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I sought myself in winding paths,
In mirrors and quiet meditations—
But yagé, the vine of visions, became my guide,
A serpent of the soul, twisting through truth and dream.
Sometimes it whispered plain as dawn,
Other times, draped in symbol’s veil,
It led me to the river of reflection,
Where my shadows danced in the ripples.
Of all the spirits I could have met,
It was the creature I feared the most—
The one I could not bear to see—
That slithered into my visions, ancient and wise.
The serpent, shedding skin and time,
Showed me not a god, but a mystery—
Not a path to holiness, but a crack in the veil,
An echo of the unexplainable, raw and unbound. 1 reply
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I watched as people draped their lives
In careless prayers and easy offerings:
“Thank God,” “God willing,” “With God’s favor.”
As if the heavens owed them mercy.
I, too, had wanted to surrender,
To bathe in the river of someone else’s will—
But the serpent tightened around my heart,
Squeezing the breath of truth from me.
It showed me the delicate thread of fate,
Not held by gods, but woven by my hands—
Tangled, torn, and still weaving,
A story that only I could tell.
And so, I shed my skin of submission,
I faced the world, raw and unarmored—
Neither a sinner nor a saint,
But a seeker, scarred and sacred, awake. 0 reply
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