Alone in the Desert with Peyote
Ain't no church like this one. The sacrament consumed is Peyote, a mind-expanding, hallucinogenic cactus. It only grows in northern Mexico, southern Arizona, and southwestern Texas. The Sonoran Desert. Nowhere else.
Is it beneficial? Well, the Apache used it for 10,000 years, and the conquistadors and Spanish priests tried to destroy every peyote cactus they could find. That is clear evidence that it is fantastic.
The day before finally arrives. I catch the earliest nonstop plane to Phoenix by myself.
Land, rent a car, and head east. Driving along, I’m awestruck by the landscape.
It is spectacular, dangerous, and always changing. It looked the same way a million years ago. I imagine Apache with long jet-black hair roaming. They must have been rugged to survive here.
After 45 minutes, I cross into the San Carlos Apache Reservation, the largest in the country. To the average person, most of the homes are comically dilapidated and spread far apart. They look cool as hell to me.
I see an Apache man standing on the highway by an entrance ramp. His head is down. He’s got long straight jet-black hair. Is this how they hitchhike? I pull over…he hops in…a gentle “Thank you”….and he looks straight ahead.
I read that silence is considered a gift to Native Americans and that talking gets in the way of getting to know someone, so I casually look over to nod my head….and I’m mesmerized. His eyes—they’re brown, but with hues of gold and green—kaleidoscope eyes that shimmer. This is a spiritual man.
Off we go in silence. It's mysterious and thrilling, and I’m alone and free.
My mind is racing 1,000 mph, so I breathe slow and deep. This relaxes me. I wonder if he does peyote.
I think he’s relaxed. I haven’t looked at him. But I don’t hear movement. I want to say something. But what could I say to him? I can’t break this magical spell with some silly words. I just breathe and drive.
I’m starting to Love this silence. After about 15 minutes, he says, “Up here’s good.” His voice is deep and calm. I pull onto the shoulder and face him.
‘You on vacation?” he says in perfect English
“Yes. Im here to take peyote”
He looks happily surprised. “We call it Peyotl. Big Medicine”
He offers his hand. It’s wide open. I open mine wide. His hand is hard and smooth and warm. The skin between our thumbs and forefingers seals, and our fingers follow. A full-handed handshake. He leads, and I follow. It’s firm, but not too firm. It’s just perfectly firm. 3 long shakes ….a pause….and he quickly releases, but not too quick, just perfectly quick…he says “Nentan,” gets out and I watch him walk off. At 5 paces, he turns around and raises his arm with an open palm. He holds in for five seconds with a neutral look on his face, his eyes still mesmerizing, then he turns and walks off.
Who the FUCK was THAT? I am fuckin PSYCHED. I’m high as FUCK.
Nentan Chief. Whatever that means?
I soon leave the Reservation, and now it's a two-lane road through small mining towns. The strip mines are huge, ugly, and depressing. How could they do this, I wonder. It's been 2 hours since Phoenix, and now I turn off the 2-laner and see UNINCORPORATED ROAD NOT MAINTAINED. I panic, but only for a second.
It's flat and barren with small, hearty cacti like bushes. No lights, no sidewalk, no telephone poles. Hills and mountains off in the distance. No signs of life. 10 miles to a dead end. Make a left. There’s fuckin cows on the road. And they don’t yield too quickly. Seven miles later, I see a green mailbox with MANA in red letters. Bingo. I drive to the gate and read CLOSE GATE BEHIND YOU WE HAVE A HORSE.
I park, get out and walk around this cool lookin’ house. An hour later an older hippy looking couple appear. I like them immediaetly.
They show me to my campsite. And leave. You're alone and have your last meal before the 24-hour fast begins. The site has a view of the mountains. It's eerily quiet. No phone service.
Twilight, and the coyotes begin to howl. It's terrifying. But then I say, “I'm a man. I ain't afraid of no coyotes”
I don't sleep much, full of excitement on the hard earth, with the heavens drifting by. I chose the new moon and the black sky, the perfect backdrop for the shimmering stars.
I think of the Apache hitchhiker. I wanna’ be an Apache. Below an Apache with Peyote
5 pm the next day. I head to the house and get my sacramental tea. 21 buttons. “A shaman's dose,” says Matt.
Apache would fast 10 days alone, then break it with 50 buttons. But the Apache was tough, just like this land.
Head up to my campsite, have a seat and…God Damn. I'm gonna do this. Take a sip. Oh man, that's terrible. I feel like I’m gonna puke. This ain’t no Lipton with milk and sugar.
I listen to the wind and the cicadas. The light is beginning to thicken and fade. Small birds are darting helter-skelter, devouring flying bugs.
Another sip. I got all night.
The clouds passing by become a parade of demons. Night comes, and when I close my eyes, hallucinations explode. Monsters and things moving and joining. What are they trying to tell me? The more sips, the more frightful they are. I'm not even halfway through. I light the fire. The dancing flames are the devil. And then?
I’m sick I’m gonna puke Ohhh mann I’m pukin m’ my guts out with my eyes closed. Puking out bloody snakes. Demonic faces are desperately trying to tell me something. I hear, and then feel, heavy rhythmic footsteps and loud breathing. Opening my eyes, the hallucinations vanish, and a white horse has appeared.
I'm finally done puking. The horse disappears into the darkness.
Another sip. I see myself as a young Apache, with my Apache clothes and my bow and tomahawk, going out alone on a test. There is great danger alone in the desert. But I feel lucky. And grateful.
A few more sips and….. I'm gonna be sick again
I'm puking. Retching. Wailing from my soul, with closed eyes and demons frantically trying to tell me something. I feel the heavy presence and open my eyes. The horse is back. He stays right next to me, on my blanket, as I puke out more bloody snakes. With the devil dancing in the flames.
I feel better and open my eyes and the horse disappears into the darkness. I'm gonna take a walk. I stagger in circles. Then slowly and carefully fall to the earth. The sky is magnificent. How could I have ignored it my whole life? I'm hypnotized by it . Im paralyzed too. Another few sips. I'm a warrior.
More puking. And here comes the horse.
Dawn is slowly breaking. Such beauty should arouse us. But we never notice.
I spend the morning walking. That afternoon Matt and Ann approach.
“How was your night?” asks Ann
‘ Crazy and magical.”
“It will make sense in the coming months,” says Matt.
I sleep another night outside, and at dawn, I’m off to explore Arizona for another day and night.
That was my Spirit Walk. I didn’t have a big transformation in my life. I loved the hallucinations and the cleansing, but I need way more than one Peyote Walk for my broken self.
It's $500 for the Church. Maybe $400 for the plane. $300 for the car. $100 for gas. What if you can't afford that. Does it mean no Spirit Walk for you?
Hell no. You can do a Spirit Walk in your area. It's good to be alone 3 or 4 times a year in nature. Just sleeping on the earth outside will get you high. But it’s even better with a Shamans dose of mind-expanding Big Medicine in you. We have the synapses in our brain for them. Just do a 30-day detox from marijuana. Now you’re ready for your Spirit Walk
“GERONIMO”
Gene Bray
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What a pleasure it was reading this piece. Brought me back to around 1956 when I was just a kid in Yuma, AZ . Must have been around 7 years old or so. My dad bought a little house in a new middle class track project on the edge of the town. We moved in that spring. Just a short distance from our back door you could see a field of gorgeous wild flowers celebrating the season. That morning, I took my perky little mutt puppy with me and we ran out into that gloriously painted fantasy land. She ran ahead of me excited, her head lowered into the carpet of flowers, nose working hard. When she came up for air her muzzle was loaded with pollen, like a little kid with its first milk moustache, completely satisfied, happy and ready for more. There was an array of thick clouds in the sky that morning, moving around as if they were trying to figure out how to rain. As a consequence the sun behind them broke through with visible rays streaming down that looked like they were bursting out of heaven in a near death experience. I've never forgotten that glorious desert morning. So that's where your piece took me just now.
Your description of the Apache and the handshake was priceless, and even more so the paragraph that immediately followed: “Who the FUCK was THAT? I am fuckin PSYCHED. I’m high as FUCK.” When I finally stopped laughing because it was so right on, I continued savoring the rest of your piece. So well written, Gene! More please. And thank you, brother.