The Third Wave: From the Echoes of History to a Path of Reverence

Resuming Walking with the Serpent After a Pause—Reflections on Ayahuasca, Responsibility, and the Stories We Are Writing Together

Amazonian woman. Credit: © Sebastião Salgado

Dear Readers,

It has been over a year since I last shared a chapter of Walking with the Serpent. As I prepare to publish the next chapter, I want to share why I paused and what has emerged during this time of reflection.

I began writing this book nearly ten years ago, driven by profound personal experiences and a deep connection to Ayahuasca and the sacred path of dietas. At the time, I was inspired by the beauty and teachings of these traditions and felt compelled to explore and share their transformative power. Yet, as the years have passed, my understanding has grown, and I find myself looking at these experiences with a different lens—one shaped by experience, hard-earned lessons, and a broader awareness of the challenges this path carries.

At the same time, I’ve come to understand the broader historical context of the Amazon and its people—a history marked by waves of destruction that reshaped these lands and cultures in ways that still reverberate today.

The rubber industry, driven by Western demands for car and plane tires, unleashed a wave of unimaginable suffering on the Amazon and its Indigenous peoples. Fueled by greed and the desire for profit, rubber tappers invaded these sacred lands, enslaving, torturing, and murdering those who stood in their way. In their ruthless pursuit of wealth, nearly 90% of the Amazon’s original inhabitants were eradicated—a genocide that tore apart entire cultures.

Communities that had thrived in harmony with the forest for millennia were decimated, their ways of life violently disrupted. Songs that carried ancestral knowledge fell silent, stories that wove the fabric of their identities were lost, and ceremonies that connected them to the spirit of the forest were abandoned. Children were separated from their families, forced into labor or brutally killed, while elders—the keepers of ancient wisdom—were left powerless to protect their people or preserve their traditions.

The forest itself, once a source of life and sustenance, became a place of fear and loss. Trees were harvested under immense duress, their sap turned into a commodity that symbolized oppression rather than sustenance. The intricate connections of culture and ecology unravelled as the rivers carried not just goods to distant markets but the echoes of a people’s suffering—echoes that found their voice in the hum of cars and planes, transporting us across the world at the cost of their lives and land.

This was not just a physical devastation but a spiritual one as well. The intricate relationships that Indigenous peoples held with their land and the wisdom rooted in those relationships were severed. The rubber tappers left behind more than broken communities—they left scars on the very soul of the Amazon, a reminder of the cost of unchecked extraction and greed.

Photo of enslaved boys carrying loads of rubber weighing 75kg, which were transported over 60 miles, taken by Roger Casement, 1910. Source: National Library of Ireland.

The missionaries followed as the next wave, bringing with them the promise of salvation while dismantling the very fabric of Indigenous spirituality and tradition. There is no definitive number to quantify how much wisdom and tradition was lost during this wave of destruction, but a reasonable estimate might be that at least 80% of Amazonian wisdom was severely impacted. The missionaries, with their relentless push to "civilize" Indigenous peoples, systematically dismantled the spiritual and cultural fabric of entire tribes. Sacred songs, intricate healing practices, ceremonial knowledge, and oral histories—passed down for generations—were either destroyed or forced into silence. Languages that carried the depth of these traditions were abandoned, replaced by foreign tongues, and many of the elders, who were the living libraries of this wisdom, passed on without their knowledge being preserved. This loss extends beyond what is visible; it is the disappearance of entire ways of seeing, living, and connecting with the world—perspectives that took millennia to cultivate. And yet, as devastating as this loss is, the Yawanawá shared a powerful truth with me: if even a single seed of wisdom remains, it contains the potential to regenerate everything that was lost. With the right intentions, practices, and time, these traditions can be brought back to life, as long as we honor and nurture the remaining fragments of this precious heritage.

The story of the Yawanawá is a living testament to this truth. Once 5,000 people strong, their numbers were reduced to just over 100 through the brutal waves of rubber tappers and missionaries. Just a few decades ago, their original language was fading, their songs and stories were nearly forgotten, and the sacred art of cooking medicine was lost. Ayahuasca, known to them as Huni, was barely used, and those few who still drank it—like Tatá, Yawá, Raimundo, and other elders—were ridiculed even within their own community.

And yet, through resilience, vision, and the profound wisdom of their elders, the Yawanawá have experienced a remarkable revival. Today, the tribe has grown to over 1,500 strong. Many of the young ones are singing the ancient songs, walking the path of dietas, and bringing their stories back to life. Their sacred traditions are not only alive but thriving, reaching far beyond their lands to inspire people worldwide. The songs of the Yawanawá are now sung in ceremonies across the globe.

This revival was foretold in a vision to Tatá, one of the few true pajés I’ve met in this lifetime. A revered elder, Tatá passed away at the age of 103 in December 2016, leaving behind a legacy of wisdom, strength, and faith. I was deeply blessed to receive from him a sacred prayer called Sēya. His vision, known as Kairao, foretold the rebirth of the Yawanawá’s traditions and their songs echoing far and wide.

I look forward to sharing the full story of Kairao with you later in this Substack.

Traditional life in the Amazon. Not long ago, missionaries viewed these indigenous communities as "savages" needing redemption, leading to profound impacts on their cultures and traditions. Credit: © Sebastião Salgado

Now, as we navigate a third wave—the so-called psychedelic renaissance—I find myself asking difficult questions. Is this movement of Western seekers and expanding consciousness another wave of extraction and harm? Or can it become something different—a wave of healing, rooted in sustainability and reciprocity?

The early signs, I must admit, are not encouraging. In just the past few decades, 80% of the natural stock of Ayahuasca vines in the Amazon has been depleted, harvested to meet the growing global demand. Once abundant, these sacred plants are disappearing from their native lands, where they hold not just medicinal power but deep spiritual significance. For the Indigenous peoples of the Amazon, Ayahuasca is not merely a plant; it is a bridge between worlds, a teacher, a healer, and a guide.

Reflecting on these waves of destruction, I find myself returning to the teachings I’ve received. Wisdom carries a responsibility. Madre Ayahuasca, in her many forms and whispers, teaches us love, respect, and gratitude—but are we living those teachings? Is the story we’re writing together in this moment one of deep reverence and care, or is it yet another chapter in the long history of taking more than we give?

These reflections have given me pause. They challenge me to approach my work, my writing, and my own connection with the medicine with greater humility and responsibility. They remind me that this path is not one of ease or escape but one that requires massive commitment, respect, and a willingness to listen deeply. And they inspire me to seek a way forward that is harmonious, sustainable, and in service to life—not just for myself but for the generations to come.

To those who have supported me through this pause—especially my paid subscribers—I owe my heartfelt gratitude. Your patience and encouragement have kept this project alive. I’m committed to publish the remaining chapters of the book in the coming weeks, not as a promotion of Ayahuasca or dietas, but as a reflection of a path walked with love, respect, and gratitude.

The story continues, and I look forward to sharing it with you. Together, let’s dream of a wave of healing—a story written with humility, wisdom, and commitment to the sacred.

With love and respect,
Dennis

Together with Tatá Txanu in the hospital in Rio Branco. A few months before he passed in 2016.