in their language. He explained that the Yawanawá language doesn't possess specific words for certain concepts, including "sacred." Instead, the closest meaning they have for sacred is "the mother's breast milk" and the act of breastfeeding itself. He went on to clarify that due to the vital role of breast milk in nourishing and comforting infants, and consequently in sustaining life, the act of breastfeeding became synonymous with the concept of sacredness. This prompted me to contemplate our own sustenance—not just of our physical bodies but, more significantly, of our spirits and souls. How are we feeding ourselves? Can we nourish and soothe ourselves daily with the sacred, whatever that may mean to each of us? I am not sure.
References:
Carhart-Harris, R.L., Erritzoe, D., Haijen, E. et al. Psychedelics and connectedness. Psychopharmacology 235, 547–550 (2018). https://doi-org.manchester.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s00213-017-4701-y
Maria Fernanda Gebara is a doctor in social anthropology, writer and professor who has spent the last decade working with different traditional communities in the Brazilian Amazon.
By Maria Fernanda Gebara
My work with Indigenous peoples has always put me in this position of trying to better understand imagination and spirituality. I would always wonder if what I was experiencing in their rituals or ceremonies was part of my imagination or if it was the spiritual world “talking to me”. The more we explore the spirit, the more we can discover how the world of imagination lies at the core of the unseen world, a world often unknown to its inhabitants. Imagination is the tool that allows us to dream and to believe that we can actually change our world with our dreams. Imagination is a compass that guides us through our time. It is what enables the magic to occur. It is what allows the magician to throw a fireball at the expense of a bit of fire. This is what allows the writer to turn blank pages into an entertaining story. Imagination is a magic all its own. Sacrifices are often made for the sake of a great work of art. Imagination is always the death of some other thing.
Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me: “To dream is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. It is a source of magic that gives us the power to change our world.” For the Yawanawá and for other Indigenous peoples as well, dreams inform how they make sense of the invisible world. According to Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, an Indigenous leader, writer and philosopher: “the white people, they do not dream as far as we do. They sleep a lot but only dream of themselves. Their thoughts remain blocked, and they slumber like tapirs or turtles. This is why they are unable to understand the infinity of beings in the cosmos”.
Strangely enough, this is what I have been deeply in touch when I was doing my spiritual diet with the Yawanawá people in the Amazon. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies, much like them, typically inhabited territories spanning many dozens or even hundreds of square kilometers. For them, home encompassed the entire expanse of their territory, complete with its hills, streams, woodlands, and expansive open skies. It is easier to share animist beliefs. The beliefs, myths, and stories that they all share, then become a reality. It is as real as they imagined it to be. This made me realize that the imagined reality we are in modern society is a social fact, even if it is a fantasy. Their knowledge is not written, and their memory is long and strong. Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me that he did not need to write things down to his students because by drinking ayahuasca, one of their main traditional medicines, they will learn better, they will keep their memory strong and multiply their ancestral words, echoing the lessons from the spiritual world.
Today, our houses measure a few dozen meters, and we developed a compelling attachment to this structure, a separation from our community in a much self-centred reality. Furthermore, in recent decades, we have introduced countless time-saving devices intended to simplify our lives—washing machines, vacuum cleaners, telephones, dishwashers, mobile phones, computers, email, and social media. In the past, composing a letter, addressing and stamping an envelope, and mailing it required a significant amount of effort. It could take days, weeks, or even months to receive a response. Nowadays, I can quickly send an email or a WhatsApp message, which travels halfway around the world and garners a response within minutes. While I have spared myself the trouble and time of the past, has my life become easier and more relaxed? Unfortunately, it has not.
During the era of traditional mail, people typically wrote letters only when they had something significant to convey. Instead of hastily composing messages or spreading false information, they carefully considered what they wanted to express and how to phrase it. They anticipated receiving similarly thoughtful responses. Today, we receive dozens of emails each day, each sender expecting a prompt reply. We believed we were saving time; instead, we accelerated the pace of life to ten times its previous speed, leading to heightened anxiety and restlessness in our daily routines.
This all made us very disconnected from the rest of nature and as a consequence from our imaginative perception. Genuine, imaginative perception possesses inherent qualities of synesthesia, participation, and animism. It reveals the world around us not as lifeless objects but as expressive entities, beings with their own powers and potentials. Unfortunately, in today's world, many of us have drifted far from such experiences. Trees rarely, if ever, communicate with us; animals no longer approach us as messengers from realms of unique intelligence; the sun and moon no longer inspire prayers but appear to move across the sky without purpose. It is possible that spiritual experiences occur within the imaginative space that opens in our minds when we engage in such perceptive acts, and all forms of selfishness disappear.
During these moments, ordinary defences crumble, and we become receptive to the wonders and terrors that exist at the farthest reaches of the sensory spectrum, typically hidden from us. Our senses suddenly admit experiences that are usually invisible. While the ego rests, our imaginative perception comes alive, presenting unexpected patterns of thought and new connections and new rays of relation, or "religares." The gap that separates the self from the world, that no-man's land patrolled by the ego during ordinary hours, closes, allowing us to feel less isolated and more interconnected—integral components of a larger entity. Whether we call this entity Nature, the Universe, the Creator, or God hardly matters.
In our ancient diaspora, a distinctive capacity emerged within us, one characterized by magical, symbolic, and spiritual thought. This capacity allowed us to delineate the boundaries of existence and understand the intricate relationships between the individual, the extended group, the broader natural world, and the cosmos. We do not know exactly when these capabilities developed but late Ice Age cave art tells us that humans melded the living and spiritual worlds at least 30,000 years ago.
By the time of the Agriculture Revolution, human cosmology shared several common beliefs that form the framework of our scientific society. Some of these beliefs included the fact that the material world, the world of living things was part of a multi-layered cosmos, the spiritual world inhabited by our ancestors (be they humans or other-than-human beings). Another prevailing belief was the idea of a seamless connection between the material and spiritual realms, devoid of any clear boundary between them. The external landscapes on Earth were viewed as reflections of our internal landscapes, representing our shared memories. It is precisely this element of unity and oneness that we have now entirely lost.
Ayahuasca and other psychedelic compounds may play a key role in our society to bring back this element of oneness, as research has showed that they can induce such a state of being and feeling[1] . English philosopher Walter Terence Stace is the most frequently quoted about such sense when it comes to experiencing a mystical experience. He wrote in his book Mysticism and Philosophy (1960):
"The most important, the central characteristic in which all fully developed mystical experiences agree, and, which in the last analysis is definitive of them and serves to mark them off from other kinds of experiences, is that they involve the apprehension of an ultimate nonsensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the senses nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness. It should be carefully noted that only fully developed mystical experiences are necessarily apprehensive of the One. Many experiences have been recorded which lack this central feature but possess other mystical characteristics. These are borderline cases, which may be said to shade off from the central core of the cases. They have to the central core the relation that some philosophers like to call ‘family resemblance’. (pp.14-15)"
What exactly is mysticism? Mysticism implies an experience that goes beyond the bounds of ordinary comprehension or scientific understanding. It carries connotations of the supernatural. Throughout the course of history, countless brilliant minds have dedicated themselves to finding words to describe this extraordinary human experience and to make sense of it. When we delve into the writings of these thinkers, we discover a remarkable commonality in their descriptions, even though we may struggle to fully grasp what they are talking about.
According to scholars of mysticism, these shared characteristics typically include a vision of unity, where everything, including the self, becomes part of a larger whole (often expressed as all is one); a deep-seated certainty about what has been perceived (knowledge has been revealed to me); feelings of profound joy, blessedness, and contentment; a transcendent experience that goes beyond the usual categories we use to structure our understanding of the world, such as time and space or self and other; a sense that whatever has been apprehended is imbued with a sense of sacredness (something far more deeply interfused) and often paradoxical (for instance, the self may seem to disappear, yet awareness persists).
I recall again a conversation with Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá, during which I inquired about the Yawanawá people's word for "sacred" in their language. He explained that the Yawanawá language doesn't possess specific words for certain concepts, including "sacred." Instead, the closest meaning they have for sacred is "the mother's breast milk" and the act of breastfeeding itself. He went on to clarify that due to the vital role of breast milk in nourishing and comforting infants, and consequently in sustaining life, the act of breastfeeding became synonymous with the concept of sacredness. This prompted me to contemplate our own sustenance—not just of our physical bodies but, more significantly, of our spirits and souls. How are we feeding ourselves? Can we nourish and soothe ourselves daily with the sacred, whatever that may mean to each of us? I am not sure.
References:
Carhart-Harris, R.L., Erritzoe, D., Haijen, E. et al. Psychedelics and connectedness. Psychopharmacology 235, 547–550 (2018). https://doi-org.manchester.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s00213-017-4701-y
My work with Indigenous peoples has always put me in this position of trying to better understand imagination and spirituality. I would always wonder if what I was experiencing in their rituals or ceremonies was part of my imagination or if it was the spiritual world “talking to me”. The more we explore the spirit, the more we can discover how the world of imagination lies at the core of the unseen world, a world often unknown to its inhabitants. Imagination is the tool that allows us to dream and to believe that we can actually change our world with our dreams. Imagination is a compass that guides us through our time. It is what enables the magic to occur. It is what allows the magician to throw a fireball at the expense of a bit of fire. This is what allows the writer to turn blank pages into an entertaining story. Imagination is a magic all its own. Sacrifices are often made for the sake of a great work of art. Imagination is always the death of some other thing.
Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me: “To dream is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. It is a source of magic that gives us the power to change our world.” For the Yawanawá and for other Indigenous peoples as well, dreams inform how they make sense of the invisible world. According to Davi Kopenawa Yanomami, an Indigenous leader, writer and philosopher: “the white people, they do not dream as far as we do. They sleep a lot but only dream of themselves. Their thoughts remain blocked, and they slumber like tapirs or turtles. This is why they are unable to understand the infinity of beings in the cosmos”.
Strangely enough, this is what I have been deeply in touch when I was doing my spiritual diet with the Yawanawá people in the Amazon. Ancient hunter-gatherer societies, much like them, typically inhabited territories spanning many dozens or even hundreds of square kilometers. For them, home encompassed the entire expanse of their territory, complete with its hills, streams, woodlands, and expansive open skies. It is easier to share animist beliefs. The beliefs, myths, and stories that they all share, then become a reality. It is as real as they imagined it to be. This made me realize that the imagined reality we are in modern society is a social fact, even if it is a fantasy. Their knowledge is not written, and their memory is long and strong. Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá once told me that he did not need to write things down to his students because by drinking ayahuasca, one of their main traditional medicines, they will learn better, they will keep their memory strong and multiply their ancestral words, echoing the lessons from the spiritual world.
Today, our houses measure a few dozen meters, and we developed a compelling attachment to this structure, a separation from our community in a much self-centred reality. Furthermore, in recent decades, we have introduced countless time-saving devices intended to simplify our lives—washing machines, vacuum cleaners, telephones, dishwashers, mobile phones, computers, email, and social media. In the past, composing a letter, addressing and stamping an envelope, and mailing it required a significant amount of effort. It could take days, weeks, or even months to receive a response. Nowadays, I can quickly send an email or a WhatsApp message, which travels halfway around the world and garners a response within minutes. While I have spared myself the trouble and time of the past, has my life become easier and more relaxed? Unfortunately, it has not.
During the era of traditional mail, people typically wrote letters only when they had something significant to convey. Instead of hastily composing messages or spreading false information, they carefully considered what they wanted to express and how to phrase it. They anticipated receiving similarly thoughtful responses. Today, we receive dozens of emails each day, each sender expecting a prompt reply. We believed we were saving time; instead, we accelerated the pace of life to ten times its previous speed, leading to heightened anxiety and restlessness in our daily routines.
This all made us very disconnected from the rest of nature and as a consequence from our imaginative perception. Genuine, imaginative perception possesses inherent qualities of synesthesia, participation, and animism. It reveals the world around us not as lifeless objects but as expressive entities, beings with their own powers and potentials. Unfortunately, in today's world, many of us have drifted far from such experiences. Trees rarely, if ever, communicate with us; animals no longer approach us as messengers from realms of unique intelligence; the sun and moon no longer inspire prayers but appear to move across the sky without purpose. It is possible that spiritual experiences occur within the imaginative space that opens in our minds when we engage in such perceptive acts, and all forms of selfishness disappear.
During these moments, ordinary defences crumble, and we become receptive to the wonders and terrors that exist at the farthest reaches of the sensory spectrum, typically hidden from us. Our senses suddenly admit experiences that are usually invisible. While the ego rests, our imaginative perception comes alive, presenting unexpected patterns of thought and new connections and new rays of relation, or "religares." The gap that separates the self from the world, that no-man's land patrolled by the ego during ordinary hours, closes, allowing us to feel less isolated and more interconnected—integral components of a larger entity. Whether we call this entity Nature, the Universe, the Creator, or God hardly matters.
In our ancient diaspora, a distinctive capacity emerged within us, one characterized by magical, symbolic, and spiritual thought. This capacity allowed us to delineate the boundaries of existence and understand the intricate relationships between the individual, the extended group, the broader natural world, and the cosmos. We do not know exactly when these capabilities developed but late Ice Age cave art tells us that humans melded the living and spiritual worlds at least 30,000 years ago.
By the time of the Agriculture Revolution, human cosmology shared several common beliefs that form the framework of our scientific society. Some of these beliefs included the fact that the material world, the world of living things was part of a multi-layered cosmos, the spiritual world inhabited by our ancestors (be they humans or other-than-human beings). Another prevailing belief was the idea of a seamless connection between the material and spiritual realms, devoid of any clear boundary between them. The external landscapes on Earth were viewed as reflections of our internal landscapes, representing our shared memories. It is precisely this element of unity and oneness that we have now entirely lost.
Ayahuasca and other psychedelic compounds may play a key role in our society to bring back this element of oneness, as research has showed that they can induce such a state of being and feeling[1] . English philosopher Walter Terence Stace is the most frequently quoted about such sense when it comes to experiencing a mystical experience. He wrote in his book Mysticism and Philosophy (1960):
"The most important, the central characteristic in which all fully developed mystical experiences agree, and, which in the last analysis is definitive of them and serves to mark them off from other kinds of experiences, is that they involve the apprehension of an ultimate nonsensuous unity in all things, a oneness or a One to which neither the senses nor the reason can penetrate. In other words, it entirely transcends our sensory-intellectual consciousness. It should be carefully noted that only fully developed mystical experiences are necessarily apprehensive of the One. Many experiences have been recorded which lack this central feature but possess other mystical characteristics. These are borderline cases, which may be said to shade off from the central core of the cases. They have to the central core the relation that some philosophers like to call ‘family resemblance’. (pp.14-15)"
What exactly is mysticism? Mysticism implies an experience that goes beyond the bounds of ordinary comprehension or scientific understanding. It carries connotations of the supernatural. Throughout the course of history, countless brilliant minds have dedicated themselves to finding words to describe this extraordinary human experience and to make sense of it. When we delve into the writings of these thinkers, we discover a remarkable commonality in their descriptions, even though we may struggle to fully grasp what they are talking about.
According to scholars of mysticism, these shared characteristics typically include a vision of unity, where everything, including the self, becomes part of a larger whole (often expressed as all is one); a deep-seated certainty about what has been perceived (knowledge has been revealed to me); feelings of profound joy, blessedness, and contentment; a transcendent experience that goes beyond the usual categories we use to structure our understanding of the world, such as time and space or self and other; a sense that whatever has been apprehended is imbued with a sense of sacredness (something far more deeply interfused) and often paradoxical (for instance, the self may seem to disappear, yet awareness persists).
I recall again a conversation with Professor Nani Kateyuve Yawanawá, during which I inquired about the Yawanawá people's word for "sacred" in their language. He explained that the Yawanawá language doesn't possess specific words for certain concepts, including "sacred." Instead, the closest meaning they have for sacred is "the mother's breast milk" and the act of breastfeeding itself. He went on to clarify that due to the vital role of breast milk in nourishing and comforting infants, and consequently in sustaining life, the act of breastfeeding became synonymous with the concept of sacredness. This prompted me to contemplate our own sustenance—not just of our physical bodies but, more significantly, of our spirits and souls. How are we feeding ourselves? Can we nourish and soothe ourselves daily with the sacred, whatever that may mean to each of us? I am not sure.
References:
Carhart-Harris, R.L., Erritzoe, D., Haijen, E. et al. Psychedelics and connectedness. Psychopharmacology 235, 547–550 (2018). https://doi-org.manchester.idm.oclc.org/10.1007/s00213-017-4701-y
Maria Fernanda Gebara is a doctor in social anthropology, writer and professor who has spent the last decade working with different traditional communities in the Brazilian Amazon.