Semein Sama / Bobinsana Dieta
Since 2017, I’ve been traveling to Peru every year to work with the Shipibo Konibo to partake in a sama, also called a dieta in Spanish. The Shipibo are the indigenous people who live along the Ucayali River in the Amazon rainforest. They have been practicing sama for as long as their oral stories say—some 200,000 years ago. Scientists and paleoanthropologists might claim that humans were only in Africa during this time, but according to their stories and songs, this is when the practice of sama began. Sama is a time of isolation and meditation dedicated to opening up to and learning from the consciousness of certain plants. During this time, I am under the care of an Onyanya, which translates to an elder with wisdom in the Shipibo language. Other names for this role are Maestra/Maestro or Shaman. Each time I’ve done a sama, it has been a different experience. When I went down this year, it was my 6th time and my second time with this particular family and lineage.
To prepare for this, I have to do up to a week of what is referred to as pyanti (fanning off in Shipibo)—detoxing and cleaning my energy so I can hear and feel the consciousness of the plant teacher. After the Maestras feel I am ready, they open the sama with an ikaro (a song) in ceremony. A sama can last anywhere from two weeks to years.
Three images I made during my sama, which, when seen together, show the arc of my time.
During my sama, I did a water fast, then a food fast, and finally ate very simple foods and very little. I abstained from any outside influences—no phone, no touch, no reading—keeping the energy around me protected and clean so I could be available to deepen my relationship with the plant I was dieting with. I spent most of my time alone in my tambo. However, facilitators and the Maestras were available if I needed anything. There was also a group of 10 other “dieteros.” We’d meet three nights a week for ceremony and almost daily for a light lunch when I wasn’t fasting. But we were all mindful to keep our energy to ourselves and not use the social time as a distraction from whatever process was surfacing.
During my sama, I entered a liminal place, filled with powerful dreams, ceremonies, art-making, and a lot of time just being. It took a while for the buzz of the modern world to quiet down. It was a detox of sorts, and it was challenging not to have any of my go-to distractions. The opportunity here was to be fully present and in acceptance of my discomfort, grief, pain, and sadness. I wasn’t able to run away or distract myself, but be with all my thoughts and feelings. The center is off the grid with no electricity, so as the sun went down, it was only candlelight or my headlamp. The insects, birds, monkeys, and lizards became my community—some were friends, and some were acquaintances. I learned about their rhythm as I fell into my own.
I dieted with a plant called Bobinsana (Semein), and one of her medicines is to heal trauma. Earlier in the year, an old trauma that I had buried for thirty-some years resurfaced. So I had a lot to sit with during this time, not to mention integrating everything I’ve been through—not just in the recent years of my life, but all the things that don’t always get the time and space to heal and integrate. It was intense and beautiful. There I was, face to face with my discomfort and fear. As things can go, this manifested itself as a rat living in my roof.
I woke up one morning and found that its urine and feces had fallen through the roof and onto the floor next to my bed. I started to worry that it would pee on my head in the middle of the night. Then, there were the scurrying cockroaches, mosquitos, swarming gnats, and other flying bugs. All of which exacerbated my feelings of insecurity and fear of the unknown ahead of me. But by the end of my time, the rat wasn’t around anymore, and I had befriended all the insects in my xobo (tambo). I had four different jumping spiders in the different corners that I’d talk to, “Good morning, beautiful!”. The small ants had a path that I would avoid walking on, and sometimes, I’d bring them a leg of an insect I’d find. I’d help out the beetles by either flipping them over when they were stuck or bringing them outside. All the while, different exotic birds were singing throughout the jungle into the night. I tended to the smallest living creatures, valuing their existence and helping them out when I could. Just like the parts of myself that needed the same acknowledgment and care.
When I left on my flight from Pullculpa to Lima, I cried the whole hour of the flight. There was no stopping the tears from rolling down my cheeks. I was a bit perplexed by the amount of emotion that was flowing. Just the day before, on my last day, I had told myself, “I won’t ever do this again!”
During sama, I’m able to be wide open while being protected in that vulnerable place, cared for by the loving awareness and presence of the plants and the grandmothers, which I lovingly call the Maestras who are in their 70s. I’m able to go into a deep dream space, where I dream, journey, sing, make art, sit, and stare out into the jungle. I smoke my pipe—shinan tapon, which translates to “rooted thought” in Shipibo, in my rocking chair on my porch, watching the sunrise and sunset.
I look back now and realize why those tears were flowing down my cheeks. During that sacred time, I was able to clear out the noise and be truly with myself. And in that place, I learned about myself. I learned that I love my own company. That I love and am grateful for my life, and that I am in awe of this beautiful world. That my heart loves to listen and feel the subtleness. I get myself like no one else can, and I can put a smile on my face by just being me. The intense anxiety at the beginning shifted, and I was able to root deeply within myself and the gifts of Bobinsana. The fear had faded and the bigger perspective of wisdom and love settled into my knowing, gifting me with more resilience and joy to live my life.
