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Seeing God and Burning Plastic
The Paradoxical Nature of the Healer
When you sit in front of a powerful master shaman, fully immersed in the current of the drink you’ve just consumed - their songs weaving through your heart and flesh and bones - it’s hard to imagine them as anything but unfailingly divine. The truth is, when a psychedelic tourist completes their mind-shattering initiation into one of the jungle’s most potent brews, they often return to an air-conditioned room, and later, to their relatively affluent life at home - left with a feeling of unadulterated reverence for the person who guided them through their (occasionally) harrowing, but (typically) ethereal journey. They watch satellite TV with their husband, cook fish heads on their homemade stove, and wake up the next morning to hand-weave tapestries that they will later sell to future tourists, like you, so that they can pay their cell-phone bill.
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