Gary and I arrived in Balikpapan and headed quickly by bus to Samarinda. The bus drive itself was a journey of bizarre-ity, with veiled women holding children and trying not to make eye contact with a central tv screen showing a series of strip dancers jiggling to the beat of the indo-pop music (a sound impossible to escape in the cities in Borneo).

It was in Balikpapan, where animism rules, that we first heard the rumour. An old woman called the Spirit Mama some 100 plus years was living by herself in the jungle. Deep up the Mahakam river, beyond roads and tourist routes. She lives outside of the villages and many brave Indonesian people come to her for her magic. The rumour says that she communes with the spirit of a powerful pig and, with his assistance, wields great power.

Gary, my wonderful business partner and travel companion, and I decided to find this woman and learn more about her connection with the spirits of the animal world.

This is my account of what happened….

We found our guide Denni in Samarinda (a brilliant port city to step off further up the enormous Mahakam river). He was an invaluable man to travel with as he speaks both Indonesian and many Dayak dialogues as well as being able to climb a coconut palm, catch fish and most importantly navigate the twists and turns of the Mahakam River to the Spirit Mama’s place.

Our little boat chugged around the endless corners, on and on for days stopping too frequently with the compai plants as they travel with the winds and block the river with green. Many times we had to stop and clear the way of compai and debris. We were forewarned that it was hit and miss whether we would actually make it there at all. Many river expeditions were cancelled due to the compai…so we were at this water plants mercy - both frustrated and impressed at this plants power over the people.

The jungle on either side of the river was thick and full of mysteries of its own. Most of the villages we visited on the way were on stilts and had no land at all; simply boardwalks and wooden houses hovering above the water. Toilets in all of the river villages were simply wooden rafts attached to the boardwalks with a wooden box covering a hole. You squat over the hole and relieve yourself straight into the river. All ablutions, from washing to teeth brushing were done from this bathroom raft. Despite our Western shock at such lack of hygiene we noticed that the Dayak people we saw were healthy and probably had immune systems of steel when it comes to water.

On several occasions we ventured into the jungle. It was thick! And intense! and dark and no matter how much insect repellent applied the mosquitoes attacked with a vicious ferocity. The bugs and flowers and plants were enormous and the growth seemed so fast it felt dangerous to sit down for too long lest something start growing over you. I saw a small creeper growing its way cheekily up a blade of grass which stood nose height! But the thing which shook me to my core was the breathtaking and deafening noise of the rainforest. It was a web of consciousness that rose and fell to some invisible conductor, reaching crescendos and peaks and silent momentary pauses.

It was on the edge of this jungle and on stilts over the mighty Mahakam that we found Spirit Mama but it wasn’t a story of white light healing. We didn’t realise it then but it was a story that would take us into a nightmare of darkness.

A very old looking lady with such severe kyphosis that her spine was bent over at a 90 degree angle to the ground came out to the noise of the boat. She had to turn her head to the side to see us due to the kyphosis. We climbed the ladder to her wooden home, passing many caged wild animals. A monkey on a metal collar squawked and squealed with neurotic delight as we approached the woman. She greeted us and it became apparent she had a goitre ball in her neck the size of a cricket ball. I struggled with my judgement of her capture of such wild and potentially powerful animals and focused on this woman. I wanted to understand her. She led us to the pig. There was not an effigy of a pig to symbolise the spirit and no altar to which the spirit came but actually a real living pig. But it was no ordinary pig. She explained that the pig had come to her 23 years earlier and offered to grant her all her wishes. The pig was unable to walk as its nails had grown so long they curled around the feet. This pig had not been stood upright for a long time. It laid on its side and appeared unconscious with its heavy laboured breathing but, intermittently it struggled and flailed its useless legs around and grunted and squealed but was unable to move from its side. She had dressed the pig in clothes and was busily folding up freshly washed sheets for draping over the pig which lay in a wooden low cage next to her bed grunting and groaning. She clearly loved this pig. Was she right? Did the spirit of the pig come to her and fulfil all of her dreams with its magic? On invitation, we decided to stay the night and witness a ceremony with the pig. I was trying very hard to accept this woman’s story but disgust and sorrow for the pig’s long suffering capture kept creeping back into my mind.

The ceremony involved us, one by one, coming before spirit mama and using meditations to promote visions in the stones we were asked to hold. I looked hard into the stones, grasping and hoping that something would appear that would prove that she was right and that the pig was somehow okay…then I saw it clearly and without a doubt….the head of a pig looking up at me from the stone. I felt a sense of relief but it didn’t last long. The rest of the vision unfolded with both visuals and a dreadful sense of knowing.

The living things of the world appeared as one. All one. Alone. Beautiful. Perfect. Balanced. But then there appeared stories from the balance. Power plays, dances. Some great stories of flirtation and wonderment and some stories not so great.

The woman appeared from this balance and I saw her role clearly. She rose up as the one who removes freedom. Her love expressed as an instrument to capture, to jail and to limit another. Her love wielded like a sword used to capture the spirit of that which she loved. The spirit, once captured, used for her own means. I felt her energy in my own life….as all those people and things that limit me, stop me, seek to own me and I was thrust then into the horror of the pig. The ultimate sacrifice. The ultimate symbol of disempowerment. 23 years of imprisoned service. Senseless. Without ability for free and spontaneous acts. Going simply from breath to breath. Cloaked in freshly washed fine clothes but unable to even lift its head and in a final act of torture, its very spirit continually called back to serve the jailers desires.

But I couldn’t respond with anger at this old jailer woman for in her neck I saw the vision of an entity. A growth which controlled her. She was not free either.

I fell back from the visions horrified. She gave me a tea to calm me and I lay down on the hard wooden boards and fell into a restless nightmarish sleep. I was awoken frequently by the laboured gasps of the pig and the frequent struggling thrashing around of its arms and legs. I dreamt of euthanising the pig and making a run for it. I dreamt of my own captivity by the selfish desires of others and I dreamt of how I capture the spirits of others through my own insecurities. I went deeper and deeper into the fabric of my reality and found my spirit with eroded freedom. Eroded from the expectations of others….each and every communication. Each and every transaction predefined by expectations. Corroded free will. I travelled further and to my horror saw the disempowerment I created in others, by my expectations I patterned into the beings I communicated with. As the Sun crept its way into the sky I lay awake. Dead still. Eyes open. I had a feeling of such heaviness in my heart. I felt I carried the burden of disempowerment for the world. The burden of both jailed and jailor. I felt a new passion to set things free. I turned over to the man that I loved sleeping next to me and vowed to forever explore him. To never expect him to be or not be a certain way for me. To just love him. As I left I had a deep desire to set everything free. I wanted to set the monkey free and all the chickens. I wanted to set the old woman free too. To see the wildness of every living being around me. Its ultimate expression of itself in all its uniqueness.

From our boat Gary heard a squawking noise from one of the woven baskets. Denni lifted the basket lid to reveal a bewildered wild owl. Cramped and in the darkness of a tiny basket prison. It had been captured two months earlier. We offered to buy the owl from its jailors and they agreed to set it free without money. We watched as this owl struggled with daylight. Its feathers ruffled, mind confused. We lifted it out and it sat on its perch. Slowly ever so slowly the Owl’s strength and power seeped back into its being. I watched with joy as it regained its wildness.

I had a heavy heart for days over the disempowerment that exists in the world.

Despite the sorrow of that place I know that it was in that wooden hut above the jungle river, that I learnt about freedom.