My French informant Jean mentioned a curandero he knew, by the name of Miguel Tapullima Cachite. I asked Jean if he had ever taken ayahuasca with Miguel, and he said No, because he believed (probably mistakenly) that Miguel is a brujo rather than (as Alberto is) a curandero. It sounded as if taking ayahuasca with Miguel might be interesting, so I asked Jean to arrange a meeting with him. We three met and I felt comfortable with Miguel, so three days later I arrived at Miguel's "healing center" in the forest, on the back of a motorbike driven by a Peruvian, Antonio, who was also going to take ayahuasca and who speaks good English.
Miguel was making the final preparations for the ayahuasca ceremony, emptying a bottle of thick black stuff into a metal pan. It looked disgusting. He took the pan down a short path to a hut with a fireplace, and placed the pan on the fire. This was one of the ayahuasca preparations that Miguel used that evening.
The maloca at Miguel's place is a large rectangular hall, with an array of folding mattresses along each wall, and many Tibetan prayer flags hanging in long rows just under the rafters.
There were six people taking the ayahuasca that evening, including myself and two Australians. After it was completely dark all participants took their places. Miguel prepared his bottles of ayahuasca. There were three kinds, each "cooked" in different ways. Calling each of us up in turn, he mixed liquid from two of the bottles into a small cup, offering it to us. As usual, the stuff tasted awful. We each retired to our mattresses to await the effects in total darkness.
After awhile there was an effect, an energetic turbulence in my consciousness. It felt as if there was a struggle going on, with entities competing to enter my mind. But none succeeded, and after a while this wore off. About an hour later Miguel asked me if I want more ayahuasca. I said Yes, and he gave me another cup.
Now began the main events of that night. I started to feel sick, and eventually vomited (into a small bucket; there were buckets for this purpose beside each of the mattresses). I vomited several times. Although the volume of ayahuasca that I consumed was quite small, thick and concentrated, I vomited a considerable amount of liquid. I also developed diarrhea, and had to go in the dark (with the help of my flashlight) down the maloca and out to the toilet block (fortunately more modern than at Alberto's place), where I released a large amount of shit and also vomited some more. I felt awful, and very weak. During that night I had to go four times to piss and twice to shit. Most of the other participants didn't need to do this.
I saw no visions, but rather spent a lot of time thinking. I thought about a dream I had two nights before, in which I was in a very dark room with a man, dressed in black, hardly visible, and chanting in Tibetan (or Sanskrit?). It occurred to me that this person was Death, and that Death appeared to me in my dream, either to warn of my impending death or to inform me that my time had come, and I took seriously the idea that I might die that night. I was resolved not to die, but it would have made for a bad trip if I had had to spend the next few hours just resolving not to die so as to survive until the morning. So I decided to talk to Death. I requested Death not to take me, but to allow me to live, since I believe I still have lots do do in this life. Death did not say Yes, but apparently agreed to consider the request, so I was relieved that I probably would not die that night.
I then turned to thinking about other things, especially personal matters, in the past and in the present. I attended to issues going back more than 30 years, which made me feel sick again.
During the night Miguel several times went around to check how people were doing. Around midnight each of us sat before him to receive a limpieza (a “cleansing”). Miguel, like Alberto before, shook a device made of leaves (called a chakapa) over most parts of my body while chanting an icaro. In contrast to Alberto's icaros I didn't hear Miguel sing any other icaros during the night, though perhaps he did and I didn't hear him. Some hours later I fell asleep.
I woke at dawn. I didn't feel well, and remained lying down for some time. Eventually I got up, walked around outside for a bit, then returned to talk to Miguel, with the help of Antonio's translation. I told him about my dream of two nights before, and my interpretation that it was a dream in which Death appeared to me. Miguel and Antonio both disagreed, and claimed that the person in the dream was more likely a deceased relative of mine, who was asking for help. The only deceased male relatives of mine were my father and my stepfather (who both died a long time ago), and there was no indication in my dream that this person was either of those. Also, the person in the dream was definitely chanting in Tibetan or Sanskrit, not likely for my father or stepfather. Apparently Peruvians do not believe that there is person, god or spirit who is Death, unlike the Hindus and Buddhists, who personify Death as a deity (called Yama by Hindus and Yamantaka by Tibetan Buddhists). The Peruvians say that the time of death is decided only by God.
I got a moto back to the Plaza de Armas in Tarapoto. I was still feeling sick. I attempted to eat breakfast at the local coffee shop, but vomited. Back at my hostal I slept the rest of the morning, and gradually recovered.