Pablo Amaringo’s Ayahuasca Vision
Since nothing is so secret or hidden that it cannot be revealed, everything depends on the discovery of those things which manifest the hidden…He who wishes to explore Nature must tread her books with his feet. — Paracelsus
One concept that underlies all work with plants is that Nature herself will tell you what a plant is used for. And Nature’s well-stocked medicine cabinet is right in front of you every day. Shamans distinguish the spiritual powers and qualities of plants in many ways: by the colors of their flowers, their perfumes, the shape and form of their leaves, where they are growing and in what ways, the moods they evoke, and the wider geographical, cultural, or mythological landscapes they occupy.
Although such considerations do not play a role in modern Western medicine (which does not believe in these spiritual powers at all), it was not long ago that we, too, had an understanding that Nature is alive and talks to us in these ways. The 16th Century alchemist and philosopher Aureolus Phillippus Theophrastus Bombast—better known as Paracelsus—introduced this notion in his Doctrine of Signatures treatise, which proposed that the Creator has placed his seal on plants to indicate their medicinal uses. This was not just idle speculation on the part of Paracelsus; Nature itself taught him the truth of it…
In the “book of Nature,” Paracelsus noted how the qualities of plants so often reflect their appearance—that the seeds of skullcap, for example, resemble small skulls and, it transpires, are effective at curing headache…
Underlying Paracelsus’s treatise was the premise that Nature is itself a living organism that must be considered an expression of the “One Life” and that human and universe are the same in their essential nature. This idea was echoed (some would say proved) by Dr. James Lovelock, 500 years after Paracelsus, in his Gaia hypothesis on the unity of life. Lovelock shows that the Earth maintains relatively constant conditions in temperature and atmosphere to a degree that defies rational observations and predictive measurements of what “should” happen. It is, rather, as if the Earth is a living organism that purposefully takes care of itself, with human beings as part of that process. “We are, through our intelligence and communication, the nervous system of the planet,”” he wrote. “Through us, Gaia has seen herself from space, and begins to know her place in the Universe. We should be the heart and mind of the Earth, not its malady…Most of all, we should remember that we are part of it, and it is indeed our home.”
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Shamanic healing with plants is hardly ever—and certainly never solely—about administering medicine in a form that a Western doctor might understand the term…The aim of a plant shaman, in fact, is often not even to cure a condition at all, but to remove a spiritual cause by restoring in the patient a sense of balance, harmony, and reconnection to the sacred and the Earth…The plant is an intermediary in this, playing the role of doctor, counselor, confessor, therapist, or friend—whatever the patient or the shaman needs it to be, in fact, in order for balance to be restored.
How is it possible that plants can affect human beings, situations, circumstances, and life energies —remotely, as it were? That is, without being used as a form of curative for a specific medical problem, but more as a harmonizer, magical attractant, or a conduit for spirit, energy, or luck?
Let’s ask Cleve Backster, a scientist working in the unlikely field of lie detection and interrogation techniques, whose job was to teach policemen and security agents how to use polygraph equipment and interpret results. Cleve Backster’s work is recounted in detail in one of the classic books on the plant world, The Secret Life of Plants, by Peter Tompkins and Christopher Bird (New York, HarperCollins, 1973).
Backster decided one day to attach the electrodes of a lie detector to the leaf of a dracaena plant to see if the device was sensitive enough to pick up reactions from a nonhuman subject. Probably not, he mused, but there might be some reaction if he burned the leaf to which the electrodes were attached. The second he thought this—and before he had even picked up a match—there was a dramatic peak in the tracing pattern on the polygraph chart, a trace signature that Backster would eventually come to recognize as fear.
Intrigued by this, Backster continued his research, testing almost 30 different plants in the same way: by attaching electrodes to them and then thinking of some action he might take toward the plant. The results were always the same. It was significant that the plants reacted before any action was taken, leading Backster to conclude that not only are plants as sensitive as humans (or more so), but they are also able to read emotions and intentions, because there is a form of psychic connection, or affinity, between plants and people.
As his work progressed, Backster realized that plants react not just to threats, but to presences or movements in their environment. He demonstrated to a group at Yale, for example, that the intended movement of a spider in the same room as a plant caused changes in the trace pattern of polygraph to which the plant was attached. The plant had a precognitive sense of the impending and was attuned to intention before the movement itself. “The spider’s intention was being picked up by the plant,” said Backster. “They [plants] seemed to be attuned to animal life.”
Backster’s other results show that plants have memory, emotions, and very humanlike reactions, as well as psychic abilities. In one of his experiments, six students randomly drew lots to see which of them would destroy one of two plants in a room. The person chosen would act in secret so that Backster and the other students would not know his identity. In fact, only the second plant would know who the student was because only it would witness the crime. After the plant had been destroyed, Backster attached a polygraph to the surviving plant and paraded his students one by one in front of it. The needle went off the scale when the student responsible appeared.
In a kinder experiment, Backster also demonstrated the love or empathy between a plant and its owner. One day he accidentally cut his finger and noticed that a plant being monitored was demonstrating a stress reaction of its own, as if it was experiencing Backster’s pain and shock at the sight of his blood. Using this perceived affinity as the basis for his experiment, Backster walked to a different building some blocks away and directed loving thoughts toward the plant. The polygraph recording showed a heightened trace as the plant picked up his intentions.
To see how far such thoughts could be transferred, Backster asked a friend to send love to her plants while she was 700 miles away, and he recorded their reactions. By using synchronized watches and a prearranged schedule, Backster was able to prove that not only did the plants respond to their owner’s thoughts at the moment she sent them, but they also felt her anxiety when her plane touched down at her destination. Even when the plants were locked in a lead container, the results were the same. Whatever created empathy between plant and human came from something outside the electromagnetic spectrum.
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The mysterious energy with which we communicate with plants is love and intention. These are the essence of the Universe. “Man can and does communicate with plant life,” said [another researcher, Alfred] Vogel. “Plants may be blind, deaf, and dumb in the human sense, but there is no doubt in my mind they are extremely sensitive…They feed into one’s own force field, which in turn feeds energy back to the plant.”
From Plant Spirit Shamanism, Chapter One, by Ross Heaven and Howard Charing, Destiny Books, 2006.
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