Oni and the Spirits: the secret world of the Amazonian medicine
My journey with the Shipibo-Conibo shamans began more than a decade ago. For the past two years, I have lived in the Amazon jungle as an apprentice. This article is an excerpt from my book The Echo of Ucayali, a first-person narrative that is both an anthropological journey into the world of Amazonian shamans and a mystical non-fiction adventure based on real events. In this passage, I explore in detail the world of the plant spirits that dwell in the selva and the ways in which the Shipibo tradition engages with them—both in ceremonies and through shamanic diets, including the great spirit of the selva, Oni, as the Shipibo call Ayahuasca.The World of Selva © Alexandra Sheren
The world of selva spirits can be imagined as a closed system, resembling, in many ways, a set of Tarot cards or the Elder Futhark runes. Practitioners working within those systems tend to perceive the world through the language of their symbols—where, at any given time, a person channels the energy of a particular arcana or rune. The selva system works in much the same way—a constellation of distinct energetic states, each carried by the spirit of a specific plant.
By drinking the brew of a particular tree, the dieter becomes, for the duration of the diet, a conduit for the energy carried by that plant’s spirit—representing its interests and acquiring specific parameters of consciousness. These new states of consciousness begin to subtly reshape the patient’s worldview, transforming it. Within the Shipibo tradition, this process is referred to as learning.
The set of selva spirits that shamans work with is often limited to seven to ten plants—typically those growing in immediate surroundings. Yet, much like the major arcana or runes, each spirit has many layers of expression: the energy of a single spirit can vary wildly, depending on the nature of the person receiving it. The spirits themselves are neither good nor evil—they form a system of archetypes. Interpreting them through a moral lens of right and wrong is a profound misunderstanding. One and the same spirit might choose to guide both a future healer and a future brujo.
Within Shipibo tradition, spirits are regarded as fully autonomous beings. They possess a form of life entirely different from our own, a significantly advanced form of consciousness, with a remarkable spectrum of abilities that, from our perspective, might be considered supernatural. These abilities include, for example: the power to shift form and appearance, the ability to enter human dreams, to heal—or conversely, to inflict irreversible harm—and a profound creative intelligence paired with eternal life. The term ‘spirits’ here does not refer to the lower-level energetic entities that also populate the selva in great numbers. While such forces undoubtedly exert influence, sometimes quite significantly, they do not work directly with shamans or patients.
The spirits that inhabit the cosmic landscape of the selva are relatively well-known and have been described to varying degrees by both curanderos and a small number of authors. Knowledge about them is passed down through generations. It is these spirits who serve as the real doctors, tending to the patients in diet and walking alongside shamans as teachers. The hospitals of these doctors receive souls with varying degrees of trauma and illness. This includes those whose soul was stolen, or left their bodies due to severe distortions in their own life lines, and those inherited through ancestral wounds.
While there is indeed a kind of internal hierarchy among the spirits—one acknowledged by the shamans themselves—the more essential factor in acquiring spiritual power is not the spirit’s rank within the cosmic selva order, but the quality of relationship the healer builds and sustains with them over the course of a lifetime.
According to Shipibo cosmology, each tree holds within it a vast world (nete), which in many ways closely resembles the human world. It has its own inhabitants, its own laws, cities, rulers, wars, truces, its own diets, and a distinct order with a particular ‘signature’. Just as each of us carries a world within that no one else can fully grasp, the world we express through our actions, speech, and choices, or simply the energy of our presence, in the same way, spirits bear their own worlds and the events woven into them.
Each tree carries its own mission, its own school, its own curriculum. This ‘school’ can be loosely divided into three levels.
The level of the body: the decoction of a particular plant may mend broken bones, strengthen memory, regenerate tissue, or heal the heart.
The level of the soul: the same decoction may help a person accept and move through grief or the pain of broken relationships, bring clarity, or help them center themselves.
And the highest level—the level of spirit or transpersonal experience: it is here that the most powerful encounters and revelations take place.
Among the plants of the selva, there are also those whose spirits are considered patrons of practical skills. Some teach the design of new kené patterns (traditional embroidered geometry); others guide the recognition of medicinal plants and herbs, awaken healing energy in the hands, or bestow energetic vision.
True curanderos, those who have undergone long diets, can distinguish the subtle energetic trace of one spirit from another with ease. In dreams, in ceremonies, or in meditative states, they are always halfway in the spirit world. And even though spirits love to change their form—sometimes appearing one way to one person, and another way to someone else—their core tone never changes, and the shamans know it well.
Curanderos say that spirits have a sense of humor. Many look strange or comical and behave in quirky, joyful ways. Others appear magnificent, grotesque, or repellent, and sometimes all of this at once. But even in their contradictions, there is no sense of dissonance.
From the way shamans describe them, it’s clear that selva spirits can be dualistic—even paradoxical in nature—and they rarely reveal themselves in a fully personified form right away. In the beginning, they are often felt more as an energy, a colored silhouette, or a light emanating from a particular point in space during a ceremony. In dreams, spirits may arrive behind the faces of our relatives or friends, while still preserving their own unique behaviour and character. The Shipibo language has a special verb for describing the relationship between a person and a plant spirit. That word is reati, which means ‘to enter into relationship with a spirit.’
Although spirits vary greatly in their individual characteristics, all of them—as noted—are completely neutral when it comes to the categories of good or evil. Brujos maintain close and trusting relationships with the very same plants that are revered by curanderos. The difference lies only in how they direct their energy and how they choose to restore it. However, one can say without doubt that all selva spirits share a kind of trickster quality. They have an element of play and a sense of humor flavoured with cutting irony.
Yet beneath the seeming idyll of a curandero’s bond with the selva lies the quiet weight of a binding contract—one that knows no expiration. Or rather, its origin stretches far back into ancestral time. At its heart lies a bond that must never be broken, no matter the cost. A bond so profound that, at its core, there is no longer any separation between the spirit and the curandero. The most serious violation of such a contract is known as ‘breaking the diet.’ It’s worth noting that the word ‘diet’ here should be understood in a much broader sense. Those periods when a curandero ingests the brew of a specific plant, and observes fasting, can be seen as separate phases of apprenticeship. But in truth, the diet never truly ends. For a curandero, the diet continues for life, from the moment it is first opened.
Ayahuasca, known as Oni in the Shipibo language, is an entheogenic and hallucinogenic brew made from the vine of a jungle-dwelling tree, combined with the leaves of another medicinal plant called сhacruna. On its own, ayahuasca is a powerful purgative and forms the foundation of countless traditional remedies among the indigenous peoples of the Amazon, who today number over a hundred distinct tribes. When combined with chacruna, ayahuasca gains its hallucinogenic properties, activating the molecule DMT in the human body. For the indigenous peoples of South America, this brew is not only a remedy for deep physical purification, but also a sacred tool for initiation and the development of clairvoyance.
In the world of curanderismo, the Spanish word ‘maraceón’ is used to describe the state that arises when consciousness enters the realm of ayahuasca. This world is awash in blinding white light and a palette of colours so vivid, they lie beyond the reach of human sight—hues we’ve never known. The air shimmers with strange, non-physical sounds, heard not by the ears but from inside: bells, rattles, the chiming of invisible metallophones. It is a world of pure play.
At the same time, it resembles a high-tech mechanism, a multidimensional machine endlessly generating fractals of universal matter. And within it pulses the vast, primordial power of a mother force. Slowly, gradually, she swaddles you— until you are drawn so deeply within that you no longer know where you end and where she begins. Like a laser scalpel, she penetrates the deepest corridors of the psyche, slicing it into the thinnest slivers and shifting them between layers. You find yourself impossibly far from your home planet and here there is nothing left to claim as yours, not even your name. And yet, one thing endures, something infinitely precious, utterly essential. It is the only thing we ever came here with, and the only thing we will take when we leave.
Memories and thoughts detach from the space-time lattice and become like husks—weightless, hovering in the air. You can spin them any way you like, and they will mean exactly what you assign them to mean. But at times, even that is impossible: no meaning can be applied to anything. You cross into a domain where the emptiness behind all phenomena becomes clear. For the first time, you see how your mind has always navigated holographic projections, not the essence of things.
The spirit of ayahuasca is very playful, and the ceremony often follows a spiral rhythm. Just when it seems to be ending, and you feel ready to return to the old agreement, the medicine gathers force again—only offering a pause before the next wave.
When the maraceón begins to fade, you immediately notice how thoughts and definitions regain their apparent center of gravity. They begin to reattach to time and space, clinging to some reference points. And in doing so, they recover their ‘former meaning’. To comprehend just how absurd this is, once you’ve returned to your ordinary mental state, is nearly impossible.
The state known as mareado lasts for about four to five hours and can, in broad terms, be divided into two phases: the first is establishing contact with the power of Oni, passing through a kind of spiritual checkpoint. The second is the phase of centering and entering the spirit world. However, this second phase does not come to everyone, especially not to newcomers. It takes skill to reach it.
In a relationship with this spirit, the foundation is unconditional trust. But here, trust opens on such deep and fundamental layers of the psyche that simply discovering this capacity within oneself is already an experience beyond the ordinary.
Shamans don’t speak the language of psychotherapy, but much of what happens in ceremony can be understood through the icaros. In one icaro that the curandero sings to help the patient connect with the force, the words are as follows:
I straighten my universes,
I straighten my soul,
I straighten my thoughts,
And I weave it into my diet
This icaro, like many others, carries the vision of the healing force that the Shipibo believe to be at the heart of both ceremony and diet in the selva. Healing occurs as a result of ‘straightening’—bringing all structures within the patient’s universe into a state of coherent alignment. According to the descriptions embedded in the icaros, when our energies, thoughts, and soul have been ‘straightened’, our consciousness itself becomes the medicine. The nature of the mind shifts. The gentle yet powerful machine of Oni, radiating a soft glow, opens the doorway to higher realms. With perfect precision, she smooths the deepest folds of the soul, restoring our bond to body, voice, and vital force. And it is then that we become true cosmic doctors—or, as the Shipibo say, we attain the consciousness of the healer.
The essence of the work between curandero and patient during ceremony lies in reaching the deep structures of the psyche and reorganizing those layers connected to the sacred skill of self-regulation. This is an ability instilled in us during the earliest stages of life and even in our prenatal history. Bajo las entrañas, or literally “under the entrails,” as the curanderos say. In the deepest recesses of our psyche, the curandero illuminates any fractures in our wholeness and offers the chance to feel, fully and in detail, all that our body and memory had kept hidden from us. Once this core structure is brought into balance, we gain access to more complex levels of consciousness.
This is what can truly be called the essence of ceremonial work. The visions, messages, and spirit encounters that often accompany this process are indeed part of the experience of curanderismo, but they remain secondary. Moreover, without the necessary skill of centering oneself, any visions or information received during ceremony are likely to be useless, chaotic, or untrue.
For the curanderos themselves, every ceremony follows a precise architecture that has to be upheld and carefully adjusted throughout the night. It’s worth noting that this is impossible without a strong spiritual backbone, shaped through years of practice and long periods of diet.
The spirits of the selva have never been described in any systematic way. They haven’t been catalogued or classified. The question of whether they are autonomous higher beings or merely manifestations of certain psychological phenomena can arise only in the mind of a Western person. In Shipibo culture, this question has never existed. In their worldview, the boundary between subject and object is almost nonexistent. It would be more accurate to say that curanderos believe they can summon a particular spirit through the power of their imagination. Yet the mental image held in consciousness is activated by a higher-order energy known as the spirit. By some magical convergence, these ‘images’ often align with remarkable consistency. They repeat themselves across curanderos, patients during ceremonies, and even in dreams.
In this way, the selva and its spirits form an independent mythology. It isone in which, as in all mythologies, good contends with evil. And though the spirits of the selva may wage battles among themselves, their primary struggle unfolds on an entirely different plane. The true place of this struggle is the human soul.
Read more on this in my blog.