The Medicine Man's Work

Chapter 19 of 25 -- Head Hunters of the Amazon

The Santiago

Up de Graff and Co. made their way to the junction of the Santiago and Marañon rivers. Then they saw some 200 Antipas canoes. And hundreds of natives in groups of families, some gossiping, some cooking, others having their evening meal, and others thinking of war. It was quite a bit different than the first time he saw this landscape, when they first paddled in and no one was in sight. It's like we always think, the whole world would be a paradise if no one else was around. But what would you do for a butler?

The fame of the expedition had spread among the people. So quite a few natives were waiting to trade with Up de Graff, offering fruit, vegetables, and other products for hand mirrors and striped shirts, for example. The explorers tried to drive it home that they didn't want to trade, having four canoes laden maybe five tons of stuff! But no one could be convinced.

They decided next morning to go round the whole beach and present the crew of each canoe with some merchandise to calm them down. Everyone seemed fine with that, but there was a stiffer problem, needing to organize a fleet to move cargo and canoemen up the Santiago and to guard against attack from a group called the Huambizas. They could pay out some axes, machetes, etc., as reward, but the explorers would need to be vigilant that they didn't simply get the goods and vanish.

Most of the Antipas melted away, leaving only a smaller group of their folks behind. And they were all due to be leaving soon. The explorers were having a hard time keeping everyone together, some pretending to fall sick to get out of the deal, etc. Up de Graff summed up his feelings on the folks, calling them "those treacherous and demoralized creatures who moaned and babbled between every half-dozen strokes of the paddle."

Some interesting things about Pitacunca, the medicine man, who used hayahuasca (its spelling in the book). This plant is how medicine men throw themselves into a trance whereby they can utter prophecies. That night Pitacunca was determined to go no further. He drank the drug and wailed out warnings about trading their labor for a shining axe. He prophesied, "Your homes are on fire and your families fleeing through the woods. The Huambizas have taken off half your wives into captivity..." It was a stern prophecy that made them think. In fact, panic broke out in the camp. (Up de Graff has nasty things to say about Pitacunca, "old fake," etc.) Note: If anyone out there has any ayahuasca, I wouldn't mind having some. I could give you a hammer or one of the cheaper models of axes for a decent supply.

But Pitacunca did some very interesting things, like sucking a patient's cheek and producing from his mouth an ant, a shell, a good-sized spider, a snail or small crab, then he'd vomit. He continued producing insects, dead or alive, a hat-full of them. And other strange things! I'd like to think medicine men like him are completely sincere, but who knows. There about has to be some performance art to it, making it a little more exciting, let's say, than "take two aspirin and blow your nose." I haven't had insects come out of my mouth one times in my life and I've occasionally been sick like everyone.

The explorers made the guys (temp employees) make them a shack that evening, then the next day a permanent shelter in which to cache part of their stores against their return. Next, Up de Graff made everyone return their axes and machetes, having failed to keep their contract of traveling with them. After those folks had gone, a couple hours later they checked their things to see if everything was in order. Well, half the axes and machetes and most of the poison were gone! And they never saw Pitacunca again. What do you suppose happened to him? It seriously was probably the ayahuasca. He could see the realms of glory, he knew they were going to screw him on axes!

Early in the morning they looked downstream and saw 55 Jivaro canoes headed in their direction.

Veronica's Magical World

I used to have an old friend, Veronica, who would take (partial) credit for it being a sunny day. “See what my prayers did?” she'd say, pointing happily around. The weather wasn’t her only spiritual talent; she saw herself as key to a lot of positive aspects of life. I thought, maybe yes, probably no. But what can you say, “Hey, great job!” I always wondered how she could think that way, but it was OK.

My problem, if you'd call it a problem, is I’m more "realistic," but it's my own realism; her outlook to her was also realistic. I never gave her much credit, but I could be wrong; everything I think isn't a fact. Maybe she was right. Because there’s all kinds of scientific ways to demonstrate that the world isn’t what it seems to be. Just get a microscope and look. I wouldn't mind thinking how Veronica thought, if people around me could stand it.

We got the first snow of the season. Minor, so far, and it’s still coming down. And I had to remark, “See what my prayers didn't do,” since I didn’t want it to snow. But maybe Veronica, now passed on, wherever she is — heaven — thought I wanted or needed snow. It’s interesting she didn’t think that in August when it was so hot, but instead waited till November when it’s not so rare.

Still, even if there’s nothing to it, that seems like a good way to think, if you can manage it. It's hyper-optimistic. If I could just think that every little thing is happening just for me, that’d be a happy world. I wouldn’t have to tell everyone, of course, like going around taking credit for it. Say a family was in a 10-car pileup on the interstate because of the snow, I’d hate to have them show up at my door with legal claims. So I’d try not to take all the credit. 

OK, let’s say I indeed have Veronica in heaven, still doing the same things she did in daily life, praying for sunny days and favors, then joyfully claiming the results as her own. I could let this blog be a plea to my other friends and loved ones who have passed to also pitch in. I could get up and think what I want, knowing they heard my thoughts. But if there is a one-to-one ratio on wanting and getting, I could just leave out the dead middleman and pray it myself.

What would be even better than passed-on advocates in heaven would be their actual presence along side me. Then every little thing I saw, I could credit one or another of them. I see a candle flicker, that’s Mom passing by. "Hi, Mom, how ya doin'?" Or I’m taking a bath and think, “No reason to waste water,” that has to be my Dad. I had a best friend who died around a year ago. I’d actually love him doing a few funny things in my life. Like giving me better blog ideas. In my opinion he was a genius.

Hmm, for some reason the sun just went down, sunk in a second! ... and it’s only 2:00 in the afternoon. It’s pitch dark and it was bright as noon five minutes ago. Never mind wondering what’s going on, excited scientists. It’s just Veronica telling me, I need more rest. Good night, one and all!

Share The Cocky Coin

Yea! The story of me being cast into poverty and deprived of property has a happy ending! All is restored, all is right in my cozy little world! Thanks to the very real power behind miracle graphics like this great one, "Share the Cocky Coin." The Cocky Coin struts into view, everyone looking, everyone's pointing, "He's the man. A dollar that knows his worth. Gives wealth and happiness. And never been known to fail."

My troubles started in a similar way, but with the blessing reversed into a curse, when I foolishly posted the "Share This Empty Wallet" graphic. At that time you could've called me a skeptic, a non-believer in the various Facebook posts people make. Share pictures of wads of money and you'll have money, all that. But as I found, to my regret, there's actually something real going on there. The Empty Wallet graphic wiped me out. I lost my house, my garage, and 99% of my possessions, quickly, just like that.

In poverty then, it's remarkable that I didn't think of immediately counteracting it with a money-making graphic. Although it's entirely likely that the Curse Blob, the power behind these graphics, wouldn't have blessed me. It's more likely he clouds your mind to that possibility until, in the negative case, he's dealt you some destruction. Otherwise, as is easy to see, people would be trifling with him like an on-off switch. Still, he's apparently a lot more into blessing than cursing, since "getting money" graphics far outnumber those taking it away.

Whether there was any clouding of my mind that went on, I don't know, except in my experience I felt like I was kind of in a haze. But with the passing of time I really set my mind to making things better. Which led to my Elvis Presley pilgrimage, all the way to Mobile, AL. Frankly, I thought that would instantly restore my property. It didn't, although it turned out to be an important step in clearing my mind -- giving me Elvis-like powers to think it through -- which then opened my mind/heart to sharing the Cocky Coin.

How many times have I seen the Cocky Coin graphic on Facebook? Hundreds of times! Not necessarily from people who went from riches to poverty, but from those already in poverty. But I didn't know their experience. So I ignored it. This time, my mind completely cleared, and also blessed by Elvis, I shared it, then stood back ... and watched in awe.

OK, you have to picture this. I'm on the half acre of land I inherited from Grandma and Grandpa. The garage is gone, the house is gone. All I can see is a big patch of bare space where the house used to be, along with a hole for the cellar (not taking up the entire foundation). I shared the Cocky Coin on a neighbor's computer and rushed back across the road. What I saw next, you won't believe. But every word is true.

There was such a swirling of energy over the site, I nearly had to close my eyes in the glory of a presence. And dust. It was noisy, there was shaking, and everything started coming together, this piece to that piece, materials appearing and joining themselves. I beheld walls appearing from nowhere, and pictures on the walls and furniture. The covering of the outside of the walls and the roof and its covering came into view. It was like sinews and skin forming. I literally held my breath in fear. Behind me the garage assembled itself in seconds. And not to be outdone, although presenting a more humble spectacle, my old shed reappeared, as shabby as ever.

I went into the house and everything I had lost was restored, including my computer. But nothing seemed especially improved. The SHIFT key on my HP computer, which broke off less than a month after I got it, was still missing. Pretty good computer design, HP -- Huge Piece of crap. The Curse Blob, now the Blessing Blob, had a sense of humor there. But he was more gracious with the meat in my freezer. Nearly everything previously freezer burnt was immaculate and delicious-looking!

I checked my credit union accounts online. What previously was zeroed-out was restored, just as though nothing had happened.

WHAT THE CURSE BLOB MIGHT

HAVE SAID HAD HE SAID ANYTHING

Now I call you, neighbors, to rejoice with me! I'm a very good person, there's no question of that. I deserve everything I have. And I have learned my lesson once and for all: Whenever I'm not happy with what I have, I know where to get more.

The Reluctant Hero

This is the kind of hero I like, a reluctant one, who has to realize his potential heroism. He got bit by a spider, nothing happened. He fell into a vat of nuclear waste, nothing happened. And he took a course on the history of comic book superheroes, which bored him to tears, all the cliches. But when the subject came up, What about you? he said meekly, "Who? Me?"

All this happened in Mediapolis, where he was born, and where someday they'll erect a statue to him. As for now, the police are chasing him, with all their expensive gear bought with Homeland Security largesse. When the whole terrorism scare of the 2000s took place -- when we were so terrified we even renamed French fries -- H.S. was delivering gigantic amounts of money to small police stations in large unmarked suitcases in large unmarked trucks. So they ended up with a lot of unnecessary command units -- mostly used to monitor unsuspicious activity at the July 4th parade, kids taking pieces of their brother's cotton candy, etc. -- and stun guns, poison darts, tasers, lasers, and a few smart guns that hit their target but cannot kill, grazers.

What they didn't have was a super hero. Till this guy -- whose secret identity is so secret that even I, the omniscient narrator, don't know it -- said to himself, not repeating it anyone, "What about me?" I get that feeling once in a while. There's no reason it couldn't be me, although in this case it was him, since I don't live in Mediapolis. He accepted the call and came charging on the scene. Please don't get bored to tears, I'm hoping this gets better...

Now, the Reluctant Hero has a close ally, who presumably know his secret identity, his mother. She's in on all the local gossip, and flashes his sign in the sky, the insignia seen above. A question mark, indicating his reluctance, and a lightning bolt, showing his later determination. If it's night, he pops up out of bed, going, "What? At this hour? Am I supposed to be watching the sky all night? What kind of life is that? And if the crime happens in broad daylight, what then? If it's not a cloudy day, how am I ever going to see it?"

All right, he has the Reluctant Heromobile, nothing like the fancy stuff the Mediapolis police have, just a typical junker, an old Ford Taurus, reluctant to start, outfitted with a few tools, various extinguishers, grappling hooks, and a cotton candy machine for the kids. And whereas the police are stymied -- they have so much fancy Homeland Security equipment they barely know how to use -- the Reluctant Hero puts the pedal to the metal and gets the job done.

His super powers are: 1. Force of personality by virtue of his determination, and, 2. Miracles. Thinks what he wants to happen. A quick pose as a question mark, followed by thrusting his arms, one up, one down, like lightning. The sound of thunder rumbles through the town. He nods his head and it's done.

He rushes in, clunks the crooks' heads together and ties them up. He leaves them in a pile by the road. He breaks up domestic disputes, and leaves the perpetrator, sometimes a woman, usually a man, but sometimes a woman, tied up in a pile by the road. He rushes into schools where there's a fight going on, ties up the perpetrators and leaves them tied up in a pile by the road, then makes cotton candy for the innocent.

What are the police doing all this time? They eventually show up to collect the piles of human rubbish. But most of the time they have their wives on their mind, or their girlfriends -- sexual stuff -- and they want to get back to them quickly, so they're not very dedicated. That particular area needs single, fearless guys, to set aside the Homeland Security gadgetry and simply charge in with a sword. Anyone can handle a sword. You slice and dice, nothing to it.

As of right now -- and the police think he's a criminal himself, which is what also happened to both the Lone Ranger and Superman when they started out --  the Reluctant Hero has bested the police every time. May they someday say the same thing of all of us, or something equally glorious.