Updated by Arutam Ruymán, April 2024

Sacred feeling, you wet the mornings amongst the light which loves meeting us.
The "Uwishin" (Shaman) collects this crying in covered enchantments, which draw hope and medicine for men. I wet my black and hairy snout to shine one last glance to the heart of this moment. Where life is born and draws the miracle which sings in the jungle.

And between the leaves and the tireless delicious murmur of the crickets, I befriend the flow of eternity. That diamond polished by the sacred presence of the Spirit to the crystal of his countenance. Once I've acquired the serenity of the trees, I await the healing that comes from his caress, where I bear the pains of the warrior who fights for the truth that makes us human.

That truth cries out, but between the most beautiful music and the sacred enchantment, the human heart trembles while remembering you, Arutam (Great Spirit). You who live in every single thing, you who beat in the hearts of those who are in harmony with the stars. It's something you never learned and you don't know how to forget. It has not been kept anywhere: no time or sensation could betray you.

Even in the deepest pain and sadness which gets closer to you, a touching light like no other is shed from that encounter. Among the owls' hoot on the sticks, the flickering silver light slides alongside your tears. Wet nights in which the pain of man is soaked with the enchantment of the Uwishin, to let go there, where life is born and cries, among the feathers that remind us of the earth, the light and the night.

The sacred enchantment that the world draws, from the guts of the Great Crystal's feel, is moved by its own being, while soaking the jungle's leaves. His rich caress glides sweetly towards the tips of the leaves, where a final vision shines among the echoes that howl from the guts of the Shaman. "Yaji" (Ayahuasca ingredient) shining in the eyes of the jaguar, who admires the force that seizes him, as he breathes the golden light from Tobacco.

I spoke to Arutam. He answered me in his eternal presence, the one that inundates everything, the one that embraces everything. I breathed Tobacco to focus on the Big Tendency and then let myself go. I know that He listened to me, yet talking to someone who is in everything and sees everything is not an easy task: few succeed. People learn to hide from that light, while laughing with each other about their misfortune.

I sang to Arutam. I know He heard me, because his light of mature gold lit the skies and feathers were drawn among the flames of the Spirit. In the height, over the last forests in the summits, the eagle comes screaming in its flight. But now, as I speak to you, the murmur of the little birds is my charming abode.

One sunset more I breathe the scent that summons the highest respect. The dark blue sea and its deep tremor give the hand to the heart. Heart that followed the nascent golden Tobacco shine. I gazed inside with my eyes wet by the marine breeze, forgetting “that one" who everybody waits. It's beauty what I found, and my heart move on walking in its chant, in that “stillness” blissful sliding, in this imminent spring.

That bliss which the summits of feeling shed in the man veins, round the stones that support the sky crying crystal, scoring mountains and valleys. The peace takes over all and I feel the rest in my wet bear nose, in the darkness of night which breathes. For a moment, far away, I dreamed in the whisper of Arutam... Almost forgot it at dawn, too many people talking nonsense, fearing the eternity of their Spirit.

The sea returns in every breath, receding at first just to tremble again. Thus, the dance of joy perpetrates the song of eternity. The crystal of the Spirit is blissfully drawn to exist in the sky, the water and the earth. The leaf of the world keeps me company, and soaks the crystal that I drink. You, the light who returns always renewed. You, the light who doesn't guard any yearning, the light who draws freedom in men.

The nights will keep crying from the depths of their glowing eternity. This will happen again every night, in the flash of the arrowhead, which howls among the wolf's fangs. I will dream of that reality that was drawn by tearing time, and leaving me in a trance in different places. I will see like this and I will keep a sacred criterion that from then on will guide my decisions. Next time my heart will walk, and will walk wisely. And She, only She, will throb in my fingers, thickening my claws which the world loves.

It is the shadow under the leaves, the one that waters the crystal of the eagle's cry. Many drink that sweet crystal from the skies, living in peace amid sweet aromas. It is the same shine on the tops and on the skins of the leaves that blind my eyes with their beauty. I remember that miracle, just as it is drawn in dreams, trances and awakenings. It inundates the ages and the lands, and its blessing helps me understand that nothing is so important.

As the night brings the dew to the leaves in the deep stillness of the world, the more it becomes darker, colder and wetter it is. The peaks seem to descend, dressed in green, and they love those rays that make them shine, as if they recall the sweet depth of the previous rest, which still keeps the earth wet deep within. What taste keeps those roots alive for those who, at the top, feed on the glow that lights up the skies?

You, the world, who cries, moved by the delight that has always been. You, whose veins are traces of that stream that leads to the seas, either present or absent. Just a blink, and a whistling arrow, dressed in three feathers to bless the purpose. Whatever the ultimate goal and whatever happens to it, I breathed in as I felt you. My heart was pounding enough amid the glimmers of your love and understanding. Great Spirit, who lives in every little thing and whistles in our dreams: the early breeze from your feathers reveals mysteries that protect the days ahead, among limited breaths of men and beasts.

With affection… Arutam Ruymán