T4E1: Beyond Dreams

I once heard it said that nothing connects two people more than pursuing the same idea. That's exactly what happened with Paula and me on November 15, 2009, when we went together for the first time to take Yagé with the taita Fernando. When we gathered after having gone through our ayahuasca trances and talked about our experiences, we realized that we had coincided in the same vision: that we would be a couple and have a long history together.

But the most important point of our entheogenic prophecy was the idea that would connect us with strength during the following years: we knew that we would be parents of a Being from the stars.

Yagé is such an overwhelming and unpredictable power that one does not feel at all the author or even co-author of the visions experienced, so I did not feel embarrassed to tell a friend I had only met two weeks earlier that, according to yagé, we would have a baby together. Paula immediately let me know she had seen the same thing and embraced me tenderly, as if wanting to hold onto that vision that now existed in another mind, another heart besides her own.

So Paula and I began our courtship with the certainty that one day we would have a baby, an atypical idea or even frightening for many other couples. However, Paula was only 20 years old and my daughter Ana María was only 10, so clearly, a baby in the house—beautiful as the idea sounded—would have to wait a few more years.

And so it was; years passed and Paula and I focused on building a home with Anita, sorting out our tight family finances, and walking together our spiritual path. But that didn't mean we had forgotten about our future child, whom we nicknamed "The Little Angel." In fact, every time we came out of a yagé ceremony, we asked each other if we had seen our Little Angel.

Sometimes she saw him, sometimes I did, and on two occasions we both coincided again, but it always brought us joy and excitement to nourish the idea of seeing born, one day, a small fruit of our love. However, it was during that trip we made to the ear of the world, in the heart of the Sierra Nevada de Santa Marta, at the moment when looking into each other's eyes we decided that it was time to ask our Little Angel to come into the world.

By that point, Paula and I were living the beginning of our disenchantment with esotericism and particularly with gnosis, so by common agreement we decided to set aside the practice of "sexual magic," which, by focusing on the need to avoid ejaculation at all costs, we suspected was making it difficult for Paula to get pregnant.

On the other hand, my prolonged trips to the United States not only stood in the way of our effort to conceive the Little Angel, but were also creating a gap in my relationship with Paula. While I was striving to open the doors north for our family, Paula had to stay dealing with the ups and downs of my daughter's adolescence, my mother's discipline, and without even a space of her own that she could feel as hers because we had decided to rent out our apartment, believing our departure for the United States was imminent.

This gap, which time, distance, and the difficulty conceiving were carving in our couple relationship, demanded from me much greater attention to Paula's emotional state and great effort so my presence and companionship would be felt despite the difficulties. But on the contrary, the lights and dazzle of the American dream clouded me and made me careless, negligent.

In New York, living in the heart of the Big Apple in a three-million-dollar condominium, I felt like I was living an alternate life in which I was single, wealthy, and successful. When I traveled to Chicago and when I met David in New York, I got drunk frequently and delighted myself with the best cuts of New York steak, smoked salmon, and other sophisticated dishes.

My proverbial shyness kept me safe from getting involved with another woman during my travels, but not from entertaining myself with trivial yet compromising conversations I sustained through the Internet with some women in Colombia.

Paula, who did not play into the games that appealed to me, had found in a close friend the support I was denying her. So, without knowing it, we were both walking blind toward the saddest of lovers' abysses: the one where those let love die little by little, not from lack of love but from sheer neglect.

With my return to Colombia, things improved noticeably. It was clear that the love we felt was strong and revived when we were together again, but the ghost of future trips still loomed there, and we still hadn't managed to get our Little Angel to come to give us perhaps an illusion, a new compass for our young family threatened by our stubbornness in trying to walk the tightrope.

Paula visited the gynecologist to confirm that nothing in her body was making it difficult for her to get pregnant. The doctor ordered some tests and a few days later called her back to deliver his diagnosis. The result: Paula had multiple cysts in her ovaries, so, according to him, it wouldn't be easy at all for her to have a baby.

The news hit us like a bucket of cold water, but past the initial shock, neither of us accepted that pessimistic prognosis as reality. On the contrary, we took action using our medical, traditional, and spiritual resources.

The first thing we did was visit the family's trusted homeopath, Doctor Raúl Escamilla, who prescribed Paula the usual round of homeopathic remedies with a few degrees of alcohol, but also gave her a treatment from Colombia's ancestral traditions: a daily portion of river cucha soup—a fish with a hard shell and soft belly, related to catfish and very unpleasant-looking.

Under normal circumstances Paula would never have accepted the regimen of dishes from that ugly animal, but to ensure the arrival of the Little Angel, she was willing to do whatever it took. What she didn't know at the time was that cucha soup wouldn't be the bitterest drink she'd have to swallow to make way for the arrival of a being whose light and strength we could barely imagine.

Within the worldview Paula and I shared those days, nothing happened by chance and there were no fortuitous accidents; rather, everything was part of an interdependent chain of causal events, whose sequence we can never see ahead of time but that gradually makes sense as one walks through it. But these events would not be predestined; instead, they presented themselves as opportunities to draw closer to the best we could become in our existence.

So we understood our difficulty in conceiving the Little Angel as a signal from the Cosmos that we were not yet prepared for the important mission we were about to undertake. We consulted with our teachers Mara and Abuelo Luis, and both agreed with our interpretation, but it was Abuelo Luis who gave us the clue we thought we needed to hear:

– "Have you already made payment for that purpose?"

– "Yes, grandpa, we made payment in the Ear of the World."

– "No sir, you went there to ask that Being to incarnate, but that is not the payment."

I thought about those words for a moment and saw it clearly as day: The grandfather was right; on our trip to the Sierra we had told the Mother that it was time for our Little Angel to come, but the payment, as we learned from the Muiscas, was much more than that. It wasn't enough to be in a sacred place; you had to go to a place connected with the Spirit being negotiated—in this case, the Spirit of motherhood, of birth.

The origin myth of the Muisca people tells that after Grandmother Bagüé awakened great Chiminigagua, she took a kona or small backpack, filled it with coca leaves and over it created all plants and animals to inhabit its surface, calling it Hizka Guaia. Once the old woman saw everything green again in her new creation, she decided to send one of her daughters to the new world: Bachué, who was then engendered among the placental waters of Hizka Guaia, within the entrails of a mountain in the very heart of Muisca territory.

That planetary matrix opened forming a lagoon and from it emerged the Goddess's daughter, but she wasn't alone; she carried in her arms a child whom she had decided to form with her creative power so he would accompany and care for her, and therefore she baptized him Iguaque, meaning "companion shadow." The elders say that Iguaque grew in age and wisdom by Bachué's side, and when he reached the level of the mother goddess, he joined her and together they engendered all human beings who inhabit the world. They taught them tobacco, coca, corn, and weaving, and when they finished their task, they returned to the lagoon where they turned into serpents and disappeared entwined in its waters.

This lagoon, located about 3,800 meters above sea level near the famous town of Villa de Leyva, has been known since Muisca times as Laguna de Iguaque, Laguna Mayor, or Laguna del Nacimiento. It was the ideal place to make the payment for our baby.

With the typical excitement of embarking on a new spiritual adventure, Paula and I went to beautiful Villa de Leyva; we stayed at a small hostel, and the next day we drove to the entrance of Iguaque National Park "Santuario de Fauna y Flora Iguaque." The place is recognized for the grandeur of its landscapes, its cold páramo, and the steep trail leading up to the sacred lagoon. According to the elders, it should be one of the first pilgrimage places for a Muisca, and I would only encounter it five years after beginning my path in ancestralism.

Accompanying us on the hike were my sister Laura and her family, and as was customary, we accompanied the journey with tobacco, hoska, and spiritual conversation. We made the trip in an hour and a half, and the first thing I did upon arriving at the sacred place was to put my bare feet into its cold waters. We paused for a moment to admire the majestic landscape—the siete cueros, frailejones—and like a dark water mirror, the lagoon reflecting the few rays of light barely filtering through the clouds.

We had arrived at the nature reserve much later than planned and were therefore the last group of visitors allowed to ascend; had we arrived a few minutes later, we would not have been authorized to visit the lagoon. That meant we'd have little time for our ceremony, but on the other hand, we had the advantage of being completely alone in Iguaque, which was convenient so we could light tobacco and raise our arms to the sky without arousing the curiosity of other tourists.

We performed our ceremony as we had done on other occasions with the elders, tossing coca leaves and tobacco into the lagoon, offering tobacco, thanking aloud for the material and spiritual gifts we'd received, and asking for what we wanted to receive, paying them back to the lagoon with our daily effort and inner work. Paula and I held hands and looking toward the center of the lagoon, promised to put all our consciousness and will into raising that Being whom the Divinity would entrust us with, to form him in wisdom and love as Mother Bachué had done with Father Iguaque after emerging from its waters.

At that moment, we noticed that thick fog was beginning to envelop us and felt the first drops of a cold drizzle. We interpreted it as a positive response from the Spirit of the Lagoon, but also as a sign that it was time to begin our return; in an hour it would start darkening and the path was too steep to descend blindly.

We returned to Bogotá with the conviction that our Little Angel would soon be with us. Paula continued taking her cucha soup, and we both kept trying to conceive and improve our couple relationship so we could ensure a healthy and loving environment for our baby.

Things between Paula and me, as I said before, weren't at their best and were further complicated by the fact of living with my parents in a small room in their house while waiting for my visa application to work in the United States to be approved.

That meant we didn't have our own space and were always accompanied by my parents, which is wonderful under ideal conditions, but not when two people are trying to reconcile a life on hold, the uncertainty of an uncertain future in another country, the desire for a baby, and the couple problems that had been accumulating through countless unspoken words, my repeated absences, and my lack of sensitivity toward Paula's personal situation: her fears and frustrations.

To top it all off, we only had a few days after our return from Laguna de Iguaque before I had to go back to Chicago for work, and Paula couldn't accompany me because the American embassy had canceled her tourist visa due to a miscalculation my boss and I made during our immigration process. So we tried to ignore our problems and focus on conceiving our Little Angel; we'd see later how to face whatever happened.

Paula and I knew something very strong bound us, but also, for the first time since we met, we felt a growing space between us. The idea that perhaps we weren't meant for each other still lingered in Paula's mind, though she didn't tell me; she wouldn't until she clarified that suspicion she'd been harboring for several days.

And the answer she was looking for didn't take long to come. I found out through a call from Paula to my cell phone one afternoon while I was returning from some work errands in the north of the city:

– "Are you coming over? I have something important to tell you."

– "Yes, I'm on my way, but what is it? Don't leave me hanging—just tell me!"

I can still recall that exact moment, those two words I had longed for so much, though I would have liked to see her eyes when she said them. The answer to our payment at Laguna de Iguaque had arrived surprisingly soon! I got to the apartment as fast as I could, and when I finally managed to embrace her, I promised that everything would be different, that we'd leave our problems behind and could finally give the Spiritual home full of love that our Little Angel deserved.

The thing with promises is that they are contracts with several fine-print conditions. Conditions that usually aren't even known by whoever makes the promise.

I kissed Paula goodbye on the lips and she stayed with a tear about to well from her eyelids. She didn't want me to leave, but neither did she want to stay. Her relationship with my parents was good, but she felt weary of not having her own space, of not knowing if she could return to the United States or not, of doubting whether we still loved each other or not…

For my part, oblivious to her pain, I began a new trip north to that country, this time for three months. Three months during which, as usual, I would enjoy numerous dinner invitations from our friends, afternoons of drinks, sports activities, and hours of trivial and inappropriate conversations over the Internet.

Meanwhile in Bogotá, Paula felt increasingly alone, more frustrated, further from me. So it wasn't surprising that during those very months Paula met someone who noticed her sadness and recognized in her the golden woman she is. Paula drew close to him because he returned her smile and little by little won his heart.

Paula was honest with me and told me she had met someone who made her feel good, who took her out of her frequent boredom, and who respected her. I, conscious of my fondness for encouraging flirtations purely for the pleasure of conquest, let her do it and didn't reproach her interest in that young man. On the contrary, I figured that if she were distracted, it would serve me to stop worrying about her emotional swings and continue on my way, enjoying my single life in the United States thinking everything would work out by some miracle.

The distance between us kept widening due to my unconsciousness, and I continued taking Paula's love for granted… After all, yagé had shown us we'd be together, so there was nothing to fear. Until there was something after all to fear. One afternoon, after a long stretch of no calls from Paula, I listened to the coldest voicemail I'd ever received from her:

– "Manuel, I don't know what happened to us, but I don't feel the same as before. You have your life over there and here I have nothing; I need to build something. I think it's best that we end things. When you come back we'll talk and see what we do with the baby."

It was like someone had pulled the ground from under my feet. I knew Paula wasn't feeling well and that there was distance between us, but it never occurred to me that it would be something so serious as ending our relationship. I also thought about the man she'd been seeing and wondered if he had anything to do with it. In any case, I knew I had to do something; fortunately there were only a few days left until my return to Bogotá.

We talked on the phone several times during those days, but nothing seemed to work. Despite my promises and acts of contrition, Paula seemed much closer to the end of our story than to a second chance. Everything would depend on what she felt when we looked into each other's eyes upon my return to Colombia.

I can barely imagine the flood of emotions in Paula's chest as she waited for me at the international arrivals of El Dorado Airport. She no longer knew if she loved me, didn't know if she wanted that life I had offered her outside of Colombia, and perhaps… No, better not think about that; but could it be possible that she no longer wanted our Little Angel to come either?

Despite all her doubts, there was a reality that kept us strong. While waiting for me there amid the crowd, a tiny grain of light shone in her belly directing the symphony of her hormonal system, her emotions, and perhaps the events that would unfold after my arrival.

I noticed her green eyes as I approached hurriedly dragging my suitcases. When I was within reach, she seemed to hesitate for a second and then embraced me tightly while that tear rolled down her cheek—the one that had barely surfaced with our farewell. We stayed like that for a long moment and I thanked God; I felt that we were both still there. Paula knew it too, though she felt fear because she knew they still had difficult tests to overcome on the horizon.

In the following days, Paula confided in me her frustrations and fears during my absence; she even acknowledged that that friend who attracted her had become her most important support. I told her about my adventures in Chicago—accompanying the slow dying process of my friend David's mother, sailing the waters of Lake Michigan, and making friends with a platonic love from my adolescence in New York.

Things seemed to be taking a good course, but one night while working on my computer, I opened a Pandora's box that, in retrospect, I think perhaps I should have kept closed.

Paula had given me access to her email so I could help her with some paperwork while she rested from severe nausea. Abusing the trust she had placed in me by giving me her email password, I began searching through her messages to see if I'd find any conversation between her and her special friend—an abuse that I would later learn came at too high a cost.

As I read the chats that I indeed didn't take long to find, that cocktail of sensations of anguish, excitement, and rage returned to my mind like a flash from the past—the same one that had been my executioner during the slow and painful cracking of my relationship with my first wife. The conversations over which my eyes jumped quickly showed me a reality different from what Paula had confided in me. What I was reading didn't seem like the relationship between two friends who liked each other but rather like that of a man and woman in an intimate couple relationship.

At least I noticed that while he was clearly in love, she wasn't as affectionate; it was also true that Paula usually didn't express her emotions so openly. In any case, what broke my heart was seeing that Paula never told him that she loved me—and that despite what she felt for him, she wouldn't leave me. On the contrary, on more than one occasion she let him know that sometimes she felt she should leave me but didn't know how.

What delivered the final blow to my fragile character was realizing that those doubts and the possibility of leaving me were still alive in Paula's heart even long after finding out about our Little Angel's arrival. My mind filled with confusion, and between anguish and a sea of doubt, my ego rose like a false savior in all its splendor.

The image consolidating in my mind was that of a woman tied to me by convenience, in love with someone else, and without the character to make the decision to leave me so she could go with whoever had truly won her heart. What an idiot the ego is!

It must have been around 2:00 AM when, drunk on jealousy and pride, I woke Paula and confronted her with the childish evidence I'd found. I put her against the wall to tell me her true feelings—for me and for that other guy. I noticed the confusion in her gaze and assumed she would be looking for ways to keep covering up her lies, but in reality she was surprised to see before her not her spiritual partner, life companion, and trusted friend whom she thought she knew, but someone insecure, distrustful, and accusatory.

She tried to explain what was going on in her heart, but I didn't listen; I thought I had already seen the reality, and that anything different she told me would be a simple lie. So I ended the conversation and told her I'd already bought her a one-way ticket to Medellín so she could go live with her mom.

Paula couldn't believe what she was hearing; she understood my doubts and didn't even feel anger at my breach of trust, but it hugely hurt her that I wouldn't listen and had decided to tear her from my life as if she were a piece of furniture no longer useful that one could simply get rid of.

But I was blinded by rage and jealousy; nothing she said could change the version I'd created in my mind, which had automatically transformed Paula into an extension of women from my past who had cheated on me and then abandoned me.

The family I had dreamed about for so long, for which I had done six years of spiritual work and in which my daughter Ana María had found a warm refuge, had blown to pieces—shattered by the ghosts of my past, by wounds I hadn't healed but simply forgotten, and by my incapacity to accept reality when it didn't fit my convenience.

-"She gave up."

– "There's nothing wrong with that."

…it was her way of hiding.

She pushed away the pain so hard,

that she disconnected from the person she loved most.

– "Sometimes, when you win, you lose."

Life without Paula turned out more familiar than I would have expected. Perhaps it was the result of many months living a life without her in the United States. I was beginning to understand what Paula had told me about feeling that I had a life over there of which she wasn't part. It was true; when I went traveling, I left her and Anita in Colombia, and I had another life—one in which I was single, successful, a hedonist… empty.

It was also possible that I felt Paula's love so strongly that deep down I thought she'd always be there for me whenever I wanted. In any case, not content with sending her pregnant to another city with the few things I considered belonged to her, I treated her during the following days very harshly, ignoring her pain, her apologies, her need to be heard.

Meanwhile I was drowning my pain under the weight of pride and vanity. Justifying myself with my flimsy history as a victim and stepping over the feelings of the woman who had loved me most after my mother and daughter, while she continued carrying in her womb the Being I had hoped for most in my life up to that point.

But pride is an anesthesia that sooner or later dilutes, and so little by little I found myself without any way to hide my clumsiness or sustain my self-deception: My life without Paula wasn't life but merely survival. She was much more than my partner; she was part of my very identity formed since I built a life around Spirituality, a purpose-driven life plan with the waiting for our Little Angel. But to my surprise, Paula showed me a strength I hadn't seen from her until then. Despite my doubts and recriminations, she didn't give up; she stayed attentive to my matters and found a way to pierce through my armor and touch my heart with emails full of honesty and sweetness.

We talked more and more often, and never once did Paula come to reproach me for violating her privacy nor the inconsistency between my actions and what I demanded from her. But I couldn't find a way to trust her again; I didn't know how to quiet my doubts or believe in her words, in our story.

One of the moments that made that pain I was causing feel more real was when Paula and her mom went to a medical lab to track the baby's development via ultrasound. At that point Paula was at sixteenth week of pregnancy and it was already possible to discern the baby's sex. We had always seen in our yagé visions and our imagination a boy who might have blended traits from both of us, but the sonographer's diagnosis was unequivocal: Our little angel wasn't a boy—it was a girl!

For me, the news was an immediate cause for joy, but for Paula it was a small farewell. The tiny restless little angel I'd imagined wouldn't be arriving just yet, so she had to say goodbye to that boy and instead welcome the little princess who would come into our lives at such a difficult time.

I wanted to reclaim my family and stop the pain I felt, but especially the pain I knew I was causing Paula and perhaps that baby on her way. But I didn't want that separation to become a crack that sooner or later could destroy in one stroke what had cost us so much work to build. So I turned to the guidance that had shown me the way those years: I would take yagé again.

As usual, I let several friends know that I'd be participating in taita Gregorio's ceremony that weekend. Only one of them, Diana, accompanied me on Saturday to the Mesitas farm and during the trip I told her without too many details about my situation with Paula and her pregnancy, to which she responded with congratulations for the baby and wishes that things resolve between Paula and me in the best possible way.

That was a calm ceremony under a clear sky full of stars. I hoped yagé would show me an answer, a sign telling me if I was doing right or whether I should give my relationship with Paula another chance. However, on this occasion yagé had been especially gentle with me; I barely had a short trance with pleasant sensations and geometric visions in colors, but there was no revelation, no response.

Then, well past midnight, my friend Diana grew restless; I hadn't felt her until that moment, but she started shifting back and forth and emitting soft whimpers making her sound like a girl about to burst into tears. I approached and asked if she was alright, and she told me:

Her answer surprised me, and as I was telling her to go on, Diana interrupted me:

I hesitated for a moment—I didn't want to self-suggest with a name that maybe I wouldn't like—but Diana looked so joyful in her Samadhi that I said yes. My friend stayed silent for a few seconds, lying on her back, smiling with closed eyes, and then said:

– "Luciana, her name is Luciana, what a beautiful name!"

It was. It was exactly the name that had crossed my mind most since I learned my second child would be another girl. I don't remember mentioning that name to Diana, but even if I had, she wasn't the only person who "received" a mystical message with our daughter's name. Later on, Paula told me that Dumar Santa, a friend of ours who was also a shaman and offered yagé ceremonies, had greeted her through social media and out of nowhere said:

– "Hello Paula, how is Luciana?"

– "Which Luciana?"—Paula asked

– "Her baby, don't you know she's called Luciana!"

Paula and I joked that Luciana has always been so outgoing that even before being born she liked talking to everyone. And indeed, besides Diana and Dumar, Luciana "communicated," during yagé ceremonies with Ángela, my eldest daughter's aunt, and with me, at a beautiful ceremony at the Mesa. On that same occasion, I had a vision in which I clearly saw the girl—four or five years old—with long golden curls playing a small piano. An image that would come true years later. This is another of the impressive mystical mysteries of my life, one for which I still have no explanation whatsoever.

But anyway, getting back to that yagé session with Diana, after the initial revelation, my friend, still in trance, told me that the girl had a message for me. My skepticism had gone straight to hell after hearing Luciana's name, so I immediately asked Diana what the message was.

– "She says you should listen to Paula, that you shouldn't be so hard on her… that you should listen to her."—she repeated a couple of times.

My eyes filled with tears and at that moment all the weight of guilt fell on my shoulders. How could I have been so hard, so cruel? But I promised my daughter, from afar, there in her mother's womb, that I would do what she was asking. I wouldn't rest until I could talk with Paula—not just talk but truly communicate with her. I didn't know how I'd do it, but now I had my answer and wasn't going to fail.

The next day I called Paula and told her what had happened during the ceremony. The message Diana received surprised her even more than me, and I could completely understand her when she told me about her conversation with Dumar.

– "Our daughter is too special," she said, emotional.

After that, I committed to listening to everything Paula had to tell me, and that's what we did over the following days. However, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't believe her completely. I still felt she was hiding something from me, and I didn't know how to resolve that crossroads. Eventually Paula sighed with frustration and told me:

– "I don't know what to do anymore, Manuel; no matter how I try, I can't figure out how to make you believe that I love you, that I want a life with you, with Anita, and our daughter. Letting myself connect like I did with someone else was because I felt alone and needed an embrace—someone who would listen to me, make me feel protected. I know I should have told him I had no intention of leaving you and that I'd fight for my family, but I simply didn't care about clarifying what he thought—I only cared about what I felt. I have nothing left to lose, so at least I want you to know everything I have to say."

Paula kept talking; at times she cried and her voice began to tremble when she decided to tell me things she had kept to herself for years—things she knew could even reinforce my decision to end our relationship.

I listened to her as I'd never listened before, and felt that for the first time I was allowing her to show herself fully as she is, without masks or prejudices. I listened admiring her integrity and courage in acknowledging faults I had never seen anyone accept with such humility. I listened knowing I was getting to know the character of the woman who would guide me through the rest of my path. When she finished, she told me she'd understand if I didn't want to see her again but that she hoped I wouldn't deny our daughter the possibility of growing close to a father as good as me.

Then all my doubts disappeared except one: Would I be worthy of standing beside a woman as strong as Paula? That doubt became from then on a motivation. Paula had given me the greatest demonstration of love I'd received up to that point: she had overcome, for a moment, deep fears and leaped into the void showing herself fully transparent before someone who had judged her so harshly, risking losing everything in favor of truth.

A couple days later I took a flight to Medellín to reclaim the love of my life and the family I was about to lose because of my insecurities and selfishness, and Paula received me without resentment or recriminations. Perhaps because she knew that once again we had had to walk hand-in-hand, crossing through the dark night to find our own soul—but this time, our angel with golden hair had guided us with her tender smile. Thank you, little Luciana!

Annie: Christy! Hello! Do you remember me?

Sometimes when you lose… you win.

Chis: How did we get here?

Annie: Traveling here is like everything else.

You just have to close your eyes.

Chris: Seems like we did it.

Where you were… I tried everything. Nothing worked.

Annie: Until you tried following me.

What some call impossible…

is only something they've never seen before.

4 years ago I loved this episode, I always knew Luciana was a being of light; I remember at a yagé session where we were with Pauli who was pregnant I heard her laugh—she was too euphoric, running and laughing, a completely happy being coming into this world. She always had her mission clear.. ❤️❤️❤️