Flavio Santi Vargas
by Cristina Karolys
I was astonished when I heard that an Ecuadorian shaman lived in Vancouver for part of the year. How had he come to Canada and the West Coast, specifically? He was a big mystery to me. Moreover, my surprise grew when I knew he was healing people, working in communities, and uniting entire families.
Finally, we met. I felt a strange and intense familiarity. A unique candour is how you feel when encountering a brother in the middle of a lonely path. When we were introduced, embraced, and started talking, I realized that what connected us was not only a country of origin but a more vital root, the forests. It turns out that we share a common goal: the protection of native forests in Ecuador. In other words, I am connected to him in past, present, and future.
I grew up in a humid subtropical forest. In the heart of Santo Domingo de los Tsáchilas, where my grandfather bought a farm in the 1950s. He cared for and protected that area. He raised horses and had cattle, poultry, and other domestic species. He respected and loved all animals, wild or not, and the space they lived in. He would sit at the foot of a majestic breadfruit tree to watch the horses enter the stable at the end of the afternoon. My grandfather cared for them, placing them safe from the matacaballo, a red-tailed boa constrictor, and the equis, a native and venomous snake that comes out at night.
When my grandfather died, the farm was divided into four. My dad planted palm hearts and macadamia trees. The roads were built, and part of the forest was cut down, but some hectares and all the mountain ridges were permanently preserved. Now we fight to protect important species, especially the Matisia Colorado, a native timber tree of this region, as indiscriminate logging threatens to wipe out all the hills, even within our property. Santo Domingo de los Tsáchilas is a devastated area, and the remaining animals in the vicinity have found shelter on "our" dense and intact islands. As a family, we fight to protect what remains of the flora and fauna in this region.
I spent my childhood on this farm. The three months of vacation were the happiest, full of adventures sheltered by the fierce green mantle of the jungle. When I returned to the city, I felt sadness, silence, and loneliness in the house! I was enclosed within its walls, a prisoner in this "concrete jungle," as the song says. The separation was strict and tremendous.
When I think of Flavio Santi and his uprooting and living away from his land, I know this interview comes with an extensive history and probably a high dose of pain. But Santi smiles. He always smiles, and that gesture floods everything with infinite possibility.
I was eager to recreate the following information, so I had to merge his learned Spanish with my orthodox one. I hope to preserve the charm of his words, their meaning, his poetic way of describing, and the fidelity of his narration, which I have divided into three parts.
Santi welcomes me at his home in Vancouver.
"When you grow among the stone, the water, the plant, the tree, the vine, the fruits and the flowers, then you understand that everything is medicine."
There are curious pieces throughout the property.
"I was a butcher, a woodcutter boy, a forest gardener kid, the one who knows about plants. Today I am still that gardener child, the one who protects the forest. I'm not a shaman."
"My destiny is where the sun shouts from. My grandparents came and left me halfway, now I am going back in. I am from the sun."
This brave feline looks at us while we talk.
"The earth is indivisible, unattachable, inalienable, in perpetuity."
Flavio wears his ornaments with pride.
The International Airport of the Spirits
"The human being and the plant are one. The world of globalization and its scientific part is what's separated. Achieving this level of understanding has taken me years—forty years of taking ayahuasca and living in a community. Since childhood, we have learned the secret of the jungle, to be humble, and to grow alongside nature. You understand that everything is medicine when you grow among the rocks, water, plants, trees, vines, fruits, and flowers".
Santi invites me to drink guayusa; he puts it to a boil. "When I carried the message from the jungle to the north, I always said: the jungle for us is a temple. Within the temple, there are mountains, waterfalls, and lagoons that make up The International Airport of the Spirits. We believe that this natural temple is our Church and our way of life, our spiritual food. In that world, we grew up."
Why did you decide to leave Ecuador?
After a deep sigh, he starts talking, "I left the world of plants in Ecuador for the northern world because we were very radical. We didn't want anyone to enter our territory. I'm discussing the San Jacinto Commune, the Quechua Territory of Pastaza, and San Virgilio. Each clan had 100,000 hectares or more. Whoever has less is nobody; without territory, one is not indigenous. Our existence depends on the forest; it is our origin, our root," Santi adds.
"My grandfather had four wives and forty-eight children. Out of the forty-eight children, we are now seven hundred Santis. The missionaries gave the name of the Santi family from the Bobonasa River. We are from the Ayui yú clan, which means spirit of palm, spirit of chonta. And from the Wuambyza tribe on the Wasaga River, now in Peru. Before, there was no Peru; there was no Ecuador either. We were a nomadic tribe from the Peruvian jungle to the Mía Sal territory. My grandfather's origin is Wuambyza, from Peru." He says that his grandfather distributed salt. He was called Cachiruna Samu, a salt man or a human of salt. The guayusa comes to a boil; Santi pauses and sighs. In our house, there are curious pieces in every corner.
"Suddenly, we were violated in territory, culture, and language. The religious invasion of colonization and its way of thinking changed everything for us. The agrarian reform came, dictating that you had to work every 50 hectares, or else you were not the land owner. They invaded us; the priests were the first liars who betrayed the Indians. Not only did they take our territory, but they also betrayed us by changing our names, our cities, and even our dogs. It's beautiful when they name a dog or an animal because that is our origin. Naming animals, mountains, the sun, or the moon, feminine or masculine, but it didn't happen that way. We have had 120 years in Pastaza of this social impact. Other indigenous people have 60 or 70 years of massacre, on the coastal part, for example. We have had 120 years of massacre. Our cultural principles have been weakening since then."
He says that when the colonizers entered their territory, they were hated. Flavio and his community had to prove to the country that they were intelligent. "They see the jungle as gold—green gold, black gold, yellow gold. For the white man, and is money, stone is money, everything is money," he expresses. They call us poor Indians, but we are not poor; we are rich in language, culture, and knowledge. Rich in philosophy and medicine."
"Our natural pharmacy is the forest." He recounts that he never went to the pharmacy during the pandemic, barely taking a pill to lower his temperature, but didn't need more. "If we value our wealth, we are not poor. Those who live in the city are poor, living in matchboxes, and not breathing fresh air. They live in a prison. We are free. We talk to insects, frogs, butterflies, and hummingbirds. If we want a pool, we go to a waterfall and bathe freely; our minds are free. There are no borders because animals have no borders."
I feel Flavio's deep frustration. He narrates how the world of globalization has affected his cultural identity, nullifying their teachings. "When I was a child, my dad took us fishing; at three in the morning, we drank guayusa. Singing the queen, we talked about our values. Sumak Kawsay and Sumac Alpa. Life without evil in the forest. Sumak Sacha is a living jungle, pure jungle."
I think about the beauty of Quechua (or Qhueswa), which originates primarily from the Andean region of Peru, Ecuador, Bolivia, and Colombia. This language has a rich history and is critical in preserving indigenous communities' identity and cultural and linguistic heritage. I'm adding a link to an English-Quechua translator and a glossary of terminology from the shamanic and ceremonial traditions of the Inca medicine lineage for those interested in delving deeper into this topic.
We let the steaming guayusa continue to boil. While wondering about the owner of this house, the little cat takes another turn around my legs. Flavio resumes his narrative. "When they call us poor, we don't feel bad. These are pendejos, as someone would say. They are ignorant of the magic of the jungle, the magic of life, that understanding of the origin of life. They don't know how to respect birds. To catch a fledgling, we walk for a month, apologize, and perform a ritual. They call us predators; who are the predators? My God! Who calls us that? Military, police, settlers who shoot and kill for the sake of killing. We kill for medicine, hunt for medicine. We cure epilepsy, sacrifice with reason and knowledge."
He mentions that the Ministry of the Environment created a law that does not recognize the guardians of the forest, which is the world's lung. He emphasizes that the natives have always taken care of the jungle. "Land is not meant to be sold or bought; land is meant to be protected; minerals should be protected. We have lived like this for a million years before. Now, they sell everything that breathes, even the flowing water."
He explains that everything on the planet is connected. "The deer from our land connects with the deer in Canada. They send spiritual telegrams." He asserts that the modern system and governments want to destroy this world. "The International Airport of the Spirits, the waterfall, the lagoon, the forest. They are going to plunder our mountain and extract minerals; they destroy everything. The food is no longer the same; everything changes. For this reason, my grandparents and my mom are shamans [to care for the land]."
He recounts that his grandfather used to say, "When you go to the city, you will eat vaccinated meat, vaccinated chicken, vaccinated fish, and you will get sick." Then came the Shell company, Arco, and Tripetrol. And then others from China, Canada, and the United States. That's when Flavio left his territory.
He goes for the guayusa and then continues. "My grandparents formed me. One of them used to smoke tobacco, so he chose me. 'You are going to travel to the world,' he said. I was five years old. At nine, I was already prepared. I was a leader from the age of fifteen. I led the wood parties for all the grandmas and organized hunting and fishing in the big river. The first catch was given to older people so they could retire and rest. I was a butcher, a wood boy, a forest gardener, the one who knew about plants. I was a sweeper, a botanist, everything. Being a leader is that in the community. I was doing collective work, digging ditches. I was a leader for ten years. I lived in a world so rich in family!"
Then his tone changes, "While I was living in that world, the government was planning to exploit oil, and then they were studying where they would extract gold and uranium. We were not prepared. Neither my grandfather nor any of his 48 children, nor his four wives, none were lawyers. No one wrote; we didn't even know how to read. We were the first to learn the Spanish language to communicate with this wild world. It's such a shame that Spanish arrived and damaged our minds, changed our language! It's such a shame that the church arrived and changed our names, and it's such a shame that strangers arrived to stab us in the back; they betrayed us."
We take a sip from our cups; I need it at this point in the narrative. He reiterates that "when this was happening, we were radicals. We didn't want to know about foreigners, gringos, or city people. We were autonomous. First, we had medicine. Second, we had food, a river with fish, and a forest with animals. But when the company arrived and bought the conscience of a leader, it fell apart. The government, the company, and the army divided our indigenous families and stole the oil. They filled their heads with beer and alcohol and told them: look, if you continue like this, you won't be able to educate your children, and other conditions, and out of necessity, the leaders sold out."
"Neither my father nor I committed ourselves to anyone because we have principles. And if I had sold my soul, I wouldn't be drinking tobacco, guayusa, or ayahuasca anymore because it would be hypocritical to go around lying to the world that we are medicine. It would be a hypocritical, foolish Indian. No, I wouldn't sell myself on one side and make money on the other! My destiny is where the sun shouts. My grandparents came and left me halfway; now I am coming back. I am of the sun."
His voice breaks, and although he doesn't know it, I break inside.
"I came here to tell the world that what you consume in the North is destroying the jungle, killing peoples. I felt terrible when the Arco Company from the United States destroyed a forest and a river full of fish. I asked when they were going to restore that river as it was. When? Never! This was from 1997 to 2000. They show me some papers of compensation... if it were in my language, in Quechua, I would write on a little leaf: murderers, thieves, looters," he emphasizes.
We pause for a moment... silence... a little guayusa. Then, he takes another sip and recounts that he came to the north when the army expelled them from his grandfather's territory. "I was 25 years old when they told me I had to leave the community because they were going to kill me. Because I am the agitator, the instigator, the terrorist, the motivator of activism, the guerrilla. I left my community and spent 25 years renting housing. Who will return the theft of oil, gold, and my rent? Who will return all these?"
Flavio narrates how he confronted the military in his youth. "Be very careful because if I live for 100 years, you will have problems with me for 100 years," he told them. Then, the army prohibited him from entering his territory, and the national government stripped him of all his rights. "I cried for 30 years," he laments.
After another pause, his face lights up a little. He told me that he started promoting tourism in Lagartococha, Tena. It was sad that he no longer had a place to take tourists in his territory because the oil company had destroyed his river. "Before, I took them to see the magical stone inside the International Airport of the Spirits, where we taught foreign people the secret of the jungle. They would say, wow, this is beautiful; I like the magic of the jungle."
The conversation, at this point, continues in a different tone. We sip our hot drink to dull the bitter taste of sorrow and anger. Santi continues to narrate, "So, I started envisioning another venture. Reclaiming the land, in other words, buying back sacred sites. We bought the first estate. A magical lagoon where from 1985 to 1992, we did tourism and raised money to buy two more estates. A beautiful lagoon, full of magic. We now have four lagoons, one for anacondas, another for Juri juris (IAS), one for fishing, and one for swimming. All of them are located in Pastaza, Mera, Cumandá."
Flavio continued working in tourism and crafting artisanal textiles. He played his quena and used guayusa and tobacco. He travelled to the United States on a tourist visa for nineteen years. He respected American laws and mentioned staying for five or six months in the north and then returning to Ecuador for ten years.
At this point, my astonishment is immense. How could someone who left the forest, without English, without experience in the city, and without money not only survive but also fundraise in a foreign and complex country like the United States?
"In those 19 years, I bought 2,700 hectares of land. Because I worked like this, some friends helped me find funds and buy two more estates. Now I need the top part of the hill. So nice!
Now I have more questions than answers. What work does he do in the north?
In Ecuador, he began to promote tours of the acquired properties. "Tourists came in, I charged per person... and boom! We bought another tract of land. So, with tourism itself, rotationally, we kept buying. It wasn't easy to bring people; we had to promote hard. Environmentalists also came, and two worlds struggled. Taxis would drop us off and not come back for us. We paid, but buses didn't want to take us with tourists." Racism in Ecuador has always been intense against indigenous minorities.
Now, he speaks of himself in the third person, "Flavio Santi was attacked in different ways when he fought against the oil issue and worked in tourism. My community was number one in indigenous architecture. However, they said I was poor because I lived in a small hut. They didn't know that all our resources went into the land. We didn't ask for funds for indigenous peoples because all the leaders had already sold out to the companies. I'm talking about tenacious resistance." They even claimed he was involved in the drug trade and that he had the police, intelligence, and the army spying on him.
"We took ayahuasca and saw [in a vision] how they were among us asking questions. Then, when all this happened in 1992, they gave me a cheque for twenty thousand dollars [which he didn't accept]. In that year, that was a fortune!" He mentions that some members of his family even sold out to oil companies for a small amount of money and handed over their lands.
"While I was fighting, I was doing tourism. So, three soldiers sent a conscript to observe what I was teaching the foreigners. -Yes, let him come-, I said. -But he has to carry my backpack-. That conscript learned about the culture with us. He loved it and stayed to do tourism in Tena. -I like this, he said.
"I recovered 300 hectares; I'm missing the 10% [the uphill]. I celebrated by throwing a party for the lands we bought for tourism. And this feeling came to me. Why do I have to repurchase my grandparents' land? It's like I had to repurchase my own house. And I cried. It's stupid, and I cried. I felt happy and then sad. Today, I feel proud to be an Indian, and no one can buy me. There's a maturity in my philosophical principle that land is not bought, not sold; land is protected."
Now it's me who sets the pot to boil more guayusa. It's mid-November, and it's cold in Canada, especially for two Ecuadorians. Winter is approaching. This house is made of wood and has its years. The warmth escapes through its numerous cracks.
"When I came to the United States, they thought I was coming to find a woman. They wanted to set a trap for me. I took ayahuasca with the most important people at the highest level. With Google, NASA, CNN, alien scientific institutes, elites, and representatives of NGOs. They know what I've said. They wanted me to divorce my wife and establish a shamanism school in North America. They know it works because they tested me. In 2011, they took me to Kauai. They asked me if a tsunami would happen due to what happened in Japan. I told them there wouldn't be because I saw it in an ayahuasca vision. This knowledge comes from 16,000 years ago, it's not mine, it's from my ancestors."
And there was no tsunami in Hawaii or Kauai. I understand how he has made his way here, and my bewilderment intensifies. There is movement in the house. A couple of people pass by without interrupting our conversation. I smile at them and continue recording. Then, I ask Santi about his goals.
"After recovering more land, we will create a global title with all the deeds we have in Ecuador and burn them. We will say that we are not negotiating the land. The land is indivisible, unseizable, inalienable, and in perpetuity. I will be old, I will die, but this remains for my family. We will leave a place called a spiritual rehabilitation center, where we practice our cultural teachings, a sacred place," for which he has established an NGO. He mentions creating an environmental education program to sow awareness in the new generations. "We will create an ethnobotanical park to guide the destiny of global environmental education. Those 500 hectares will be in the world's spotlight, called the 'Ethnobotanical Park of the Masanga Community, Wuayusa Runa".
"We will open the 'Wanduk Yacháy Knowledge School,' named after an essential plant. There will be faculties of Anthropology, Geology, Botany, Applied Sciences, and Mathematics classes, all focused on caring for and protecting the world. I need support from both indigenous and non-indigenous communities. This is how we will create this program."
Flavio lists several projects, including "The Eternal Forest of Children," where ancestral games will be taught to the youth. "We will create cultural instruments and provide training in indigenous sports, dance, and music workshops. I am ready to unite the eagle, the condor, and any spirit of the world. I am ready; this school will be the International Airport of Spirits."
Santi is proud of his achievements and confident in achieving what he has set out to do. I asked if I could take a photo of him. Enthusiastically, he dresses in yellow and adorns himself, handsome, with the ornaments of his land.
"Although I am 54, I am still preparing to be a highly prestigious teacher. I am a public indigenous healer from the jungle with ancestral messages. I am already public. I am protected."
He emphasizes that he is open to conversations with "the bad and the good, as long as they do not separate families and are not for destroying nature. as long as they are for peace and universal love."
"Flavio Rafael Santi and the Masanga community are giving messages and knowledge from our clan: tobacco, guayusa, ayahuasca, guandú. Not only that, but the wisdom itself of our origins. We are not adopting anything. It originates from the Ecuadorian Amazon, Wuambisa, Wuasaga River, Mía Sal, through Flavio for the world."
Flavio invites everyone to "become members of this NGO. Later, we will unite with Mexico, Peru, Colombia, and Brazil. I want to know what these organizations are doing in South America. I want to visit Brazil and see what is happening with the recovered areas for indigenous peoples. After rescuing this 10%, in 2024, we can start reclaiming land in Brazil, Colombia, and Mexico."
"And we will have a cultural exchange. We will bring the best healers from the South to the North. I work with families, healing the land and cleaning houses. I discover where the work is needed. With ayahuasca, everything is seen; a portal opens. I look for evil; I see exactly where it is. That is my advantage."
"Here in the North, universities, friends, and an international community from Whitehorse, on the border with Alaska, from Yukon to the south of Vancouver, have all embraced me. I invite you to come with me to The Sunshine Coast for a celebration in my honour for bringing medicine and unifying the separated family; I have united it. They will have a potlatch," [which is a highly significant ceremony of Canada's First Nations].
At this point in the interview, my growing admiration, respect, and amazement for Flavio instantly convinces me to witness such a prestigious event. We will head there this Friday.
I leave you this documentary to help you better understand Ecuador's actual political situation with China and the struggles to defend our natural resources against the exploitation of our country's mineral resources.
The communal house in Sunshine Coast
The struggle of the people in the North is the same as those in the South, the preservation of forests and natural resources.
David and Flavio taking tobacco
The guayusa, tobacco, and Ayahuasca combined, transform into a powerful medicine.
"The man tells me, I'm not downstream, I'm underwater, at the harbour... He says he has a knife stuck in his back, and he's not alone, there are two more bodies. Then he gave me the name of the one who had killed them."
Flavio and me with some of our gifts
David, the Potlatch Ceremony, and Flavio's work
We set out early in the morning towards the Sunshine Coast. Flavio, David Villanueva, and I travel in a double-cab pickup truck. David is Salvadoran Nahuatl, a testament to steadfast resistance.
Villanueva left his country in the 1980s. He is a survivor of what he describes as a genocide that devastated the majority of his community members. His mother, a courageous indigenous woman, married his father, a mestizo, at 14. She endured continuous racism throughout her life. In El Salvador, "there is no pride in being indigenous after the Massacre of 1932 when everything changed," David explains. He tells me that his mother was even sold. "My mom was sold at the age of 10 or 11... by her mother... to a lady who had a farm with a big house. Many indigenous people were working there. They treated her like that, not the best... But my mom was extreme, like me, with much affection, much love, and much sadness in her heart", he tells me in his Salvadoran Spanish.
We continue on the road, it is early, and there is hardly any traffic. We will arrive at the port soon. David continues talking about his mother when his father took her from the village to the city of El Salvador to live with his family. But, even this mestizo nucleus was racist and sexist. They did not accept this indigenous woman, and this union was not welcome in the home. Sometime later, an uncle found them living under mango trees or wherever they could find shelter in the city. Submerged in poverty, after David's gestation and birth, they were finally admitted to the paternal home, but in his words, "they didn't treat her the best."
"So, our family is a matter of resistance and honour, sadness but strength. That strength is our ancestors who guide us. That gives me confidence that I can survive everything. It is the strength of my mom," he says.
When the armed conflict began in El Salvador in the 1980s and his uncles ended up imprisoned and tortured in jail, they decided to leave for Mexico. And then, when the same persecution of his family reached Mexico, they ventured to Canada. Finally, they all ended up in Montreal.
Adapting to life in Quebec took work. Without language, almost no money, and with a dynamic of intra-family violence, his parents broke up a few months later. David decided to leave for British Columbia. Once again, he found himself on a new path with a new language, English. Then life took other turns, leading him to Vancouver and Victoria, where he began to pray after a gradual and powerful spiritual awakening. Then, he connected with people from other indigenous communities in this province. In the Winter Dance ceremony in the north, he met the person who is now his wife, a Secwepemc woman from the First Nations of Kamloops. David is a hunter in the community that adopted him 19 years ago. Although it may seem extraordinary, he continues to fight for the defence of territory and the protection of water sources, forests, and other natural resources in Canadian lands.
We load onto the ferry to the Sunshine Coast, which begins crossing the Salish Sea. We accompany our conversation with a coffee. We're now talking about our dreams of the night before and their meaning. We talk about past visions, Latin America, Ecuador, and El Salvador, indigenous groups in various places worldwide and how much they resemble each other. They are the same; they both repeat.
David, with his three languages, Spanish, English, French, and some dialects, including Nahuatl, serves as Flavio's translator. I am moved by how there is an innate understanding between the two. They share an origin, a language, a history, a goal, and a shared vision. Their struggle is together, and their strength multiplies when they unite. Flavio and David say that in the north, the history of our southern countries is repeated. "The same thing happens, darkness against light," they affirm.
In my mind, I struggle between the left and right hemispheres, intuition against reason, heart against brain, and opening to new experiences against structure. What I have learned in a rational system fights against a quiet voice that says that the universe is infinite and, above all, unknown and that there is room for countless possibilities. Flavio says, "We should not doubt," and I want to know how he works. Go ahead, whispers the hunch.
We arrive at noon at the community house in Sunshine Coast. It is vast, two stories tall, with several bedrooms. I am built entirely of endemic wood, with indigenous art on its walls, garden, roof, and floor. Timátino, the host, tells me I cannot take photos or use my cell phone. In a way, I feel grateful. As was once customary, I'd love to rest from technology and dedicate my attention entirely to living beings. They have opened their home to me, and I must be respectful. There are quite a few people and a tremendous commotion in the kitchen where countless dishes are being prepared. The colossal table denotes the immensity of the feast. Flavio's place occupies the central spot, and next to him, two areas are empty, one for David and one for me. I don't know what's going on since I've been with Flavio; things happen, paths open up, and people open up the same way, like flowers do.
Then, the clinking of glasses begins to call us individually to speak. The potlatch has started. Testimonies emerge, expressions of gratitude, some with tears, others with laughter, and many with both. Everyone testifies about the before and after of Flavio's arrival. There are some Canadian women, all elderly, seated at the table. Their presence is powerful, emitting an energy of calm and wisdom. Others refer to them as sisters. One recounts that when Flavio arrived, a prophecy was fulfilled, announcing that 'the man of the stones' would one day come to unite what was broken. Upon arrival, the first thing Santi did was to take out two black stones, one from a river in his homeland in the south and another from a river in northern Canada. Then hearts opened to receive his message and mend broken relationships.
'He has united what was broken,' they tell me.
I take the floor and introduce myself. Like Flavio, I'm Ecuadorian, and we share the same goal: the preservation of forests in vulnerable areas of our country. Additionally, I toast the fact that the majority of the Ecuadorian population, through a democratic vote, has chosen to leave Yasuní intact, avoiding oil extraction in one of the most biodiverse areas in the world. Everyone applauds, and another toast is made. We toast with guayusa, tea, or water.
There is everything at the feast. Turkey, chicken, pork, beef, salmon, fish, bread, rice, potatoes, sweet potatoes, salads, fruit, cheeses, and chocolate. They have brought the best delicacies, prepared the most delicious dishes, and dressed in their finest attire. Six men take care of serving the dishes and attending to the guests.
Before Flavio, there was pain, anger, and violence among us. With his arrival and leadership, dynamics began to change month by month. Anger and pride transformed into forgiveness, generosity, and dedication. Flavio brought power plants; with them, new things were born: relationships, projects, and even physical renovations. Bonds tightened and expanded. The community grew. 'I come to unite families. It's difficult to unite families with wars of ego, of competition.'
"Why do these plants, guayusa, tobacco, and Ayahuasca, combine?" I ask. Santi tells me that each has its spirit and that "combined, they transform into a powerful medicine. [You have to keep taking guayusa regularly while fasting.] It's necessary to prepare yourself. You have to detoxify the body to have awareness, to achieve visions, and to open portals to other dimensions."
We finish eating; the same six men clear the table. We all go out to the garden. It's time to share a bit of tobacco before the second part of the day: gift-giving. It's cold, quite cold. It's autumn; winter is coming soon. We inhale the liquid tobacco. The burning sensation reaches intensely to the nose, throat, and brain; I shed some tears. Tobacco is powerful. It has the quality of anchoring you in the here and now. We are focused, our consciousness awake, attentive, and open to offering and receiving the following experience.
Then, it's time for the liquid tobacco in the eyes. A couple of drops enter and burn as if they were fire, like a living flame. I scream in agony, but they calm me down immediately, making me press my eye sockets, moving them even while closed, contracting them so that tears circulate. After a minute, they ask me to open them and look at the sunset sun. I see lights, three stars, with tails, like comets. They rejoice to hear it. We all see different things. The stars are a direct sign of the union of heaven and earth, an omen that I am connected to.
On our faces, pain is drawn with dark brown tears flowing like a stream downward. The burning sensation passes subtly. I lie down on the grass. I rest for a few more minutes. I enter the house to look at the splendid paintings that decorate it. Each one tells a story. I managed to take a couple of photos in the permitted areas.
The arrangement in the house has changed. They have removed the vast table, clearing the central area. There is an altar filled with handmade objects, beautiful wooden boxes, bundles of flowers, handmade fabric pouches, a spectacular blanket woven by the First Nations, a staff, and a paddle. The guests sit around the altar. This time, I am facing Flavio. He, David, and Montaña Blanca sit on chairs while we settle on the floor. David remains by Flavio's side.
Montaña Blanca is an old man. I am impressed by his height, his long hair, and the headdress on his head. I am moved by the kindness in his eyes and his weakening breath, which would indeed fade away completely a few days later, on a sad night.
Timátimo leads the ceremony. He takes one gift at a time and distributes it to each witness. There are fabulous pieces made with detail, consciousness, and care. I am given a candle wrapped in a handkerchief and a fabric bag with sage inside for my prayers. I feel welcomed once again. I have never witnessed an event like this. It's like a large and loving family gathering at Christmas but with handmade gifts crafted with dedication and passion throughout the year.
Timátimo takes a blanket and wraps Flavio in a hug. He laughs in gratitude, moved. Then, he receives the staff in the same manner, honoured. Emotive words flow, especially from Montaña Blanca. It is so touching.
Night falls. The gifts are finished, and hugs follow. I tell Montaña Blanca that it has been a privilege to meet him. I chat with some sisters. Their art is inspiring, and their way of life is honest, thoughtful, and altruistic. We part ways. Some people stay in the house.
Flavio, David, and I are directed to another property nearby. It is a hill with camping areas. Several trailers are parked in small clearings. I am surprised by how many people have come from different parts of British Columbia, Yukon, and Alberta. We will spend the night in one of the trucks with three compartments. These splendid hosts treat us with privilege.
An area for a fire and an immense tipi are set up nearby. We enter and sit around a campfire. People sing and tell stories amidst more testimonials. The night is clear, and the stars shine blue in the sky.
We retire early, tired. Flavio and David want to drink guayusa and tobacco at 3 a.m. They will begin preparing for the Spirit Plant Medicine conference, which is crucial for advocating forest protection values and the preservation of power plants. The scientific community will watch the presentations, products, and new therapeutic practices promoted at this significant event.
I retire to my comfortable room, where I try to organize my thoughts, but I am so tired that I fall asleep quickly, wearing a big smile.
I am awakened at six in the morning. It's time to leave, to take the ferry back to Vancouver. On the journey, I start again with the questions. "Is the intake of power plants fundamental in these therapies?" Santi argues that ayahuasca is "a strategy to work as a family." First, the ego, the pride, is eliminated. "Then, everyone's work is connected."
"How does the substance work for you?" I ask. "With ayahuasca, I discover where the work is needed. With ayahuasca, I see everything. A portal opens. I search for evil [and find it]. The advantage is that I take ayahuasca and see everything." Then he tells me how he became known in this community. "I studied regression and communication with spirits.
In Yukon, a man had been missing for eight days. The family asked Flavio to come and find him. The man was presumed dead, so he prepared for his search. He fasted and drank guayusa and tobacco. They closed all sources of light to reach absolute darkness. "They brought the man's photo; I took ayahuasca and called his spirit. He was singing, and within three seconds, he came. He took my necklace. His presence was cold and very scary.
-Why do you call me?
Your family is asking for you, I replied.
-You know that nobody dies, right? Look, I am a white wolf.
I saw him running towards the mountain transformed into the beast".
Flavio, in his vision, chased him briskly.
"The man tells me, I'm not downstream, I'm underwater, at the port. He transforms from a wolf into a man again. He says he has a knife stuck in his back and that he's not alone; there are two more bodies." Then he gave Flavio the name of who had killed them.
With this information, Santi led the rescue groups, went to the port he had described, and found the body, then the other two. After the autopsy, they determined that he had been stabbed in the back.
With this work, he gained the gratitude and trust of the Yukon community, which introduced him to the Sunshine Coast community. After his successful time on the Coast, his prestige spread throughout British Columbia to Vancouver.
Flavio defends power plants and opposes their categorization as psychedelics. He also opposes their recreational use and the synthesis of these plants to mass-produce them for commerce. He will bring this message to the conference, which some prominent therapists from the scientific community will attend. Flavio and David will translate and close the second meeting the day after Dr. Gabor Maté's presentation.
In the third part of this interview, we will exclusively discuss power plants, the Spirit Plant Medicine conference, and the last ceremony of the year before Flavio returns to Ecuador.
Here is a link to The Reality of Truth, an Oscar-winning documentary that explains how power plants work.
And here, Dr. Gabor Mate's Manifesting the Mind Inside the Psychedelic Experience.
I have arrived home, and again, I fall asleep with a big smile.
The communal house in Sunshine Coast
The struggle of the people in the North is the same as those in the South, the preservation of forests and natural resources.
David and Flavio taking tobacco
Spirit Plant Medicine, Psychodelics and Flavio's Position
Flavio Santi and David Villanueva are preparing for the conference at UBC. With just five days left until the worldwide gathering of thinkers, the scientific community, therapists, students, and those interested in alternative therapies with the use of synthetic psychedelics (such as Ketamine, LSD, MDMA, etc.) and natural psychedelics (such as Psilocybin, Cannabis, DMT, etc.), they have begun fasting. Here's a list of the alternative medicines under study.
Flavio Santi is scheduled to speak at the end of the day. His presentation is titled "Sacha Supay, Spirit of the Jungle. The Book of the Ancestors." David will serve as the translator. Both are nervous, as this will be an excellent opportunity to communicate their position on the use of Ayahuasca or Yagé outside of its original context, which they consider to be misuse.
Firstly, they oppose its decontextualization. This beverage is deeply rooted in traditions, myths, therapies, and rituals that are part of their cultural heritage. "It is the very spirit of the jungle, the magic of the origin of life, and as such, it must be respected," they argue. Ayahuasca should be consumed within a defined environment, with a guide prepared to accompany, care for, and interpret the visions that arise and to use them as therapeutic aids. The shaman is the designated and trained guide for this purpose.
Secondly, Santi objects to the plant's synthesis. He observes that extracting the active substance (DMT) alters its nature, the primary spirit of the vine. Furthermore, he refutes the mass use of this sacred plant. It should be consumed with a purpose, within a context, and not for recreational or superficial ends.
"They've already taken our black and yellow gold; now they're coming for the green. They're going to steal the plants and alter them. Then they'll create addictions and have legions of zombies. This is a prophecy." Santi argues that proper management of this plant cures addictions instead of causing them.
Thirdly, he disapproves of categorizing Yagé as a psychedelic, as he says that the moment it falls into this category, it even has legal repercussions for him and his community.
Now I understand why he's nervous. It will be challenging to speak about his sacred plant's misuse to a community already synthesizing and commercializing it. It's difficult to maintain good relations with the same open-minded community that has welcomed him in the North but uses his vine in therapies and ways he needs to be made aware of. At the same time, it shows a contradiction in his work, as Santi leads paid ceremonies that represent an economic income to sustain himself in Canada and support his project in Ecuador. It's a delicate work of diplomacy.
The conference is planned as the last of the second day of the meeting, following the presentation by renowned Dr. Gabor Maté, "Psychedelics: The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly." Maté, a retired physician, studies the links between trauma, addictions, and dysfunctional behaviours. He is the author of a bestseller and a therapeutic method (Compassionate Inquiry), which has been studied in the past three years by over 3,000 healthcare providers in 80 countries.
Maté admits that psychedelics offer a different perspective on life, helping people to confront and process their past traumas and overcome them. However, he also warns about the importance of taking precautions before consumption and ensuring that people with practice and knowledge supervise the experience. He gives testimony of some chronic cases whose treatment and rehabilitation have been possible thanks to this medicine. Still, he also speaks about the potential risks of Ayahuasca, especially for people with a history of mental health disorders or who are taking certain medications. He points out that the Ayahuasca experience can be intense and challenging and that it's not suitable for everyone.
Meanwhile, Flavio and David take their last guayusa and ingest liquid tobacco through their noses and eyes in silence, watching the last Sun of the afternoon. I arrive at UBC. There are stalls selling the most innovative products and services related to psychedelics. There is a wide variety of therapies, alternative medicines, ornaments from the world's first nations, and extraordinary musical instruments. Inside, the hall is full.
Flavio's name is announced as people eagerly await abundant information and the end of a busy day. Santi comes out and plays the quena. David, by his side, accompanies him. Then, they both invite the audience to listen to their intervention with an ancient song from the heart of the jungle. People gather.
Here are some videos of what their presentation was like. Judge for yourselves the impact of their words.
The days since my last encounter with Flavio feel distant. He remains in Ecuador, our tumultuous country on the brink of electing its next president. Ecuador, a country I love, is striving to reclaim its autonomy after being governed by criminal hordes who surrendered it to drug traffickers, sold its natural resources to China, and extended their nefarious tentacles into every corner of its institutions. It's like a venomous octopus, seeking to be eradicated by cutting off its limbs one by one and spewing its toxic and expansive black ink.
I am unaware of Flavio's political stance, but I trust that he will make the right decisions to protect his community and territory. Flavio is an extraordinary human being whom I had the pleasure of meeting and sharing fantastic experiences with and whom I can now call my friend.
When this extensive interview began, which consists of three parts and of which I am also a protagonist, I spoke of his training as a Shaman, his work in North America, and his goals and ideals as a leader of his people. Also, in part three, I mentioned Flavio's opposition to classifying ayahuasca as a psychedelic.
In my eagerness to narrate my experiences and conversations with him, I do not wish to idealize him, although I must acknowledge my admiration for him. While it is true that his goal is to reclaim and protect his forest, restore his culture, and strengthen it with other indigenous communities around the world (such as Canada, the United States, Mexico, and Hawaii), his interest is also to create and strengthen commercial ties with them. I don't consider this a negative aspect, absolutely not, because he must find a way to generate income, but I believe we must call things by their name. After all, humans live and depend on exchanges, such as cultural and spiritual exchanges for economic exchanges.
Regarding David, I learned that he spent some time in the desert in Jalisco, Mexico, visiting the territory of the Wixárika Nation, the land of peyote and wise and ancient men like Don Rafael Pizano. Don Rafael, as his close ones call him, is one of the last Marakames (medicine men) who has walked their archaic pilgrimage routes to sacred sites on foot. He has been invited this year to the Sacred Plants Conference in Vancouver titled, "The Role of Psychedelics on a Planet in Transition." Don Rafael represents his tribe in the Wirikuta Sacred Territory Preservation Project. When I met him in 2023, he seemed as wise as a tree. His skin is a dark and cracked bark. Silent, he looks around and smiles. He wears a striking hat typical of his tribe, resembling a tree's crown that crowns his trunk.
Coming back to David, he remains an activist, defending his congregation, studying power plants, and weaving ties between North American communities. We greet each other from time to time to keep in touch. He tells me about his adventures, and I share a little of mine.
A new encounter is coming soon; Flavio is about to return. He will knock on other doors, some of which will open. Commercial and friendship ties will be strengthened, always with respect, integrity, and a desire to serve humanity.
