The Shaman’s Vision Quest

'The Shaman's Vision Quest':

But what does that signify? To grasp this concept, let's rewind to the origins... For quite a few years now, I've been undergoing training under the guidance of a remarkable teacher.

My teacher is a revered carrier of the “Mesa”, dedicated to the path of the Peruvian Pampamesayoq. She holds not only the sanctioned rights from Don Mariano Quispe Flores to share the Q'otoKuna karpay and Willka Mayu energy belts but also commands respect within the 'hierarchical' framework prevalent among the mountain-dwelling tribes. Her unwavering commitment to consistent training, unswerving adherence to and dissemination of authentic teachings, coupled with her role as a mesa carrier, practicing with unwavering courage and integrity, have endeared her to the paqos themselves. This earned her the title of Pampamesayoq. And so, I embarked on my journey many moons ago when I was grappling with drug addiction, severe depression, suicidal tendencies, and the weight of despondency. The complete account of my transformation from suicidal depression to shamanism and psychedelics is chronicled in my upcoming book.

My teacher illuminated a new path before me – one untainted by addiction, depression, and intrusive thoughts. It was a journey into sobriety, leading through the gateway, progressing to the South where we shed the burdens that no longer served us, and then to the realm of the jaguar, where we confronted and overcame our fears, nurturing courage. Finally, we arrived at the North, where the essence of the hummingbird now envelops me. This phase embodies graceful flight and the unfolding of our epic journeys.

These courses encompass an array of practices and healing methods that have, beyond doubt, transformed my life in ways words can hardly capture. Commencing this venture, I initially envisioned it as a week-long endeavor leading to a qualification. Little did I know that this was a stark misperception. Being a mesa carrier is a lifelong pursuit entailing daily dedication. Even when you believe you've transcended the teachings of the medicine wheel, you're actually immersed in them most profoundly. I've contemplated giving up, surrendering my mesa, and yearning to return to a "normal" existence. What I was unaware of upon embarking on this journey was that this was not a mere course – it was a lifestyle.

And so, I embarked on my shamanic expedition as a young wanderer adrift in the world. After undergoing my teacher's courses, her references to the "north" and the "east" and their association with genuine magic intrigued me. As life's clutter got sorted, I found myself in a serene realm of acceptance, flowing with unparalleled harmony. It seemed the universe had shifted in my favor, at least for some individuals. Initially, I dismissed this as nonsense. My teacher went on to explain that our "medicine names" are revealed in the North, a place she embarked on arduous journeys to discover, though the exact locations remained undisclosed – a query perhaps best suited for those drawn to this transformative journey.

Years later, I now find myself basking in the enriching energy of the North, where everything has been aligning seamlessly and auspiciously in my favor. In this Northern domain, we undertake a "vision quest," venturing into the untamed wilderness of Kent's open countryside for a span of 24 hours. Armed with nothing more than our mesas, rattles, water, sleeping bags, warm attire, and essential provisions, we traverse the landscape to connect with archetypes and spirits, gathering insights and treasures for both my teacher and ourselves.

Guided by my teacher's remarkable partner and my mentor, a designated area within a field becomes our haven for a night of exploration. During this time, my teacher returns to her abode to embark on a journey of her own – to uncover the names for the students of the North. Amid these covert efforts, the rest of us, her students, brave the elements under a star-studded sky. Armed solely with water, sleeping bags, roll mats, and rainproof gear, we remain confined to the squares delineated, forbidden from kindling fires, preparing hot beverages, or straying beyond our designated space. The hours pass in song, rattle, and shamanic journeys – cosmic explorations undertaken in perfect sobriety, an experience entirely foreign to my upbringing.

The night itself was utterly mesmerizing. In my lifetime, I've encountered various substances, including Fentanyl, Opiates, potent psychedelics such as Psilocybin, Ayahuasca, and DMT. However, what transpired that night transcended any substance I've ever ingested. Allow me to elaborate: Upon arrival, with a military background under my belt, I was fully prepared. Spending months beneath the starry expanse was a familiar practice, one that extended even beyond my military service. Following my departure from the military, I delved into 72-hour fasts within the woodlands of North Yorkshire moors and embarked on weeks of wild camping escapades in Scotland.

I've clocked in countless hours beneath the stars, not merely tens or hundreds but over a thousand hours under similar if not more challenging circumstances. I've noticed that the most profound spiritual experiences often emerge amidst adversity, precisely when they are most needed. But as I ventured into this experience, I carried an exceptionally positive mindset. I was primed and prepared, armed with my old army-issued sleeping bag, a cozy traverse to insulate me from the ground, waterproof protection for my sleeping gear, and a variety of layered warm clothing for contingency.

I engaged in hours of rattling and singing my new Icaros. These Icaros, learned under the tutelage of another teacher, Maestro Richard Down, immersed me in a trance-like state. While this is a regular practice for me, richly beautiful and deeply powerful, it didn't deviate from my typical day-to-day existence. Although a light shower had come and gone unnoticed, a sudden downpour ensued for around ten minutes. I anticipated my bag to be drenched (all contents were safeguarded within waterproof bags). I swiftly covered my sleeping gear with waterproof housing to shield myself from the dampness. After the rain ceased, I uncovered the sleeping bag, expecting moisture. Astonishingly, the ground remained completely dry – it hadn't rained at all. An uneasy feeling crept in, and I thought, "Oh no." This discomfort escalated as I believed I might be on the cusp of a psychedelic experience. Intrusive thoughts surged through my mind – questions about my water bottle's contents, accidental consumption of substances, and other uncertainties.

Yet, these thoughts dissolved, and a deep connection with the Paqos, Mother Earth, the elements, rain, and wind enveloped me. A profound trust blossomed amidst this transition. "You're entirely sober, Sam. You haven't ingested anything. This is the result of the work you've undertaken, your dedication to your practices." This message resonated profoundly – a testament to trust and progress. Embracing this insight, I stowed my rattle and gazed up at the stars while sitting still for several more hours. My eyes were fixed on the celestial expanse, absorbing my surroundings.

I observed satellites looping around the Earth, their paths often mimicking those of previous ones. I counted nearly a thousand planes, birds, bats, insects. Hours of sky-watching enabled me to learn and internalize. Eventually, I decided to jest with myself, silently addressing the Paqos: "If you truly possess the qualities others ascribe to you, show me a sign, my friends." In less than a second, a shooting star streaked across my field of vision. I'm familiar with satellites and planes, and this was unequivocally a shooting star. I couldn't deny it.

Amused, I emerged from my sleeping gear, a mix of laughter and shock engulfing me. My usual skepticism persisted – I need evidence before accepting anything. This marked the first sign, although I've encountered similar occurrences before, this was particularly striking. I'd posed a question and received an answer – an experience I'd never encountered in such a direct manner. As I stood laughing to myself, I jestingly murmured, "Well, that could be a coincidence." Almost instantly, another shooting star traversed the sky – two within a few minutes. Bursting into laughter, I fumbled to retrieve my journal, eager to chronicle the experience before the moonlight waned beneath the clouds. Alone in a field, I laughed and cried simultaneously, relishing the fact that I'd been proven wrong yet again.

The urge to share this revelation, to shout it from the rooftops, welled up within me. Unfortunately, we are required to withhold discussion of our experiences for a minimum of two weeks. I hastily scribbled notes in my journal, under the shroud of darkness, placing it beside me on the ground. Standing up, I continued to gaze at the stars, a wave of laughter and disbelief coursing through me. I addressed the Paqos again, half-jokingly, thinking, "Why not give it another go?" Miraculously, a third shooting star graced the sky within moments of my utterance. Overwhelmed by emotion, my body, usually responsive to laughter, collapsed into a heap of joyful tears.

I gazed at my hands in the midst of pitch-black darkness and posed the question, "Why me?" Why am I privileged to bask in this profound happiness? Why can't everyone experience this incessant bliss? I was so overwhelmed by emotions and joy that I wanted to distribute it like handfuls of chocolate coins. I thought about numerous friends who still battle mental challenges, remain entangled in addiction's grip, endure monotonous jobs, with weekends mirroring previous ones. A sense of sorrow, empathy, and stagnation washed over me. The reasons people remain stagnant often encompass a lack of awareness about other possibilities, an absence of knowledge to extricate themselves from their existing lives, or a penchant for staying within their discomfort because it's simpler than pursuing change. To all my old friends, former colleagues, and anyone grappling with life's hardships, I send love, healing, and fresh perspectives.

In that moment, an unparalleled clarity dawned upon me – more optimistic than the stillness and enlightenment following a potent psychedelic encounter. As dew soaked into my trousers from the grass where my knees had pressed into the mud, I tilted my gaze skyward. Palms open before me, I took a deep breath and exhaled with a sigh of relief. This single moment underscored the potency of the Paqos, reaffirming the undeniable reality of this practice. It overturned every effort I had made to disprove it, all in a matter of minutes.

This work, more than anything else, is undeniably genuine. I stood in awe, returned to my sleeping gear, nestled in, and tried to warm up. The wind's intensity escalated, almost too much to bear. Anxiety arose regarding my journal possibly getting whisked away. A glance around revealed that I was almost enveloped in a whirlwind. The wind's force intensified, tossing debris in a circular dance. Amidst nervous laughter, I pulled the waterproof covering over my head and hoped not to wake up in a different spot come morning. Eventually, sleep overtook me, probably around 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning.

I awoke before sunrise, driven by an inner motivation to emerge from my sleeping gear, pack it away, and continue forging connections through my Icaros. I crawled on all fours through the grass, intent on uncovering further signs. To a passerby, I might have resembled someone under the influence or struggling mentally. Here I was, at 7:00 in the morning, immersed in the grass, striving to decode the universe's messages. The mental image was surreal, bordering on madness when contemplated. But true to form, the universe offered once more.

Crawling from corner to corner of my designated area, I found myself not only drenched but also adorned with cow dung. That prompted me to question, "Where are the cows?" Glancing upward, I encountered six cows encircling the ditch. I was situated within a sort of hollow, surrounded by elevated sides. The cows observed from above, seemingly chewing their grass. I returned their gaze, and as I resumed my slow crawl, my focus shifted back to the ground. Amongst the grass and dung, I stumbled upon a cluster of clovers. At the heart of it all was a four-leafed clover, remarkably red. This was the first instance I had ever discovered a four-leafed clover, let alone a red one. Laughter erupted from me once more, startling the cows. As if in response, they converged, blocking the sunrise from the eastern side of the ditch. Placing the red four-leafed clover into my journal, I decided to keep it for later, perhaps even frame it. Curiosity propelled the cows down the ditch's side, inching closer to me. My attempts to scare them away with sudden noises and movements proved fruitless.

As a crow soared above, emitting a loud call, I tracked its flight with my gaze. The cows, as if perplexed by the bird's song, also followed its trajectory. A surreal tableau unfolded – six cows and I, captivated by a crow's departure into the distance. My gaze shifted between the cows and the bird, an almost comical dance. The bird now some 100 to 150 meters away, I turned my attention back to the cows, then to the bird, and once more to the cows. Finally, I addressed the bird, saying, "One more for the journey, Paqos." In an instant after my words, the bird executed a perfect 180º turn. It retraced its path, soaring directly above me. As it passed over, aligned with an imaginary beam of light extending upward from my spine, the bird emitted another call. My astonishment held me rooted to the spot. I murmured to myself, "That's enough for today." I returned to my bag and waited for Skie to collect me in the mid-morning hours. During this interval, I felt only the wind on my face, and the cows had scampered further up the hill.

My teacher eventually arrived, and we retraced our steps to the course location. A cup of tea later, we engaged in one-on-one sessions with her, where we shared our experiences, and she provided her insights. I recounted the entire sequence from my journal. she elucidated that her elemental affinity lies with the wind, coinciding with the moment I felt its presence – a period when she was journeying for my name.

She disclosed that she had received the name "Naoki Nayati" and bestowed it upon me during our one-on-one conversation. She delved into the visions she had received, sharing the story behind the name. "Naoki" stems from Japanese heritage, embodying the tale of a samurai who, in a ceremonial rite, was cleansed and adorned with cherry blossoms before entering battle. This warrior only engaged when there was an absolute inevitability to do so. The second half, "Nayati," draws from North American heritage, signifying "the boy who wrestles." I harbor a deep passion for martial arts and wrestling, having trained under the guidance of one of the world's best, Owen Livesey, in Hull. Although my training has been disrupted since relocating to London, I still yearn to return. Even now, I engage in friendly rolls and attend open mats whenever possible in London. My teacher elucidated that this name isn't a fixed identity; it's something I'll evolve into. The name is a connection that shapes who I aspire to become. It's an ongoing transformation, a reflection of my aspirations, the image I wish to portray, and the person I aim to grow into.

My earlier names, "Sam Harman" and "Sam Hancock," now make way for "Naoki Nayati." I'm poised to transition my social media, email addresses, and website details to this new identity. I'm determined to carve this name into the world according to my vision. I am resolute in my mission to effect positive change across the globe – from the plains of Africa to the jungles of Peru and the Australian outback. My purpose is unequivocal; I am destined to be a shaman.

This journey defines my life, and I can't envision any alternative path. I'll persist in my passion, aiding others, and catalyzing transformation until my last breath. I extend my gratitude for reading my story. In my next blog, titled "Becoming Naoki Nayati," I'll delve further into my transformative journey.

Much love: Naoki.