schizophonia. Shamanic Construct.


Music as phantasmic language of the alien.
 interactive and extractive processes that produce traffic in the production, circulation and consumption of novel sound relationships that stimulate negotiations and license in the regulation of identity.

Interplanetary howls mixed with a rattle.

The Time Crystal

The Time Crystal is shamanic gear.  A construct.  Concept.


The power lies in the ability to seize different histories, epochs, and ages within a unifying psycho active object.

Of course, we can go from cosmos to radical individual through its optics.  We can apply its reflective properties at various scales of intensity, depth, size, and motion. Simultaneous instantiations of past, present, future are featured.

This multifaceted Crystal with various vectors stemming out shining at different lengths, widths, and layers organizes to contextualize the unfoldment  of a people, species, culture, star system, or a person.

The branches can signify different orders of temporal trajectory and reflection.  Biological, sociological, political, psychological, molecular, Galactic.

This Crystal is oracular. A source of agency.  A shamanic maneuver to shift in a variety of directions what is requiring modification.

You too as well as myself can be seen through the Time Crystal.

The Time Crystal itself emerges, shines, and vanishes.


4 Fragments on a Neo Shamanic philos0phy

To some Ayahuasqueros, hear me:   The only Aya Manifesto is what you uniquelyd display after your journey inside the Healing Hoop.  Your life is the Evolving Statement.. The Ayahuasca Manifesto as an ecrit is a totalizing voice that is shamanic misinformation, passe, and arising from the priest mindform which replicates the dominant hierachical power structures onto the counter intelligence which is the Shamanic Fire. Beware of the Metaphysics of Presence and Societies of Control.  If you want Church go to Santo Daime.  Otherwise, elude the apparatus of capture rampant in neocolonialist appropriations of the Sacred Wild by the sheer beauty and power of your "flower songs."

In Shamanism there is no Universe or Universal.   There is the Heterocosm. A number of possible orders self arising and self organizing and at times in interdependent relation and tension. The shamanic field is heterotopic. Multiple divergent forces occupying alternate zones.  "Soul" is a polyphony of intensities at variable rates of potency and unfoldment.   The Motor of Shamanism is Motion, Change, Transformation. Not even gods and goddesses know how this will turn out. Nevertheless, activated humans can participate in Design engineering. Your  precious loving heart is the Sun dial.

You are born with a double essence.  There is your personality/history/ DNA encodings and there is your Nagual.  You communicate with your Nagual telepathically.  We border cross in Ceremony to tweek and recalibrate the Abominable and the Marvelous of our Nagual. An alive here. An alive elsewhere.  In Meso American Art the Nagual is represented by hybrid creatures with different features, powers and duration.  Your Nagual Shapeshifts.  The Nagual is triggered and sparked by the architecture of your Deep Ecology. Your Habitat. This is the Sacred Nuptial.

Remember that before words become Worlds there is laughter. Laughter precedes language. This Intimate immediate embodiment is immensely pleasurable. Opening intelligence is the precursor: the one whose name can not be spoken.  Delight in the soma angels of the Mystic Canopy.



Some of the new gods are ethereal entities rising from specific historical terrains: Capital. Technology. Military. These forces, in a Titanic Copulatory Menage, birth: Amazon, Google, Facebook: The Internet Triumvirate. The Cyber Trinity. Our identities are both seized and ordered through the angel gadgets: video games, cell phones, and drones in a sweeping electronic storm whose particles we are streaming and assimilating in our respective Central Nervous Systems and Habitats. The Grid has all seeing emissaries . The Luminous is not a counterfeit Numinous. The shine from Tablets and I phones is The Deities' splendor. Worship my friends. Worship. (From a dream where an eight winged silvered dragon fly tapped this message to my forehead with its dancing appendages). 

I woke up. Amused. Delighted. I drank from the gold cup once more. This water had no front or back.



This one.
This transformation.
Unlike others before it.

Now,  I understand that not the grief alone of my brother's passing brings forth the upheaval and fragmentation.  An intelligence from the deep. Ancient deep. Is. Guiding me to an Unknown.  Old personnas die and must be buried.  If I am steady.

In the meantime, shadows, voices, repressed, surface to shine, rage, weep, laugh and fade.  They Make way.

Sometimes,  I feel this tremendous voltage inside me: Intimations of what is to arrive.

Beware.  I am not him anymore.   I might not love you like I used to.

I might be an exotic stranger declaring in fresh tongues my new truths.

For the moment.
For the moment.

Let me.
Let me.




The 9th Heaven of Xochipilli

Temples. shamanic utopias. clear minds confronted with their own luminosity. 

Mind fields are emergent intensities of bright. What bejeweled architectures are displayed  effulgent.

I smile. Eyes wide shut. My body is at ease shining without limits.

There is an Open Intelligence. The incalculable darkness I rise from is transparent.

An endless Vision abides.
A flower heart beats itself out with Love.
Immaculate. Awake.



Lucid risings

9 flowering trees surround an open pit.

tdancing spark passes through my forehead.
 Black seeds rolling inside my rattle flare cerulean tongues.
 the earth opens its dreams to my songs.  

I see a bird cage with a photograph inside.  Incense burns.

9 flowering trees surround an open pit.

turquoise waters expand and contract on the wrinkled palms of orange haired apes with peacock feathered helmets.

I hear giant glaciers creak across galactic nights.

My skin mirror is a sun.

 Amethyst  petals coil time pass landscapes where new soil is made from the pupils of talking fish.

She is healing.

The earth is healing.

se waters expand and contract on the wrinkled palms of orange haired apes with peacock feathered helmets.

I hear giant glacers creak across galactic nights.

My skin mirror is a sun.

 Amethyst  petals coil time pass landscapes where new soil is made from the pupils of talking fish.

She is healing.

The earth is healing.



Ancient the belief in the unexplained powers of nature.
Long before the rise of theologies and hierarchies
an elemental intuition still holds sway.

Across the globe,  Planetary neo primitives salute the Giant Techno Totems.  Release your inner Shaman.

We give way to new rituals for possible advents from the unknown.
Deliberate trancers paint their faces beyond neocolonialist neon. 
Many neurohack their bodies for untold perceptions and alliances through Research chemicals and live electronics.
The night has many eyes and hearts. 
Some freaks were born before us. Many now die as we breathe. The pulse goes on.

Come out. Come out. Come out even more,
You who know the finest of light.
This world is ending and we need your fragrant flower waters,
and songs.
We need mother crystals and the first dances for the sun.
And do not forget a good blunt.

There is a communal chant passing through this earth.
Just maybe those that demand your life for their sake will
disrobe upright  before the moon. Perhaps  only to fuck you over till they are satisfied----Whatever it is.
But who knows? Some could see the numinous veils and surrender to the Bright.

If they do not brothers and sisters,
tell each day of your love.
Tell the plants, animals, and the sea.
Walk through your cities with peace and grace...
And just the right dose of hate.

Share with the Entangled ones a good joke.


Skyloops, earthloops, fireloops, self shamanizing...

We engage in sensory engineering: sound, rythm, vision technics repurposed to intensify sensations and propagate new sensory life forms.

Transit without passage....perpetual liminality....yes, this can prevail and yet

there is a call to adventure, thresholds, death, ordeals, a return to the world, the Unknown Thing,

We are ritual syncretists, enact
spiritual edge work...through  

"research chemicals",    psychoactive commodities...diverse sacra...

 We enjoy the counterfeit infinity of psychedelics as well as the counter infinity of a deepest sobriety...

We are the Mixtics

Alberto Roman

Buddhism and Ayahuasca

Shamanism, Buddhism, and Ayahuasca

For several years, I’ve been exploring the relationship between shamanism and Buddhism.

The indigenous expression of Bon shamanism and Buddhist practices are historically interwoven in Tibet. The current form of Tibetan Buddhism is a near seamless synthesis of the two traditions.

One way of viewing shamans is that they are the cultural creatives of their communities. Whether they are providing healing through plants, balms, tonics, antidotes, chants, art-objects, music, story-telling, dance, and ritual, the shaman liberates a Cosmology for a collective according to interdependent forces and variable technologies.

Mastery, of course, varies as it would in any field.

It is to Ayahuasca (a dark bitter brew that some Amazonian tribes drink) that I want turn to within the context of Buddhist meditation and offer some perspective on it.

There is a record of Bon shamans ingesting “entheogens” to bring medicines, power, and knowledge back to their tribes as they interact with various “worlds.” Ayahuasca, in many circles, is revered as a Master Teacher.

The sense of awe, power, and mystery that is available at Deity-like scales during an Ayahuasca journey can serve a practitioner who wants accelerated access to states of consciousness such as detailed in The Flower Ornament Scripture, which Wikipedia notes as describing “a cosmos of infinite realms upon realms, mutually containing one another.”

Much of the accounts of communion, interdependence, participation, and personal humility that we find in spiritual/religious texts throughout various schools are experiences that Ayahuasca can provide. Mind you, Ayahuasca is not Shamanism. It is a “tool,” just one of the many technologies available for positive transmorphing.

I recall that my Vajrasattva practices during and after Ayahuasca experiences, the Sky gazing techniques of Dzogchen, the cutting through, the immense sense of compassion, gratitude, and peace that were part of my conscious practice with Ayahuasca left me blissful and as one with All That Is.

The sense of belonging, possibility, and deep affection that is the afterglow of many Ceremonies is enticing and hard to release. The shamanic sangha is quite the love and beauty fest. “Ceremonial” experiences have impacted my art anddying, but only because I have been a practitioner for several decades.
However, as I got invited to co-chair ceremonies with established Ayahuasqueros (also know as Curanderosand Vegetalistas), my sense of the overall value of this technology led me to the following awareness:

I am more comfortable with the term “hallucinogen” as opposed to “entheogen” (that which releases the divinity within) since I see the word entheogen now as just a psychedelic-politically-correct way to refer to these substances that casts them in the most positive light. There is an unquestioned dogmatic structure operating minimally on the surface of the term that pervades as an “attachment,” even though it is to god realms.

Curanderos are not gurus, spiritual leaders or even necessarily brilliant thinkers. They are quite often afflicted with traumatic developmental histories that remain unresolved after decades of imbibing the brew. They can be invested in power hierarchies, and are often impaired in the areas of intimacy and emotional maturity. In many ways, their level of insight is no greater than the seekers that come to them for illumination and relief.

I have come to view true transformational technologies as being deeper and more thorough than what the volatile ethno-botanicals can deliver on their own. We can bring meditation, therapy, yoga, transversal ontologies, and so on to our practices in styles that enrich us and help us attain greater degrees of participation in a fully self-expressed life. Our syncretic moves are a benefit to Upper Amazon curanderismo without a doubt. And yet, we invest an enormous amount of positive transference to the curandero though what they serve is a plant concoction where we provide most of the psychospiritual ornaments along with extraterrestrials, brujos, and zombies. Is this actually liberating?

Curanderismo is also an incredibly lucrative business and assistants in the money chain, including the ones that host the curanderos in the United States, make enough (tax free) cash to keep invested in it. Let us not forget that for most of the planet N,N-Dimethyltryptamine (DMT), the psychoactive ingredient in Ayahuasca, is a controlled substance with severe penalties being levied against those who’ve been successfully prosecuted for its distribution.

If you are a Buddhist or mystic of any type, yes, study the role of hallucinogens in your life, whatever that life stage, ponder the variety of motivations and reasons, and differentiate from there what is of durable value to you when ingesting the vine. Ayahuasca, at best, can be seen as one of many catalyzing agents that can pry out that which is already clamoring for attention and expression. However, sustained transformation requires a discipline that a tireless pursuit of healing through these concoctions cannot sustain. If you do not integrate this into your awareness, you will remain in a bardo of sensation and fascination. Welcome to shamanic Samsara.

Most of the effects of these substances can be achieved by other means, hence the power of contemporary cultural creative practices. Given the indiscriminate spread and increasing use of Ayahuasca (and other hallucinogens), I believe that most new users are not prepared psychologically or emotionally to reap any long-term enduring benefits from them. The reasons for this are a general presence of ontological-existential immaturity and also because there is no adequate language for referring to these experiences afterwards. And because there is such a variety of modes of partaking of the substances, that it is not possible even to objectively evaluate what the deeper positive changes, if any, have been.

On top of it all, with the grotesque and carnivalesque expansion and proliferation of the Amazonian brew outside their natural contexts of use (even if geographically still in the original regions and countries), what we have now is a free-for-all groping, manipulation, ego-tripping, and narcissistic posturing of both old and new hands. Despite all the enthusiastic claims to the contrary, there is a lot of amateurism in these tropical destinations of so-called “healing” and “spiritual” work. It’s an exotic tourism for some and easy money-making opportunity for others. Contrary to the general impression of growth and expansion (true at the most obvious level), there will be more “accidents,” bad trips, abuse, and malpractices in this unregulated wild frontier -- not a very healthy or sane environment for “enlightenment” or “healing.”  (zarko)

Let me ask you this: are not the rampant modern mythologies around the so-called “teacher” or “healing” plant, ”plant spirits,” and “dark/malevolent entities” part of the Legions of Mara as well? Who is the self that believes in any one of these?

Until there is a true, sophisticated, rich, and critical synthesis of the best of the original (native) practices with the best of the western advanced interdisciplinary epistemological and therapeutic methodologies, insights, and knowledge, I respectfully suggest you let go of these dubious contemporary playgrounds of/for the psyche. They can be fun, certainly, but also dangerous for many. Or, just a plain waste of time.

Meditate, don't hallucinate. Balance between reason and intuition is the Great Mystic Health.


And the rest of what is,
 may chance,
 to break in,
 upon us,
 at any moment.
How you gonna turn it will get you in about it and upon it.

Spin this habit on your body and your motion
Let me show you how to do this righteous emotion.

I put honey marmalade on three biscuits.
Don' let the luminescent whiskers on my chin tell you not to risk it. Ride this rhyme that is flippin the invisible.
I pull the trigger so can you hear the bullet whistle.

What you say and we will say!  
what she'll say and they will say!
Who here wants to play? 

And the rest of what is,
 may chance, to break in, upon us,
 at any moment.
How you gonna turn it will get you in about it and upon it.

I am inside the eye from the beginning
Just wanted to let you know it ain't the trickster who is spinnin...

Let me tell you something about Ayadeliks
You know the interzones in your skull where you light up your Nellies.


So you think you are part of a revolution
dropped some ayahuasca as part of your solution.
Don't you know that that ride you took 
the dietas and the hook
left you open for the  alien and
the bad infinite playin.

No plan to diss just sayin.'

I too chilled with curanderos and their sprayin.
Got royalties, jungle flutes, songs, and powers to dispensate,
got the chance to consecrate, liberate,  elevate and situate.
But that don't mean that the players you were playin were not playin you
for your greens and euros.

I know cause they told me so.

What gets healed, killed and thrilled?
What gets loose is not the noose.
Who is it that wants to be your redeemer?
Who is it that needs redemption?
Who produces this knowledge to construct your own private college.
Cash only. For your belief. Cash only for your disbelief. Cash only for your medicina.

No psychedelics has got your story.
No curandero has your glory. what shaman is not Peter Lorre?
But i get the show.
The show of lights, delights, and terrors.
I get the spiritual carnival at the edges of your fractal brain spreadin',
Steppin into/out of
the theatre of your imagination. That star train, love lane, no plain-plane. jaguar fame.

Nevertheless. Nevertheless. Hear it now.
Obvious. Vivid. Magical.
Simple. Easy. Logical. 

You are
Never late. You are Always arriving.
Your are born Immaculate.
 Free with super powers. Courageous.

Look around ain't it obvious.
Look around it really is that easy.
Simple sky is blue.
Your life is simply true.
koo koo ka choo.

Now show us what you do like you do.





The Real is an experiment in Belief.  Science, Art, and Philosophy are ongoing practices that constitute what is possible.

Existence precedes Essence means that we live in a Cosmic milieu. Humans begin already as a set of relations.  We are nomads of the inter kingdoms. From the molecular to the exorbitant the universe is an Opening Intelligence.

"Teotl" is the ever variable voltage for novel formations of Self and collectives.

We begin with the above.

Shamanic Art maneuvers have several functions:  Cultural creatives  both act as clinicians for a culture of which they are embedded in as reader of symptoms to both precipitate and in some instances, transform themselves and their culture.  We construct works of arts (as antidotes, medicines, catalysts, transports,  ).

Initiation for us is complicity.  The particular  internalizing the Universal and defining itself a microcosm.
This is a living relation to life grounding the possibility of knowledge of individual destiny.
We attain this through knowing the Real.  It is about awareness. Once individuated one is never separate from the Universal.
Knowledge is acquired by each living person on their own account.  Initiation is  participation in permanent interdependence.

 We  Experiment  for Cosmic, psychic, and spiritual regeneration.

Ordeals are likely but so is Joy.


Maga 2

and deep, deep you are- insisting on surges of love. You are elementals giving rise to outrageous flowerings on the wild soil of the earth. The bones of former brilliant horned creatures who spoke through colors on the surface of their skin yield to your imaginings.
Day and night you bring smoke, rain, and stones to sing.

and yet your desire is lighter than sun beams, lighter than dawn. You are innocence.

I whip my cylindrical tail amidst the altar ruins of Ancient empires, their defiled Nirvanas leave only the scent of lavander to remember them, and delighted,
I eat a peach.


Maga 1

And it did arrive, this revelation, as if unseen,  exquisitely delicate constellations,  adjusted intelligently a tad through and in between and suddenly we were in recent magical dimensions from such cosmic transparencies and ritual games. Absolute immaculate fecundities divined space time energetics.  We could invent and be invented therefrom. We were grown with Sun and death.


fragment 3


I am looking for that she Monkey with a Blue Feather.

This one monkey has an emerald gem encrusted between her brows. They say she lives by the stream where time begins.

My friends who know of her, but never have sat with her, or even danced with her; say that she likes French toast, red wine, and humans who speak in Ancient tongues like the purple dialect of the Mayans.

Now the reason that I am looking for her is that she has taken 3 of my cats near dawn. She grabbed them and jumped into a nearby pond where the Koi live and she has never come up from the shimmering waters.

I have jumped into the pond myself and touched bottom. Only pebbles, algae, and red clay lie at the bottom, although, the other day, I found an amulet. It was a humming bird made out gold with some inscription probably in Sanskrit across its chest.
My friend Sherri can not decipher it yet. 

Sometimes, I sit in a Cafe reading Sufi poetry and get a video message from the She monkey on my cell. I know it is her because she congratulates me on my recent trips and the luminous skins I have shed. The video is just her hairy monkey palm where all the Holy names of my wounds are written. I watch them dissolve one by one. Then I hear these wild, laughing like howls as the screen fades to Black. I assume she is offering congratulations but monkeys are strange and this one some say is the strangest of the strange.

Besides, the monkey has my 3 cats, all females, by the way.

I have gone to Buddhist Temples, Ayahuasca ceremonies, Hindu temples, Christian churches, Native American lodges, Personal transformation workshops, talked to ex-girlfriends and new ones too about this. I have studied thoroughly Western Ontology from Heraclitus to Deleuze. I have talked to taxi cab drivers in town just in case a missing feline has been reported lately. They all in one way or another tell me the same thing:

Find the translucent orb with Blue Feathers sprouting .

Friends, let me know if you see that she monkey with an emerald gem encrusted on her forehead. She often comes to you while you sleep. They say she lives by the stream where time begins.



Without the terminable there in no awakening.

  consciousness surfaces.
 pulsates lightning.
 life is surveyed through
 swarming time crystals
the eyes of strange bees. 

so I stammer in another idiom- the idiom of the exquisite automatons ( those who are positively empty to gate else-wheres in the here and now) : ezpiritooal equilibre um b twin reason and intuitzion is the great mystik helth.

 Total Velocity is
 this incandescent body that extinguishes itself in the name of Love.


Notes on Ikura

Woven Tongues presents Ikura.
Ikura is a  21st century media ecology piece. 
 Utilizing dance, live acoustic and electronic soundscapes, video montage and experiential performance art, Ikura  explores contemporary practices of identity (trans)formation both personal and collective. Through ritual refinement strategies in art participants  experience novel forms of subjective and communal spaces, shedding light into dark margins , and exposing the uncomfortable, fragile and remarkably beautiful nature of our existence.

From a poetic nuptial between myself and Maya Lemberg we offered this passing narrative used to "promote" this contemporary Shamanic Art piece.  Shamanism here defined as the Art of Living Well.  Positive Hybridity.

However,  the work, the elements to fulfill the vision, the quality and taste of what I had tentatively called Ikura arrived from deep mixtures.  What I experienced in Bali, several Ceremonies, and meditation gave surface to the particular direction.  I am interested in contemporary media ecology as well and ways to radicalize content in order for spaces of clearing and creativity to emerge.

The presentation of the piece at the Goat Farm in Atlanta was a success.  Much of the success is the communal model of practicing art where several other agents contributed to the making of the performance event.



On the forehead of the stone buddha
  a yellow butterfly is still.
   Who dreamed who?Dear Alberto

The galleys for THE SHAMAN AND AYAHUASCA are being sent. I hope you like what I have done with the material and that you are proud of your great contribution to this project. I love Don José’s “voice” in the book and that is down to your sensitive translation. It is warm, generous, lighthearted and loving. Your chapter on Don Solon is moving and respectful and creates just the right tone,  your vision is lovely. I hope the book sells well and that it provides a good platform for your continuing projects. You know your contribution began the day we met and you have been instrumental in the creation of Divine Arts, the films and the books. I hope we will continue a happy collaboration in the adventures that come our way.  
With love, 




I do not know at this moment.  I engrave rain. I decode psychoactive ineffabilities. I engrave rain.  Much appears as precious stones on fire. 


She arrives from a luminous temple in a thin layer  made of mist and darkness to bring this perfect gift.


 With allies of the Vast and wild I commune. 
MMM!  copal embers glow. Fanged rainbow river serpent Deities look at me. ephemeral species appear and disappear.
  Inside the heart of The Jade One dreaming awake the Light of the cosmos on her fingertips, I sit.

Here, what allows the incursion of several varieties of alterity are 
 mixtures of compounds and utterances,  sparks of divinities 
 made from solar laughter, humming bird wings and  electric water. 

Plants sing.  I sing.  We sing.

There is a flash of thunder inside the transparencies.
There is intense voltage from bones made of rose quartz.
There are altars made of music.

There is nothing at all..


Chanting,   breathing, I see a long way in and come back as fast as my blink.  You caress me with an Absolute now-ness that  ignites a primal dance through my astonished body. I stomp my feet with ankle rattles.
Ouhaya- ouhaya-ya.

 Fire. Water. Air. Earth. Space,  they weave and twist in and out of each other, enlivened, summoning radiant ethers that give the Widowed Night its voice: Such a delicate healing.

What else is there to do but celebrate the earth with offerings made of pulverized star flowers, palo santo, sage,  and lavender? 
through sacred hieroglyphs spontaneously rising on the Temple of your immaculate mind, and,
 Exit through the Ancestral Night Sun. Exalted.

I am the Secret of your Legs Spread luminous.

primitive lucidities. primitive lucidities.

 So, I, shake beauty out with with an incandescent rattle.  I give over
 to the the scintillating patterned
  flowers that undulate along my face, chest, and pelvis, and up again. 

 I delight in petals whose  fragrance is  the Unknown of the Seen.

Our origins are not too deep to be found.

ouhaya-ouhaya-ya....May all you love thrive.