“Remembering Everything the Indigenous Never Forgot"

- Jordan Poyer

My Trip to the Amazon

By Jordan Poyer

Part I - The First Journey:

Stepping Into the Unknown

The first time I set foot in the Amazon, I didn't fully know what I was walking into. I only knew I was being called. The journey there was a pilgrimage in itself-hours upon hours of flights, buses, and boats, each mile stripping away the distractions of the outside world and bringing me closer to the heart of the forest.

When I arrived, the air felt alive. Every sound, every scent, every movement of the trees carried a presence I couldn't ignore. Chief Iskukua and the Yawanawa people welcomed me with open arms, their faces painted with the patterns of generations, their voices carrying songs older than memory. Those days were a baptism into their world-learning their songs, tasting their foods, feeling the hum of the forest under my feet. I was introduced to the medicines, not just as plants, but as teachers.

I witnessed how they live in deep connection with nature-not as something separate from themselves, but as family.

The ceremonies were profound and humbling, pulling me deeper into myself while expanding my awareness of everything around me. I left changed, with seeds of understanding planted in my heart-seeds I knew I'd need to return to nurture.

Part II - The Return: Bringing Family Into the Heart of the Forest

The air was thick with the scent of rain and earth.
Each mile upriver carried us deeper into the unknown, farther from the noise of the world and closer to something ancient-something waiting.

Fifteen hours of flight. Three hours by bus. Eight hours on the river by small engine boat. And what a ride that was-twisting and turning through a narrow river stretched for miles, its waters carrying leaves and branches from the forest canopy. Along the sandy banks, families lived in harmony with nature, their homes open to the wind and river. This journey through the jungle was like traveling through a living painting-a vision etched into my memory forever.

One final mile on foot, and the village emerged from the emerald heart of the Amazon, alive with song, color, and spirit. The first to greet us were the children-smiles stretched ear to ear, eyes shining with curiosity and joy. Their faces were painted with designs that come to them spiritually-visions and symbols of protection and welcome. Mine was a jaguar. Maybe it was because of my eyes, or maybe it was the energy I carried that day, but it felt powerful and stayed on my skin for nearly a week as it faded.

They were already waiting for us on the open field, a worn soccer ball at their feet, eager for the game to begin. I had brought a football with me-different from anything they were used to-and soon we were showing each other our games. I taught them how to kick it over the uprights, how to throw
a perfect spiral. In return, they showed me their quick footwork, weaving the soccer ball between bare feet with incredible skill.

It was one of those simple yet unforgettable moments-no language barriers, no formal introductions, just pure connection through play. We had arrived before the other boats carrying the rest of our group and our luggage, which gave us hours to simply be there, fully present, with these kids and
their contagious joy. Looking back, it was the perfect way to arrive-heart open, hands dirty, and already part of the life of the village before the week had even begun.

Face Painting & Protection

For the Yawanawá, face painting isn't just decoration-it's a sacred gesture of protection. It tells the forest and its unseen guardians that you are a guest, here in respect. It's part of their way of life, something they also do for themselves before hunting, fishing, or traveling through the jungle.

And make no mistake-the forest is alive. You can sense it, you can feel it. There are guardians in the trees, in the rivers, in the air. It's the kind of presence that makes you think twice about wandering too far alone. If you've ever seen The Lost Children on Netflix, you'll understand that feeling of being in a place where the unseen is just as real as what you can touch.

The Stay

We stayed in hand-built wooden huts, crafted piece by piece from the land itself. The Yawanawá had at least fifteen of these homes built for guests, each one a testament to their generosity and care. Inside, they kindly offered bunk beds, a gesture of comfort for visitors. My brother Jeramy chose to sleep on a bunk, while Logan, myself, and Mario from São Paulo slept in hammocks strung side by side. The mix of hammocks and bunks gave the hut a feeling of both tradition and adaptation-simple, humble, yet filled with gratitude.
Falling asleep each night, I was reminded how little we actually need. Surrounded by the hum of crickets, frogs, and distant songs, gratitude filled me for the gift of shelter, community, and presence.
And in that simplicity, I found a peace and clarity I hadn't felt in a long time.

Sleeping in the Forest

Jeramy can be a loud sleeper when he wants to be, so one night I decided to take my hammock outside and pitch it beneath a tree, right next to their sacred uni vine. It turned out to be one of the most incredible experiences of the trip.

I had never slept outside in the forest before, fully exposed to the night. Falling asleep to the true tune of the jungle-the chorus of insects, birds, and unseen creatures-was nothing short of magical.

You could feel a presence in your bones, a reminder that the forest is alive and aware. Was I a little scared? Absolutely. I almost went back inside more than once. I was about twenty yards away from camp, and in the silence between sounds, the darkness of the Amazon felt endless. But staying there gave me one of the most vivid and memorable dreams I've ever had. The
dream itself was random, but it stayed with me-so sharp, so real, that I woke before sunrise still carrying it.

I rose damp from the morning dew, a little cold, but filled with the sense that I had lived something rare. It was an experience I'll never forget. I tried to repeat it another night, but the rain chased me back into the huts for the rest of the stay. Still, that one night under the uni vine will stay with me
forever.

The Food

Every day we shared meals of rice and beans, served with either freshly grilled or fried chicken, or fish pulled straight from the river that morning. Everyone ate the same meal, at the same time, and no one went without. It created a sense of unity-mealtime wasn't just eating, it was connection.

They also had the sweetest, most delicious watermelon I've ever tasted, its juice cold and refreshing in the humid heat. But because of the 7-day diet given to me by the paje, I wasn't able to enjoy it most of the week. That simple act of saying "no" out of respect for the diet was a humbling reminder
of discipline, tradition, and the importance of honoring the guidance I'd been given.

Ceremony One

The first ceremony was gentle with the medicine, but deeply personal for me. That night I worked one-on-one with a paje (healer), who helped me release a heaviness I had carried for years-pain tied to my father, whom I never met and who had passed away recently.

Afterward, he gave me a strict 7-day diet: no red meat, no sugar, no sex. The Yawanawa take these instructions seriously, and so did I. Each restriction tested me in small ways, but following it felt like an act of respect and alignment-and I came out of it feeling lighter, clearer, and stronger.

Ceremony Two

The second night was unlike anything I'd ever experienced. The medicine was strong-perhaps the strongest I've ever taken-and it opened a portal into a night of pure magic. The music, the dancing, the fire-they became gateways into another dimension.

I connected with my higher guides, with myself, with the oneness of all life. I saw so clearly that humanity is in a process of remembering-returning to our original essence. Watching my mother and brother move through their own journeys that night was one of the most beautiful experiences of my
life.

I let go of what no longer served me and found even more power within.

Iskukua's Birthday

We were blessed to be there for Chief Iskukua's birthday celebration. In the forest, birthdays are pure joy-children, elders, and everyone in between singing, dancing, and celebrating life together. It was the only time my diet truly tested me (the cake!), but the night of laughter and music was the
perfect way to close the immersion.

Chief Iskukua and His People

Chief Iskukua is more than just a leader-he is the heart of the village. His leadership blends wisdom, strength, and compassion in a way that is rare to see in the modern world. He carries not only the responsibility of guiding his people, but also the mission of protecting and healing the forest. His movement to restore balance to the Amazon and preserve its ancient wisdom is something I support wholeheartedly.

The depth of knowledge the Yawanawa have of the forest is beyond anything I could have imagined. Every plant, tree, river, and animal has a purpose, a role in the great web of life-and they know them all. Their knowledge isn't written in books; it's carried in stories, songs, and lived
experience. Equally inspiring is the way the men and women treat each other-with mutual respect, honor, and care.

The men speak of the women with reverence, acknowledging their strength, wisdom, and essential role in the community. The women in turn respect the men's responsibilities, creating a harmony that runs through the entire village. Children are raised in this environment of love and
respect, learning the values of gratitude, hard work, and connection from the time they can walk.

The People

The conversations I had in the forest will stay with me forever. Each person had their own unique journey that brought them there, and each story felt like a mirror. We sang by the fire until sunrise, laughed together, cried together, and sat in ceremony as one.

Many of them, I believe, are what prophecy calls the Rainbow Children-souls from all corners of the earth who have come at this time to help shift the collective consciousness, to remember and restore the balance humanity has forgotten.

Lessons Learned

Mother Earth is alive-the rivers have feeling, the forest breathes, and every tree, insect, and gust of wind is part of a living system far more intelligent than we often give credit for. In the forest, you feel
this truth in your bones-the way the water carries stories, the way the wind whispers through the canopy, the way the ground hums beneath your feet.
The Amazon is not just a resource. It is a living being-a guardian of the planet's heartbeat. But she is under threat. Deforestation is not just the loss of trees; it's the dismantling of an ancient system that keeps the earth's climate, water, and oxygen in balance.

Our chemicals in the air, the pollutants in the rivers, and the consumption habits in the cities are felt here, deep in the forest. If you think about it like the human body-when you are sick, your body acts to remove the sickness. Mother Earth is no different. If we continue to poison her, she will find ways to defend herself and restore balance. And that restoration may not be gentle. The earth will survive without us, but we cannot survive without her.

Human suffering often begins in the mind. Many people create their own suffering. They build cages out of their fears, expectations, and unhealed wounds-then wonder why they feel trapped. In the forest, there's no room for unnecessary noise; you learn quickly that some struggles are self-inflicted.

And here's the hard part-sometimes the most loving thing you can do is not to rescue someone. If a person's path requires them to walk through discomfort, taking that experience away can rob them of the growth it's meant to give. You can hold space, you can pray, but you can also allow people to face their storms and find peace in their own way.

We are remembering. The indigenous never forgot the truth of who we are. They live in a way that honors every drop of water, every bite of food, every moment of breath. Their way of life is not about going back in time-it's about living in alignment with the timeless.

What struck me most is that their wisdom isn't mystical in the sense of being unreachable; it's common sense we've forgotten. Respect the earth. Care for your community. Listen more than you speak. Take only what you need. Be grateful for what you have.

Leaving

Leaving is always bittersweet. The boat ride that took 8 hours coming in felt like only 45 minutes going out. Your body leaves, but your heart stays. The entire ride back I reflected on the lessons, the visions, and how I would integrate them into my life in the western world.

It's a strange feeling-half of you wants to stay in the forest forever, living in that rhythm of connection and simplicity. The other half knows you must return, because the medicine isn't just in the ceremonies-it's in the integration, in how you live your life after.

The forest gives you gifts, but it also gives you responsibility. You carry the songs, the stories, the energy, and you bring them back to a place that needs them desperately. And with every mile closer to the city, you feel that mission getting clearer: to protect what you've seen, to honor it, and to share
it.

Why I Go

I go because I am curious. I go to learn, to experience, to see the world beyond the limits we've been given. We've been kept in a box our whole lives, told "the world works this way," when in truth, the world works in many ways.
Us in the West-we need to take a deep breath and zoom out just a little bit. There is so much more happening beyond our daily routines and the stories we've been fed. I have these experiences so I can share them with the world, using my platform to help others find the light within. Because we all
have it.

And there are many ways to tap into that light. But to do so, we have to step outside our comfort zone. We have to be willing to listen. Willing to learn.

Willing to adapt. Willing to fail, and then get back up and keep trying.

The time is now, family. Hold on tight.