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It makes me really happy, my dear friend Tõnu, having been with you during your path as a flute maker. I have seen you since the first branches you took in your home, till the current works with woods from all the world. I saw how you learnt to play and wanted to improve the sound through the cutting. You listened to my criticism and overcame yourself till you gained our admiration. Today I receive this beautiful flute perfectly tuned, inspired by the eagle flight; sweet and fine melody with the deepest harmony of the forest, its trees and tree crowns dancing. For it I give you thanks and wish you all success throughout the world. May the people enjoy

At this beginning of the year, till not so long pretty far away, I think about the fifteen that have passed living this path of Amazonian shamanism. I started around my twenties and, well, no beginning is usually excellent. But my sincerity, strength and curiosity as a spiritual man, psychologist, teacher and therapist through the use of traditional Chinese medicine, took me far in the search of the soul. When I arrived to the Amazon, I boasted of my knowledge as a doctor, but soon the people of the area, with their simplicity, taught me how misplaced I was, and how ridiculous my own shadow made me look. So I surrendered to loneliness, me and Natem: twisting in his sacred

We were born in a postwar society that imprisons most of its members in a system of organization that takes them away from their father-and-mother world just to use them for a sickening cost-benefit analysis made to split them into the “lucky” and the “unfortunates”. This is no reason for us to voluntarily surrender to our deepest misery or to justify our own ignorance. How deep is the disease that corrodes us to the core with its poisonous roots, while also corrupting, outwardly, the spiritual traditions that spring from human cultures. It is like the sharp claw of a spider, which bleeds us, devours us and conquers us, forcing our hearts to give in to pain. How life loses its

Shamanism is dying out definitively, almost all the elders are already a memory of old times in my life. I was one of the few who learned the pure source, being family among them. The natives desired and desire a western life, victims of the necessity created by the white man to manipulate them. They destroy the jungle with no mercy, only after finishing themselves off in every level. A little money, a mobile, a couple of speakers and alcohol become the motivation to keep on going tomorrow. They’ll never have what we have in Europe, but the longing is enough to abandon the shamanism, let the elder die and not learn. The trace of white man misery was devastating