I had only thought to take a short walk, to smoke my pipe in the rainforest before the night's dark. Our passengers had confined themselves to the tent due to the clouds of mosquitoes, so I went alone. The trail is wide and easy that leads from our riverside camp to a lake less than two kilometers away and that short-stroll grew longer, little by little, as my delight in the Amazon forest urged me deeper.

Having walked a while I saw through the brush a tree called a Renacu, no more than forty meters (think yards if you still need to, actually 3.6 yds) off the trail. Mangrove like the Renacu sends many dozens of trunks to root into the ground in areas that flood during the high water season. Amazon natives say that the Renacu have a Madre or mother spirit living in them, whose effect is calming, to be near or climb one is good for headaches or nerves, at times the insane are brought to her. With her many trunks it is said that she is especially connected to the Earth Spirit, well grounded. So I went over and climbed her, losing for the moment a few hundred, though not all, of the mosquitoes enjoying the walk with me.

My pleasure with the pipe is a pure native jungle tobacco called Mapacho that I can buy fresh there. Finished with my smoky meditation I climbed down and walked back seeking the trail, but at first try I didn't see it. Three decades of mountaineering have given me a decent sense of direction and over the years many months in the in flat rainforest have somewhat accustomed me to it's ways, so failing such simple a task seemed quite odd. The trail was visible from the tree I had climbed so I walked back to the Madre Renacu to try from a different angle. Still I saw no path, so once again I returned to the tree, this time I stopped to try and reason it out. I knew my climb took me to the opposite side from the trail and I knew which way I had faced when in the tree; I tried still another angle though it felt incorrect and again no trail was to be seen.

I then went on to commit myself to series of reasonable and increasingly nervous mistakes. Had I been less stupidly sure of myself I would have staid put and waited until dark when my jungle born friends and guides would have come looking for me, but oh no, not this experienced wild child. It seemed embarrassingly silly that camp was so close but I couldn't find my way back to it. So I reasoned that I could just make a general aim towards the river and follow it's flow back to camp. A brief glimpse of a bright patch in the clouds gave me an idea of the sun's direction, confirming my feeling of the way to the river. So in full stride, even if slightly shaky confidence, I started away to race the coming dark.

My idea of the river's direction proved to be correct but before arriving I came to a wide stream. By then my sense of everything was a bit rattled but it seemed, by the course I had been following, that I needed to turn left to find the river. But the stream I faced was not flowing left; it was flowing to the right, which certainly looked wrong. Normally the smaller streams flow down to join the larger river, right? Nope, not this time. I stood a while with feeling and logic at odds until logic won the moment (very masculine of me, no?) and I turned wrongly to the right, following the flow to where I hoped it would join the river.

Time was passing; too much time and I should have been at the river already. Doubts feed confusion, with confusion stimulating the nerves.

"Oh man, I don't want to spend the night out here! Camp can not be very far away!"

OK I confess, so I talk to myself; hey, due to several years in wilderness hermitage I've been alone a lot. A wrong turn, a misfortune of guesses and I could wander my way to a long drawn out death in the Amazon wilds. While flying into Pucallpa, Peru, from above I had delighted in seeing the vast trackless stretches of forest, now I was hoping not to wander into one.

"Be still my thumping heart. Logic! Logic! Don't lose your head now kid. You made the logical choice. Don't run off scatter brained, losing time by turning around."

Resolve deepened I hurried along my decided course downstream. When the land began to turn swampy and again I stopped to seriously question my route. Here, in deep intent I turned to my prayer asking for guidance. Along with meditation, prayer is for me a daily checking in, touching the permeating reality beyond the limits of logic or emotion. My need was great and I fully focused on that well-known space. Strong and clear the answer was realized/heard.

"You'll be all right kid. Keep going in the direction you are."

There places in my spiritual life and ideas where I could be fooling myself but if so at least I am happily fooled. So it was that even with the possible dangers I felt profoundly correct and gradually there grew a heart centered calm. The gravity of the situation solidified the experience of inner connection. Even if I was playing the fool my attitude at least bolstered my physical strength with a natural high and I was enjoying the challenge.

Thinking that perhaps the water of the swamp before me could flow into low land before dumping into the river I splashed onwards, wearing the tall rubber boots that are common rainforest equipment. This was in the beginning of the rainy season when the waters return to cover much of the land. There were fish feeding in the areas newly covered by the rising water and as I walked near they would frantically work to get away with a great deal of splashing in the shallows. It was something akin having a bird fly up crying from under foot. Given the snake and alligator disposition of the swamp, the fish thrashing about always caused a sharp-eyed awareness along with a moment of sphincter clenching. Where possible I walked on dry ground, in one such area, while clambering over a large log, I stepped down over the skull of a caiman, the Amazon alligator. By the size of the skull it seemed that the 'gator' had been larger than I. Stopping a moment with the skull I kicked out a couple teeth that, with their roots, are as long as my fingers. Pocketing them I was hoping for some kind of talisman action. That caiman was dry but I knew I was not alone out there. Later I also saw a snakeskin hanging from a branch I was reaching for to aid my passage.

"Its OK little sphincter, relax".

Of course the more present proof that I wasn't alone was the incessant intensity of the clouds of accompanying mosquitoes.

The swamp grew deeper until I was unable to find shallow water below the tops of my boots. So I gave in and let the warm water fill them and my workload increased as each step had to lift the extra water. For a while then I worked to keep my pants from getting wet up over the belt but a few water hidden holes and trip roots soon had me soaked. Keeping the main flow of the deep stream in sight got to be a lot of work as the swamp brush and bramble was getting thicker. Extensive and confusing detours became necessary. When I was no longer able to stay by the main flow I tried to maintain the general direction by sighting my way along tall or unusual trees in front of me.

At one point there was what sounded like barking ahead, delighted I hurried along hoping to find dry land and a camp with dogs. Instead I came to an opening of swamp dead trees with a few buzzards calling to each other in their hoarse barking sound as they roosted before the approaching night. When I splashed into sight they all turned to eye me, perhaps I had raised their hopes for a future feeding. Across the opening I could see an area of tall dense brush and beyond that a wide space clear of trees and again my hopes were raised.

Thinking that it could be the river before me I waded my way into the brush and found it to be a thorn bramble, a horribly formidable obstacle. As the water deepened I danced with the countless spikes adorning the tangle. Where necessary I climbed to teeter my way on top of a pile of the crossed branches, at times to be suddenly let down with a thorn-ripping splash. I was concerned not to twist an ankle or break a leg, to be immobile and alone and I would have been in a mighty bad way out there. Also, I really didn't want to start bleeding, besides for the obvious reasons, there are piranhas in those waters. Contrary to popular myth most piranha normally don't go around attacking people but like sharks, blood will get them excited. Where possible I waded through openings in the brush. But even there the criss-cross of the bramble was dangerous as the thorny branches hidden in the water, as well as those that I could see, pulled, poked and pushed me in every direction but up. Crawling over the obstacles my knees and thighs were jabbed as well as my hands and arms.

"All right now kid, recall the way of the flow. Maintain the centered dance. Non-resistance, remember?"

Still at times it seemed like a contest, my few soft limbs against the myriad, armed with thorns. It is hard to be delicate in a labyrinth of limbs that not only throw you but also stab you on the way down. Weeks later I was still working some of those thorn tips out of my flesh. Ahead lay my hope so I continued the tortured dance.

When I won my way to the bramble's edge I climbed a shaky thorn perch to see over the tall grass blocking my view. There I saw not the river of my desire, just a lot more tall grass and the deeper water of the swamp. Not a place I wanted to play. A ways to the right an opening in the trees showed another large clearing, probably the lake, confirming my feelings that the river and camp lie in the opposite direction.

"Ahh-ha", logic jumped in, pointing a pontificating finger into the air, " we can now deduce that the main river has risen due to recent strong rains and is higher than the level of the swamp. Thus the stream we followed is flowing towards the swamp and away from the river."

"Good work, Oh my wise logic", replied little Alan, now less lost, "we will be sure to use that information tomorrow. However now that we are at the edge of both night and deep swamp we need to plan for the night. No way am I going to crawl back through the thorns and forest in the dark, even if I could maintain the proper direction. While I'm at it," I continued, turning my query deeper, " Oh my dear Heart and Spirit, connection to my Soul One what is this about, directing me in full confidence away from camp?"

From Heart, where once was just an inner smile then came a full blown shit-eating grin.

"You are where you need to be," the grin replied.

"Uh oh, I've heard that before during other dire initiations."

Actually the message and even the grin were strengthening; perhaps there was purpose to my foolishness. My spirit was renewed and while in the mode I then knew that this would be a good night to remain in my heart, the situation creating an enforced meditation.

"OK Heart, now what?"

Looking the other way along the edge of the deep swamp I saw a grove of those calming Renacu trees, just the medicine needed. A while longer of dancing the thorn bramble shamble brought me to the blessed grove of Renacu Madre spirits. Free of under growth I easily waded my way though them, looking for a place of power, the spot specific for my quest to benefit from the night (Great attitude, eh? Better than totally freaking out).

Pilgrimages are the prayerful journeys of seeking, sacred sites, ceremonial focus and spiritual intent. There is a force born of the longing. There are powers and allies that respond to prayers, we are not alone. The sacred sites are strong points of conduit for Earth's feelings, expressed in pulse/flows of natural energies. The spiritual supplicant, consciously or not, will experience a resonance between themselves, the land and their prayers. The joining of these energy fields creates a harmonic heightening, a quickening of the supplicant's wave form through atunement with greater energy bodies, granting raised vibrations that may be used into the next step of life's unfolding.

Ask any native shaman.

"OK, Lil' Alan, you're bug bit, thorn scratched and well soaked. Night is coming on and you are standing in the waters of a dark Amazon swamp, lets see just how cosmic you can remain."

Oddly, due to my prayer connection I was feeling a noble rightness in the situation. By now the evening had dropped down into more dark than light, I needed to roost soon. Having already passed by several Renacu trees I found myself by one that felt good, just as I realized the attraction a many voiced chattering started overhead. A family of monkeys had chosen that same tree to spend the night. I had experienced this elsewhere in the Amazon where there was certain Renacu Madres that I would regularly climb, often in the company of birds and monkeys who are naturally sensitive and attracted to the Madres. A monkey call pulled my eyes and looking up in the last of the light I could just barely see a Mama monkey with a baby on her back. Both were looking at me as they moved to a higher perch away from my intrusion. I then saw a set of root like trunks for me to snuggle into for the night.

"Thanks Mama monkey. Perhaps I am being looked after."

The monkeys would be an added assurance through the night, as they would surely sound the alarm if anything dangerous came to our tree. The slippery climb in the semi-dark started in the next tree over until I gained a place where the trees entwined and I could swing into my chosen Madre. She offered a nest where three root trunks grew together and semi-horizontal a few meters, forming a lap before her knees bent, dipping down into the water. I attained my perch and sat with a satisfied sigh, grateful to have found such a comfortable place. Below all was water and all around was a forest of thorns and trees far harder to climb while offering much less comfortable platforms to sit in. All considered I really was quite well off.

I emptied the water from my boots and wrung out my clothes, delighting for a moment many of the mosquitoes with me. Prepared for just a short stroll I had with me only a mosquito net for my head and a windbreaker whose hood I pulled up over the netting, making a nice shelter from the buzzing biters.

Also along for the night was my beloved pipe and plenty of tobacco. At times the Amazon shamans, when they have need to quest for certain powers or answers, will take pipe and tobacco to sit smoking three or four days with a Madre spirit tree. Per force I was then in a similar situation (like the Cheshire cat, Inner Grin gave me a quick toothy flash). The pipe is very much a thing of my pleasure. Especially satisfying with a fine whiskey, a sunset, after dinner or many other such moments of enjoyment. It is also a most excellent tool of prayer connection. The practice of pipe prayers I had picked up when I was cowboying with some northern tribes of Canada and Montana and I was delighted to find the Amazon shamans worshipping in the same manner.

I hold lightly any forms of ceremony or worship, allowing for the feeling of the moment, beyond the 'I should' or 'must' of spiritless repetition. My forms of natural practices are those known from ancient times to the shamans of the rainforest and the mountains. When I feel moved to do so my tobacco prayers begin by cupping, with my hand, the first cloud of smoke back over my head in a cleansing action. Then I blow the following smokes and turn the pipe stem in the general direction of what or whom I am considering. Down to our Universal Mother, up to our Divine Father, in the two-way love of family relations. Through direct encounters I have come to know that there are many forms of beings, 'spirit entities' that inhabit the earth with us, some that are a part of the identity of the land. In a respect and the enjoyment of camaraderie I offer smoke to the area I am in, heightening my sense of reality with a good dose of grounding. Also there are entities of extraordinary powerful places that figure prominently in my life and love swells as I often connect with them. This includes where I was born; our souls have reason for the place of our arrival. Also included are a few archetypal pals that are a part of the forever family. I often go to them with questions and current events to compare and fit my energies into the clarity of theirs. It is only the One Creator, with our Divine Mother and Father, that I worship in prayer, with all the others it is more like a gathering of friends. With my weird life, my early years of Northern Rocky mountain hermitage and now in near constant pilgrimage travel, it is especially precious to know at times that I am not so all alone. So I smoked with family and friends, asking for help, being greatly uplifted within the expanded reality, heart drawn high by their loving responses.

The night began moonless, thick clouds blocking even the faint starlight. In cave-like black even my hands were beyond my vision. Total blindness heightened the alarming effect of repeated loud splashing, sometimes awfully close, nearly under my dangling feet. I knew there were many fish down there that would be jumping for bugs but normally a fish will slap down with one splash sounding. What I was hearing was prolonged furious thrashing in the water. Over a few hours I heard this several times. The thrashing could have been the caiman 'gators' wrestling with their night's meal. The teeth in my pocket said it was possible that they were around. Also for a while there were loud hoarse growls, low rumbling roars challenging back and forth from the deeper swamp. It could have been some kind of bird or perhaps a frog in magnificent voice; maybe it was something larger, I don't know.

Some year's prior, I had enjoyed many months of play in the forest of the Napo River, a few hundred kilometers down river from the swamp I was in for the night. In the Napo area, as well as many other places through out the Amazon, the natives will talk about certain Cocha Brava, danger lakes. They say these lakes are inhabited by colossal sized freaks of nature, anacondas that are forty meters long and twenty-meter caimans. I've heard at night very loud shotgun like sounds mixed with a low rumble, coming from one such Cocha Brava. The natives would look serious and say it was the Mama anaconda lunging at prey. Because of my tree climbing skills, my associate at the time wanted me to try getting up a tree near the Cocha Brava to photograph the Mama. His idea was to send me with a shaman to tell me if things were safe or not. For some reason or other I never got around to that adventure. That associate turned out to be not so good for business either.

In the swamp where I was stuck for the night the natives say that there are no freak Mamas; although they claim to have seen 30-meter (more than100-ft) Mama anacondas on the main river. I was sure hoping there were none around that night, my perch was only about four meters above the water and even the normal sized the caiman are fantastic jumpers. Gigantic or not I was hoping not to be in the way of any passing snakes. As it was I was just grateful not to be sitting on a through way for ants. They often end up in the trees during high water and can sure raise hell with an intruder. Sharp pain pinches are awfully distracting when trying to maintain a hold on slippery branches. Some of those little soldiers pack a toxin in their bite that will go on hurting for days. But enough of this fear stuff, I really enjoy the rainforest and at that time I was feeling deep down good. Through the night the monkeys in the tree with me were assuring as they sometimes calmly murmured among themselves. One more concern though, I knew my companions back at camp were worried and I was sorry for that.

After a few hours, the moon, a few days past full, rose into a break in the clouds. Now I was certain of my directions and where camp lay (back the other way I had come from). The water reflected light rippling through the Amazon trees was awesome beautiful and again I was enjoying the situation. My meditations calmed into sleepiness. In the cradling three branches there was a place where I stretched out and happily drifted off, into sleep that is, not the branches. I don't know how long I slept but the bliss was ended by a close-by crack of thunder and I awoke to the first of cold raindrops.

"Wake up kid, you'll miss an excellent night's questing if you are asleep!"

I crawled up close to the main trunk, head on knees, offering my back to the storm. Nearby I heard the rapidly approaching roar of torrential waters hitting the trees. Then the rainforest proved its name as in swept a hard, hard rain, dense and cold. I've enjoyed exposure to many high mountain storms, extreme winds, snow and ice but this was for sure R-A-I-N! The Renacu I had climbed was sweet for the easily accessed nest but the foliage right there offered little cover. The rain struck my back intensely and I was soon a wet little babe lost in the woods. It was time for a new phase into my meditations. As I settled deeper into the shining void I found where I AM. That I AM didn't mind much being wet and cold so I decided to hang out there for the time being, kinda' fun actually, as the adventure rating went up several points. After some while the rain stopped and I was able to uncurl. The kneeling-on-branch yoga is a highly specialized skill, one I hadn't entirely readapted to yet. Grateful to stretch, I pulled out my pipe and again smoked in pleasure and prayer.

Cold winds had arrived with the storm and the rainforest night was no longer warm; neither was I. Again I heard the approaching roar of rain striking the nearby trees and I crawled back to the trunk to assume the crouching wet-cat-in-tree meditation pose. If there had been any part of me dry before, that ended as the next wave of rain crashed over me. This time the rain went on and on. So again I entered the enforce ¯d meditation. It took a while to really get all the way in; at first I would periodically interrupt the process by shaking with cold or would need to move my aching knees. Thinking on it now, I could have moved back to my comfortable perch, I would have been just as wet there as where I was. But there was some comfort drawn from being close to the strength of the main trunk and I remained curled over to hold what warmth I could in my vital organs. Sometimes I would use isometric flexing to get my blood pumping and generate some warmth. I knew I wasn't going to freeze to death in the Amazon but I did become somewhat hypothermic.

When I had been at it long enough the meditation took over and I much enjoyed the place within and without. Again a feeling of profound correctness was experienced and expanded. Something right was happening; I was indeed where I needed to be. Within this knowing I experienced a life-love bond with the environment. In two-way acceptance I am not just an alien visitor, I am nature's child. Given the potential discomfort of the situation my agreement with 'What Is' was exceptionally profound. While words will only go part way to describing this experience, I can say that lil' Alan enjoyed a time transcending the egocentric in an eco-centric oneness.

The rain remained a steady constant, so much so that I wondered if the water would rise to where I would need to swim my way out of there. Elsewhere I've seen the Amazon waters raise more than a meter overnight. Meditation hours became moments stretched timeless, until they were punctuated by the bird's first predawn calls. In the Amazon the different sounds of frogs, bugs and birds call out the time of night. Later the growing light released again the super hard rain, a common occurrence due temperature differential as the sun's first warming rays squeeze down into the cold of night. With light's return it was time to resume my seeking camp. In the fat drop incessant rain I descended from the tree. Giving her a parting pat of appreciation I slid back into the swamp; relived to find that the water had not raised much and compared to my rain soaked chill, the swamp water was still deliciously warm.

"Chao monkeys, gracias. Adios."

A grateful survivor I waded off into the day. From the start I still needed to be sure off my way, straying off into the trackless wild continued to threaten if I allowed even a little confused wandering. Again I sighted my way along tall trees to maintain a steady line of direction while weaving my way around the jungle brush. Here too I maintained the Heart connection for guidance; Heart still had on that silly grin and carried the treasure of the meditation of small-self transcended in natural 'Oneness'. In a while my wading brought me to firm land higher than the rest of the swamp, I cannot exactly call it dry land; the long-hard rain remained.

Soon after I came to what I hoped was the same stream I foolishly followed in. By then I had fairly clear ideas as to directions and where camp was, none-the-less I was immensely relieved to find the stream again but this time my wanderings had brought me to the other side of the flow. I followed it in forest that grew free of undergrowth and the way came to be relatively easy going. At one point my inner voice cut in and reminded me that I would need to cross the stream to make my way back to camp. Body was not pleased with the idea (the Buddha likened our thoughts to a village of voices). Even though I was already rain and swamp soaked the idea of swimming to make my crossing was non-appealing.

"For one thing", body whined, "these smaller canals can be the habitat of the electric eel".

Of course my chances of getting zapped were about one in a zillion and the eels stay mostly out in main river rapids but such are the ways of phobias. So I continued following the stream until I came to where two trees entwined over the flow creating a rain-slicked bridge for the climbing. My heart grinned its approval and again the adventure rating went up a few points. When I slid down the trunk on the other side of the deliciously challenging climb the look on my face mirrored the all night grin-from-within and off I strode through the non-stop rain.

Soon after, blessed be, through the trees I saw the light of an opening and came to the longed for river. I recognized the area from having paddled by it a few times in our dugout canoe. In the mountains of Montana, I used to guide with an old cowboy from the Cree tribe. He delighted in scaring the dudes in our care by telling them that he had never been lost in his life; confused for three or four days at a time but never lost.

Following the river was a little harder as the brush grows dense along its light filled edges but quickly thereafter I saw camp some 100 meters away in the river's bend. My shouts and huzzahs went unanswered so my arrival came unannounced. The first to see me back in camp was the old shaman traveling with us. He gave me a sweet and knowing smile, asked if I was all right and then quietly slipped out of the way. I saw that as a wise move when I turned my travel companions. My greeting from them came as a sharp voiced asking where I had been and before I could fully answer came the accusing statement that they had been worried. I agreed and told them I was sorry for having put them through that. That did nothing to relieve the hard looks I was getting from the one woman who was talking, the other was so furious that she wouldn't even look at me and very pointedly kept her back turned. The one man with them kept his silence, perhaps wisely, though I would have really appreciated some support if not warmth.

At that moment neither warmth nor care was forth coming from my Gringo travel companions as I stood there soaked to hypothermia, scratched, bitten, tired, hungry and thirsty. Perhaps I looked too happy to elicit much sympathy. I stood in the pouring rain and the mosquitoes debating if I should just go away but what I really needed was to get out of my wet clothes and into my blanket. The dry tent with the displeased was the only place I could do that and I realized that my testing wasn't over yet.

"OK Alan, now face the wilderness of human relationships. Regardless of what is coming at you how far is it to your own center, will you maintain or do you merely react?"

Thinking that I had been happier in the tree with the monkeys I forced myself into the tent and out of my wet clothes to shiver in my blanket. Then to try again with the women I apologized for their worry but they were not to be mollified and this only brought another tirade against me from the one that was talking. Her main point against me was that I failed to be responsible for them by allowing myself to get in a position where I could lose my way.

"Humm, bad little servant, eh?"

Common to mindless tourism is the idea that people in service are bought for the money and thus lower in status, no longer fellow humans. Naturally I rebel against this and take care that none of the native people working with us are subjected to degrading treatment. Now I had the feeling that my suffering and danger was not important; they worried not for me, rather they were worried that they would have to worry and that they wouldn't be taken care of. In truth it was the native guides who were caring for these people; their lives did not depend on me. This journey was a freebie anyway, a give-away I wasn't profiting from. I had not been bought and here, I thought, are my thanks. But this line of thinking was not going to help my relating to these people.

Then my friends, the native guides, who had been out looking for me returned. All of the people that I work with, through out the Andes and Amazon, are like family and it showed in their joy at seeing me.

"Gracias a Dios you are here. Are you all right? What happened? Would you like something hot to drink? I'm so glad to see you!"

One of the great treasures natural to many South American Latinos is their genuine warmth and caring, especially among the natural country people. At times in North America I am saddened and a little lonely by our separateness. When I explained to the Peruvians how I could not find the trail they agreed knowingly. The night before the old shaman had said that I had been caught by one of the forest gnomes, a trickster spirit that makes trails disappear and leads the confused into the woods. The leader of the guides confessed to three times having to spend nights in trees when he was unable to relocate trails that should have been easy find. I was so grateful for these dear men who not only had no need to make me feel the fool but they actually understood and included me as one in their experiences of the brotherhood of bushmen.

Greatly heartened I was able to continue to try to relate with my fellow gringos. The woman with her back to me was a real case. She was still angry from the day before when we had visited a nearby native village. A few times in her exuberance I needed to give her pointers on how not to discomfort the quiet people there. This is very much my responsibility in creating these situations of cross culture contact. Honestly, I had made conscious effort to be gentle and keep things light but I was not to be forgiven. I pleaded with her back to tell me what was going on and she angrily told me she had decided I would have been rough on any one of them if they had gotten lost. Now it is true that I take my turns at being a gnarly little ass but her pre-judgment was not my truth. Six years in Northern Rocky Mountain Search and Rescue had given me an intimate knowledge of the suffering of the lost and a knowing of their physical needs. It is normally not in me to be cruel to those I see already hurting. However, so I was to be judged and ostracized by their anger. My testing continued and the night in the tree had been the easier part.

What I chose then was to find those places, where in truth, I could agree with the women's thoughts and make an effort not to waste time in most likely fruitless defense. I have to admit that there was also a voice within me, that I was able to quell, recommending that I tell these women where to stuff it and be rid of them as soon as possible. Sadly I apologized to the back-turned woman, I was sorry if I had been too rough in correcting her and I made an honest promise to try to be extra careful with her in the future (walking on egg shells comes to mind). And yes, I agreed, with the other woman that I need to take extra care not to risk my fulfillment of responsibilities. Our travelers need not worry about suffering similar mis-adventures; native guides always accompany them into the forest. There ensued a semi-mollified silence where I was sad and lonely in the company of my fellow Northerners. I have no doubt of the genuine spiritual life of those good people but at a moment of pressure compassion was not to be their guiding virtue. Nature's child had returned triumphant from the questing tree to find his companions willing to try shaking his hold on that high place.

We needed to break camp so the movement broke the stalemate, each in our personal pains. The man with us had been suffering from a strange fever so I realized that he was a bit out of it. As he needed to get up to pack he gave me a silent hug and smile, warm flooding for a moment my saddened heart. Then later the woman willing to talk said she was glad I was back. I could see that the women were hurting in their own ways and this was how they expressed it. So I sigh and do my best even if not good enough.

From the Latino guides, my peers back at the lodge and in town the grins at my getting lost continued for the next couple days as my friends had fun spreading the story. Loving teasing I can handle and know it as a form of caring. From my cowboy days I know this as a sign of being included and I happily shared the laughs even if a bit embarrassed. One of the first noticeable effects of the night's testing came from Peruvians in tow n. I am obviously a gringo but some six times the next day people in town asked if I am a Peruvian national, confused by a feeling of familiarity even if I look different. Actually this has been an often-repeated experience; at the passing of a variety of initiations regularly I have seen the native peoples open up with various forms of recognition.

A few nights ago I returned for a couple of months in North America. Here I seek to maintain and share the connection of the monkey tree initiation. Here the people can be much more complicated and our hurting hearts cold and separated, myself included but I'm building a door though my walls of protection to invite the loving folk in. There was something vast and profound in that feeling and knowing of being nature's child when the quest brought me into agreement with the Amazon forest. I will now seek such an agreement socially. I enjoy walking around with one of the caiman teeth in my pocket; I reach in sometimes to touch it and feel not so all alone.