The Unseen Healers: Beyond Ayahuasca, Exploring the Power of Sacred Plants, Curanderos, and Channeled Sound

The global fascination with master plant medicines like Ayahuasca often centers on the plant itself. Yet the profound therapeutic experience is never just about the plant—it also depends on the healer (curandero, shaman, medicine man or woman), the sacred sound, and the spiritual protocols that hold the ceremony together.

This interconnected wisdom becomes especially clear when we look at traditions that evolved without their original plant allies. In 21 Divisions, for example, plant medicines are no longer central. Colonialism disrupted ancestral plant knowledge, and in the Dominican Republic, where I come from, we had to cultivate other ways of channeling spirit.

Our ancestors once held powerful plant relationships. The Taíno used cohoba (yopo) and tobacco for visionary experiences. Yopo ‘Cohoba (Anadenanthera peregrina)’ is a powerful snuff, containing DMT and bufotenine, inhaled during the Cohoba ceremony to communicate with spirits (cemíes). There is also some evidence that the Taínos may have used the powerful Angel Trumpets.

The presence of Angel’s Trumpets in our region raises intriguing questions about ancestral knowledge. Angel’s Trumpets (Datura and Brugmansia) are native to the New World, with Datura species specifically noted as common to the American Southwest, Caribbean, and West Indies. This places the plant geographically near or within the general Taíno region. But although the evidence is limited, how would elders from 100-200 years ago know how to use the Angel Trumpets unless it was a direct knowing that came from those before them? This question became personal for me when the first plant revealed to me by Natives in my dreams was a beautiful white angel trumpet flower.

These plants were once woven into the fabric of daily life. My great-grandparents and grandparents remembered how flores de campana were prepared in very small doses as an evening tea. After long days harvesting coffee in the mountains, families would share it together, release tension, and tell stories. These gatherings—without television or modern distractions—became intimate communal meditations woven into daily life.

Yet like many sacred plants, this one fell from grace. By the late twentieth century, the plant carried a darker reputation. Elders told stories that local municipalities ordered its removal after people began abusing it in the 1980s. My grandpa recounted how campesinos and neighbors who had the plants were told by local police officers to unroot and destroy them, as many people were using them to drug themselves and others. Some even claimed it was used to poison or sedate women for sexual assault before the 90s. Whether or not such a government order ever existed—I have looked for many years and have found no public record—the story survives as a kind of modern folk tale, a cautionary myth about the dangers of misuse.

The loss of plant traditions affected not only indigenous peoples but also the Africans brought to these shores. Over time, many sacred plant traditions diminished. Africans brought to the island were cut off from their ancestral medicines. Powerful plants like Iboga (used for initiation and ancestral visioning in Central Africa), Kola Nut (sacred in divination and hospitality), and the African yam (tied to fertility and ancestor rites) could not be replanted or maintained. Others, such as the African calabash/gourd, medicinal barks like bitter kola and neem, and certain ritual snuffs and seeds, were left behind or slowly disappeared. Enslavement severed entire plant lineages, and with them, many of the ceremonies that required those medicines.

In response to this profound loss, something remarkable happened. Faced with this disruption, Africans in the Americas adapted with extraordinary creativity. They discovered and consecrated new allies: Tobacco became central for offerings, purification, and feeding the spirits. Sugarcane rum replaced palm wine and other fermented ritual drinks. Guinea grass, one of the few African plants that survived the crossing, was used for cleansing baths. Local “bush plants” like anamu, guinea hen weed, and jackass bitters were recruited as spiritual soldiers in Vodou, Santería, and Obeah. Datura and brugmansia, nightshades native to the Americas, were sometimes adopted as substitutes for trance-inducing African plants.

Most significantly, when plants could not be replaced, other sacred technologies remained. The role of sound intensified. Drumming, prayer, and song became the main sacred technologies that carried memory where matter had been stripped away. Rhythm shifted consciousness, softened the ego, and opened the body to spirit. In community, the circle itself magnified energy, while the drumbeat synchronized heart and mind, creating a channel for spirit to speak.

This was not substitution, as both Tainos and Africans had already used these sacred technologies, but the innovation was in the combination of the African ways, combined with the Native Taino’s knowing and rituals….together they became sort of a spiritual innovation. This adaptation of combining pantheons was an act of survival and resilience. By recognizing the ashé (Yoruba) or spiritual force in unfamiliar plants, and by amplifying the use of sound and ritual, Africans in the diaspora re-wove their traditions so that the spirits could still be fed—even when the original plants were gone.

To truly understand this resilience, we must examine both elements: the power of sound and the role of plants—because in truth, plant medicine and sacred sound are inseparable in the work of the healer. And I want to highlight that for some, the sound is not outwardly expressed but begins as an inner experience that eventually, with time, emerges—but only when the time is right. (see the blog post I just did on the INNER SOUNDS) where I speak and quote, Anthropologist Roberte Hamayon when he states:

“The external sounds—drumming, singing, bells—are merely supports for the inner sonic journey. Master shamans can journey in complete silence, riding the internal rhythms.”

Master Plants: Teachers, Not Drugs

The distinction between sacred and recreational use cannot be overstated. Traditional healers recognize certain plants as master plants or entheogens (literally “possessed by God”). Plants like Ayahuasca, Peyote, San Pedro, and psilocybin mushrooms carry specific missions as teachers and embody a higher consciousness.

This sacred relationship requires careful discernment. I often caution clients with addictive tendencies to avoid mushrooms or cannabis—not because they are not sacred, but because unresolved addictive patterns can turn even microdosing into another hidden trap. Yet when approached correctly, mushrooms are as sacred and powerful as Ayahuasca or Peyote. In the right hands, with a healer accepted by the mushroom spirits, their trance can be even more profound.

Consider the profound reverence of the Mazatec tradition. Psilocybin mushrooms—sometimes called “the sacred children” or “the little ones that sprout”—carry a playful yet deeply wise energy. The Mazatec of Oaxaca, Mexico, have long honored them as holy beings, never as recreational drugs. To them, mushrooms are conscious entities that reveal the roots of illness and guide healing, always under the eye of God. A ceremony without reverence is seen as playing with God, stripping the mushrooms of their purpose.

Their ceremonies demonstrate the inseparable nature of plant and sound. Mazatec rituals center on prayer, chanting, offerings, and the “language of the saints”—a poetic and metaphorical form of invocation. These channeled words and songs, vital to healing, establish communication with the sacred.

The Role of the Healer

Behind every powerful ceremony stands a healer who has walked a long path of preparation. The healer’s path is a lifelong initiation, born from visionary experiences, a spiritual calling, or ancestral inheritance.

The healer is not merely a supervisor but the essential catalyst, magnifying the medicine’s effect.

What happens in the ceremony reveals why the healer’s role is irreplaceable. For a true diagnosis, the patient must surrender (this is my personal opinion). When this occurs, the healer perceives the person as transparent—an energy field coded in colors, patterns, and symbols that reveal illness. These codes can expose ancestral wounds, generational curses, childhood pain, even seeds of future difficulty. Healers spend years learning to read this field, guided by dreams, meditations, trances, and direct teachings from spiritual masters.

Sound as Medicine

If the healer is the bridge, sound is the vehicle that carries healing across dimensions. Across traditions, sound is the core tool of energetic healing. In Amazonian ceremonies, the ícaro is sung in the present moment, narrating the healer’s vision. It is both a diagnostic lens and a surgical tool: opening the field, extracting the illness (often accompanied by physical purge), and stitching the energy body back together.

In the Amazonian tradition, experienced ayahuasceros often speak of “silent ícaros” or “ícaros of the mind.” Don Carlos, a Shipibo healer, explained to anthropologist Stephan Beyer that “the song continues inside even when my mouth is closed. The plant spirits hear the song of my soul, not my voice.” This inner singing can be just as effective—sometimes more so—than vocalized songs.

Different traditions employ sound in various forms, but the principle remains constant. Others use silent songs, humming, vowels, prayers, or rhythmic songs to shift energy. Sound reveals and rewrites the genetic code, sometimes even transforming a diseased pattern back into the body’s original, healthy blueprint. As one elder healer shared, an ícaro can change the information given to a cell, re-aligning it with the soul’s original design.

Ethics and Risk

With such profound power comes equally profound responsibility. Sacred plant healing carries immense responsibility. It is not casual experimentation—it is a dangerous path for both patient and healer.

Protection must flow in multiple directions. First, ethical healers rigorously screen participants, especially those on psychiatric medications or contraindicated drugs, since these combinations can trigger heart failure or psychosis. They also know when conventional medicine is the safer path.

The healer, too, walks a precarious edge. Every ceremony exposes the healer to risk. They must continually purge, diet, pray, and meditate to prevent dark energies from overwhelming them.

Perhaps most importantly, true healing requires spiritual permission. Sometimes the healer cannot intervene, even when asked. Spirit grants permission, not the human will. To overstep is to risk spiritual violation.

Ultimately, the path leads to a crossroads of choice. Sacred plant work reveals unity and dissolves ignorance. Yet free will remains. A person may walk toward awakening—or slide into new forms of addiction and escape.

Walking the Path

As we conclude this exploration, the invitation becomes personal. If you feel called to this work, remember: the strongest protection is the purity of your heart, your silence, and your attentiveness.

When seeking a guide for this sacred journey, discernment is essential. Look for healers who demonstrate unwavering ethics and work in genuine partnership with spirit. A true shaman walks with humility, never claiming to be your only source of healing or wisdom. They understand their role as a bridge—not a destination.

Be wary of those who foster dependency. Authentic healers empower you to develop your own relationship with spirit and eventually walk your own path. They celebrate when you no longer need their services, not because the relationship ends, but because you’ve remembered your own medicine. As one elder curandera taught me: “A good healer works to make themselves unnecessary. We are midwives to your remembering, not owners of your journey.”

Trust healers who acknowledge their limitations. Those with integrity will readily admit when something is beyond their scope, when you need a different kind of medicine, or when conventional treatment is the wisest path. They never promise to cure everything or be your only answer. Their ego takes a back seat to your wellbeing.

Notice how they hold power. Does the healer encourage your questions? Do they explain their process with transparency? Do they honor your sovereignty and right to choose? A shaman rooted in heart and spirit creates space for your own inner wisdom to emerge. They know that ultimately, you are your own greatest healer—they merely help remove what blocks that knowing.

Finally, observe their relationship with reciprocity. While sacred work deserves fair exchange, be cautious of those who seem more interested in your payment than your healing, or who use spiritual emergencies to extract increasing amounts of money. True healers understand that medicine flows through them, not from them, and their pricing reflects service rather than exploitation.

For while plants are teachers, and sounds are channels, it is the healer’s integrity—and your own discernment—that open the true doorway to healing. The right guide will not only help you navigate the worlds of spirit but will ultimately point you back to the healer that has always lived within you.