Sunday Despacho

With the lilting lyrics of Lou Reed’s Velvet Underground – and the song Sunday Morning, insistently playing in the back of my head, we all tumbled into the black SUV and headed out of suburbia. Velvet Underground rapidly became Yani, as my partner changed the vital CD and left me a little crestfallen.

   We didn’t travel too far when we all agreed that a Taiwanese lunch might be a good idea, to begin the journey with – that is despite the picnic of salad, rice, and roasted duck sitting in the back of our vehicle, in various plastic containers, like some New Age forgotten Last Supper. So we tumbled out of the SUV – dog and all, tied said dog up to convenient standing pipe and partook of simply one of the best Taiwanese lunches available in KL. It was also fortuitous that the family we were escorting out of suburbia, just happened to be the owners of said Taiwanese restaurant.

   That aside, and delectable lunch partaken of, once more we edged into the black SUV and led the other family out of suburbia and into the wilds of Hulu (Ulu) Selangor. The other family contained a shaman. We were going to meet up with another mystic man, at the Magick River, in a land where earth, water, fire and air spirits are still honoured, and where the government in their infinite wisdom has built a bloody great big dam and flooded the majority of land belonging to indigenous peoples.

Magick man, shaman – three families - together we mourned the loss of the Magick man’s Bamboo Palace – sadly burnt to the ground (literally) one week previously. With painful hearts we saw the charcoal remains of that once splendid structure and inwardly bawled a bucket of tears. But we came not to mourn but to rejoice and, quite probably, to heal too.

   Our on-board shaman, recently returned from promotional trips to Taiwan and the US of A, was to undertake a Despacho and fire ceremony, as a celebration of life, love, and the nature of all things – in nature. It was to bring reciprocity, reverence, and thanksgiving between us and the natural word, and of course to the mountains (apus - of which there are plenty around Bukit Fraser) and to Mother Earth (Pachamama) herself.

   We dallied a while in the Magick River herself – the time not being quite right for the ceremony to begin (and vague stirrings of Jim Morrison’s Lizard King in my mind) and we all enjoyed the coolness of that river on our over-stressed and over-heated bodies. Sun dappled shadows onto our bodies, the river and the evident joy we were all experiencing frolicking in that water. Men, women, children, and one super ecstatic dog were enjoying the easy flow of life and the river. Magick man and shaman compared mystical notes and pretty soon it was time to dive into the roasted duck, rice, and salad, as shamanistic rituals are best undertaken on a relatively full stomach.

   I had expected to be a little more sceptical than I was. It’s not every day I am faced with a full-on Despacho ceremony, and despite the blowing of wishes and the raising hands to West, East, North, South, ground and sky it all seemed less silly than it does to write about it. The Despacho – a shamanistic parcel of wishes, hopes, and good will was made, and copious amounts of sugary items placed therein, amidst feathers, leaves, and other natural elements. After various shakings of rattles and the blowing of some fluid we proceeded to burn the parcel on the ruins of the former Bamboo Palace. It seemed somehow fitting that we should do so. We stood with our backs to the fire, and let it consume the parcel. That done and we were once again entertained by spontaneous drumming and serenaded by that old Magick man himself. It seems almost too obvious to say but - Sundays will never quite seem the same after that.