Children of the Santo Daime
Only possible in Brazil: Raimundo Irineu Serra, descendant of slaves, founded a religion in the Amazon that combines ayahuasca with Catholic, African, and Spiritist beliefs. Half a century after his death, disciples like Luiz Mendes uphold the relevance of Santo Daime: “The goal of this doctrine is for you to know your own worth so that you can recognize mine. My light ignites yours because yours ignites mine.”
Mestre Conselheiro Luiz Mendes serves daime (ayahuasca) to his son Solón Brito before beginning the work in which the hymnbook Misterios da Natureza, composed by Solón himself, will be sung.
Text and photos by Carlos Suárez Álvarez
Originally published in issue 242 of Cáñamo magazine, February 2018.
“Daime has given me everything: a family, a home, and many friends—because I always loved making friends—and those things are far better than money, which is necessary but can’t buy what matters most.” Mestre Conselheiro Luiz Mendes speaks gravely, unusual for him, as he is more prone to boisterous laughter or calmness. Leaning on the hoe he uses every morning to work in his garden, his nearly eighty years of life resting on it, he says, “I thank Daime for still being here in good health.”
He is Mestre Conselheiro because he founded the Centro Eclético Flor do Lótus Iluminado (CEFLI), one of the most prestigious branches of Santo Daime. Mestre Conselheiro because he embodies the wise man who retreats from the noise of the world in search of a peaceful life—even if the noise of the world finds him. His journey within Santo Daime, which he joined in 1962, has made him a fundamental reference, and his secluded refuge in Fortaleza, on the Amazonian border between Brazil and Bolivia, is a pilgrimage site where Daime followers and researchers constantly arrive.
This prestige, now international, was unthinkable when he first encountered Daime after marrying a woman from the doctrine. “In Rio Branco, it was considered a vice—I didn’t want to try it. Back then, there was a lot of prejudice, some of which still lingers today: that it could drive you mad, that it’s witchcraft. But one day, I went with my wife, I liked it, I made friends…” Until he decided to partake because he felt spiritually ill—alcoholism. “The first time I took Daime, I stopped drinking. It was a cure. In my miração [vision], two paths were shown to me, and someone asked, ‘You choose—do you want your destruction?’ A sad path, very sad. And then the other was shown to me—such a beautiful thing!” He chose Santo Daime and its leader and founder, Raimundo Irineu Serra, the Mestre above all others: “Mestre Irineu is Jesus. Two distinct people, born in different times, but for me, Mestre Irineu was a person in whose flesh and spirit Jesus dwelled. I deeply believe that, without fear of fanaticism.”
The charismatic Luiz Mendes, tireless storyteller, always smiling and hospitable.
the mestre and the universal goddess
Raimundo Irineu Serra was born in 1890 in Brazil’s northeast, in the state of Maranhão, and like thousands of his compatriots, he arrived in Acre in 1912, on the Amazonian border with Bolivia and Peru, to work in rubber extraction—the Amazonian latex that fed the booming global automobile industry. It was big business for the West and a great tragedy for Indigenous peoples: invasion, plunder, marginalization, even enslavement. While Mestre Irineu bled rubber from trees to feed the Great Machine, he encountered ayahuasca. It was just a few years after his arrival. First, in an Indigenous ritual, with fear and suspicion that he was partaking in something satanic. Later, fascinated, in his own home, accompanied by other rubber tappers.
It is said that on a full moon night, Mestre drank ayahuasca, and the moon descended to him as the Universal Goddess, Queen of the Forest, Clara, Our Lady, and spoke to him: “To receive what I wish to give you, you must diet in the forest for eight days, alone, eating yuca without salt.” And just as Jesus Christ overcame temptation in the desert, Mestre Irineu did the same in the jungle. Then the Queen of the Forest returned and entrusted him with his mission: to free ayahuasca from Indigenous burdens—satanisms and sorceries—and use it for healing. A civilizer of ayahuasca, a drink that would no longer bear that name. “Daime,” the Goddess baptized it. “Its true name is Daime. Give me health, give me love, give me peace. You can ask for anything, because this drink is sacred and has everything people need.”
In the following decades, Mestre Irineu became much more than a healer for rubber tappers—a humble and crisis-stricken community, uprooted and at the mercy of the international rubber market’s fluctuations. Gradually, he assumed the role of a revered spiritual leader. He was an imposing man, tall and muscular, with resolute features, sparing in speech, and he exerted a fundamental influence on his followers’ lives. Francisca do Nascimento, Luiz Mendes’ sister, recounts how she was cured thanks to Daime and how her life then revolved around Mestre and his doctrine. “I was a shy girl, but when I fell in love, I went to ask Mestre if there was a foundation to continue with that love, and he encouraged me. It turned out well—we’re about to celebrate fifty years of marriage.”
Portrait of Mestre Irineu created by the Acrean artist Mardiuso Machado Torres. The jungle, the six-pointed star, the three-armed cross, the Queen of the Forest… are some of the typical elements of the Daimista iconography.
legitimacy
The construction of Santo Daime as an organized religion is a search for social recognition and legitimacy. First, against the stigma of savagery and witchcraft that still weighs on the shamanic practices of indigenous peoples. The three ayahuasca churches (Santo Daime, União do Vegetal, and A Barquinha) maintain a certain ambiguity regarding the indigenous origin of their practices, which they value but also nuance. Ideas such as “the Mestre perfected ayahuasca” or “civilized it” are common among daimistas. This explains why the beverage came to be called daime, the vine jagube, and the chacruna rainha (queen), in honor of the Queen of the Forest; why rituals are held with light, instead of the unsettling darkness of native sessions; why the ritual space and arrangement resemble a church; and why the uniforms usually worn by daimistas suggest the Mestre’s respect and admiration for the Brazilian Army.
Besides the stigma of being indigenous, the stigma of “drugs” also had to be fought. In 1982, the Brazilian government banned the use of ayahuasca, and only in 1987 authorized its use exclusively for ritual purposes, prohibiting the churches from associating ayahuasca with healing, even though Mestre Irineu considered himself fundamentally a healer, and most of his followers came to him for health reasons.
Although publicly it is not allowed to associate daime with healing, the oldest members frequently do so. Luiz Mendes recounts that when, weary of life in the city of Rio Branco and nostalgic for his childhood in the forest, he decided to move to Fortaleza in the 1990s, they had to face a severe malaria crisis. “No one died, but it was tough, although we did not give up, and it was a blessing.” Mendes explains that to combat malaria they had to perform trabalhos, the name given in Santo Daime to the rituals. “That was when I saw that every illness is an evil spirit manifesting, and a war was necessary to make it take another direction. It disappeared then, thank God. We fought a spiritual war, because we have authority to rebuke what is evil. ‘Get out of here!’”
Today Fortaleza is an idyllic place, with open spaces bordering a large expanse of forest where animals fleeing surrounding deforestation find refuge, and about twenty small houses belonging to CEFLI members who have established their first or second residences there, to be close to the trabalhos performed periodically, either at the Estrela D’Alva church or in Tataniké, an indigenous-inspired maloquita (shack or hut) run by Solón Brito, one of Mendes’s sons.
Luiz Mendes’s grandson, Gutemberg Nascimento, accompanies one of the hymns from the hymnbook Misterios da Natureza. The performance of the hymns is an essential element of the daimista doctrine.
indigenous
Solón Brito says he has seen during his mirações that in a past life he lived in an indigenous village. He feels a strong affinity with the native rituals he encountered during his travels in the region. “I became passionate about shamanism, and as I participated in rituals, I managed to access that traditional knowledge.” For Solón, the differences between indigenous and daimista rituals are superficial. “Essentially it’s the same; there is only a difference in the names. In the context of the Santo Daime doctrine, people speak of Yemanyá or Yurema, and the indigenous people, in their language, speak of spirits of nature, water, or the universe. They are the same beings; the only difference is the name.” On the material level, however, a daimista trabalho shows notable differences from a typical Amazonian healing session, which takes place in darkness, where only the healer sings and the atmosphere is tense, charged with something indescribable. A trabalho is lighter, more luminous, and joyful.
About thirty daimistas, mostly from Rio Branco, arrive in Fortaleza on Saturday afternoon to participate in one of Solón’s trabalhos. The atmosphere is festive. Men, women, and children chat animatedly while the space is being prepared. Tataniké is a maloca, a simple construction made with natural materials, but the arrangement of people and ritual elements is identical to that of any daimista church: a central table, headed by Mestre Conselheiro Luiz Mendes, flanked by rows of daimistas — men seated to the left, led by Solón; women on the right, dressed in long white dresses; and children at the back, many of whom, like most present, have taken daime since before birth, in their mothers’ wombs.
“This sacred drink has no contraindication for children, as long as the dosage is appropriate,” explains Solón. “If it’s a newborn, just a drop, and as they grow, the quantity increases.” Solón recalls his childhood experiences: “I saw many colorful lights, but as a child, I couldn’t decode those images. Today, when I remember that, mandalas and indigenous designs come to mind.”
The ceremony begins with the ingestion of daime, followed immediately by the singing. Those who don’t know the hymns by heart have a little booklet with the lyrics. The melodies are simple, repetitive, and when daime takes effect, joining the chorus feels natural. Maracas are shaken, and Solón’s son, sitting in front of Mestre Conselheiro, tirelessly plays the guitar. After two hours, Mendes invites those present to take a second cup of daime. Everyone repeats to complete the hymnbook Misterios da Natureza, received by Solón during his experiences with indigenous shamans. The spiritual elevation lasts well into the early morning. The ritual closes with a restorative buffet.
A trabalho in the maloca Tataniké, on the Fortaleza farm, where Luiz Mendes and his family established the headquarters of the Eclectic Center Flor do Lótus Iluminado.
HyMNS and SChisms
Hymns, illuminated by the golden light of daime, constitute the essence of this doctrine. There is no sermon or confession, only direct contact with the divinity through music. “Hymns are instructions,” Mendes explains, “like a student attending class and the teacher giving explanations. Through the hymns, Mestre Irineu continues speaking to the people.”
The main hymnal is that of Mestre Irineu himself, called Cruzeiro, which contains 132 hymns. But there are others, created by respected daimistas whose divine origin has been widely recognized. When Mendes joined the doctrine, and now with two hymnals, he doubted that the hymns were “received” by divine inspiration. “I thought people made up rhymes and then added some little tune. But one day I received my first hymn. I was deep in a miraçao when I saw a throne above, toward which columns rose. From the throne came a thread that reached me. That thread was music, and I began to sing the words that came with it. That’s when I was convinced that hymns are received, most during miraçao and others through dreams or pure intuition.”
One of Mendes’ first responsibilities within Santo Daime was caring for the hymnal of Germano Guilherme, an old and prominent member, who at his death made Mendes the guardian of his hymns, responsible for memorizing and preserving them. Soon Mendes earned the respect and sympathy of the leadership and, because of his eloquence, the Mestre appointed him official orator, one of the most important positions in the ritual structure.
But in 1971 Mestre Irineu died, and what his charisma had united, the ambitions of his followers separated. The first and most important schism was led by another key figure of Santo Daime, Padrinho Sebastián, a very popular member who had his own “community” and was considered the incarnation of Saint John the Baptist. Before his passing, the Mestre had designated Leoncio Gomes as his successor, but Padrinho Sebastián chose to follow his own path and created CEFLURIS, the Centro Eclético da Fluente Luz Universal Raimundo Irineu Serra, the branch of Santo Daime that would internationalize and incorporate ritual cannabis use into its practices (although that is another story for another time).
Luiz Mendes also felt uneasy with the new leadership. He first accompanied Padrinho Sebastián and, after a brief return to the original church, in the following years co-founded two new branches split from Santo Daime until finally founding the Centro Eclético Flor do Lótus Iluminado.
Luiz Mendes, founder of CEFLI, Centro Eclético Flor do Lótus Iluminado.
harvesting in alto santo
Mauro is the feitor of CEFLI, that is, the person in charge of preparing the daime. I met him by chance while interviewing another veteran of the daimista movement, Fernando Peixoto, at his home in Alto Santo—the Meca neighborhood of Santo Daime—where the Mestre lived and rests, and where the four most orthodox churches (CICLU-Alto Santo, CICLU, CICLUJUR, CEFLIMMAVI) are located. Although these churches originated from more or less traumatic splits, their relations are good. In Peixoto’s garden, barely 20 by 10 meters, thrives a lush plantation of chacruna/rainha, available to all the churches. “These leaves are ripe now, about to go bad, that’s why they invited us to harvest them,” Mauro says as he carefully picks the leaves one by one, in rhythm with hymns playing from his phone. “In three months, the leaves will have renewed again and can be harvested once more.”
Helping Mauro is Jorge Oliveira, another CEFLI member. He started taking daime while still in his mother’s womb, since his family was already following the doctrine. “I’m a child of daime,” he smiles. He has participated in the feitios since he was twelve. Like many other daimistas, he lives in Alto Santo, a hill overlooking Rio Branco, which was given to Mestre Irineu in 1945 by a former governor of the Acre state. Many of the Mestre’s patients stayed there to complete their treatments; others, simply drawn by his personality, decided to settle there. The Mestre gave them a piece of land. Seventy years later, Alto Santo is a pleasant neighborhood of single-family homes with large gardens, mostly occupied by daimistas. “When a neighbor decides to leave and put their house up for sale,” Oliveira says, “there are daimistas with money who buy it so that someone outside the religions won’t buy it and bring loud music or practices that disturb the peace.”
A member of CEFLI harvests chacruna (Psychotria viridis) leaves. The Santo Daime churches use exclusively chacruna leaves, which they call rainha (queen), and pieces of vine, which they call jagube, in their brew.
feast of the "feitío"
The daime that Mauro and Jorge Oliveira are going to prepare will be consumed at Luzeiro da Manhã [Morning Star], the church that CEFLI built in the town of Bujarí, near Rio Branco, with those members in mind for whom traveling to Fortaleza was difficult. It is there where a dozen people gather on Friday nights for the feitío, the ritual for processing plants. “The feitío is one of the best things about this doctrine because it’s a friendly gathering and a divine celebration,” explains Mauro. Before beginning the preparation, a glass of daime is offered to the participants. “When you drink daime, strength comes, and the work goes better.” The first step is to clean the vine pieces with a brush. Then the smashing begins, spectacular in its staging, with two rows of wooden anvils on which, in unison, to the rhythm of the music, the daimistas—from children to elders—supervised by a giant portrait of the Mestre, strike the vines with large wooden mallets. There is something of a military march in the coordinated beating alongside the daimista hymns playing on a sound system. Usually, it is the women who sing the hymns aloud; tonight, they are missed.
To the rhythm of daimista hymns, coordinated with a certain military air, the daimistas pound the pieces of jagube (vine) before cooking.
Emilio Mendonça, coordinator of Luzeiro da Manhã, is in charge of collecting the crushed vines. At 73 years old, Mendonça moves with the agility of a teenager, bending down and sliding across the floor to retrieve every last fiber. He first encountered daime in the mid-sixties when an insect bite caused a wound that exposed his entire leg. "At the health centers I visited, they told me it was incurable. A woman told me about a man who healed with an ‘apparatus,’ and that ‘apparatus’ was daime." Back then, the Mestre’s work was primarily focused on healing. Every Wednesday and Saturday, people with various health problems would arrive at his home in Alto Santo, where he treated them with daime. In Mendonça’s severe case, the Mestre invited him to stay in Alto Santo. His recovery was long—two years during which he could barely work and relied on the generosity of the Mestre and his companions. "To this day, I haven’t found a way to repay the Mestre," he says, on the verge of tears, but then corrects himself: "My way of repaying him has been to continue this work and help others just as they helped me."
Mendonça takes pride in how this doctrine has moved from marginalization to admiration, with young professionals now approaching Santo Daime with humility. "Nowadays, people come out of curiosity. They sing, focus, dance. Back when I arrived, it was only for the sick. The Mestre loved healing those who had no cure left."
Young visual artist Clementino Almeida, an Acreano with Indigenous blood in his veins, embodies the doctrine’s vitality and future: "Daime shows you where you need to go. It helps you understand what you’re doing, who your guides are. It protects your body. As for my painting, it awakens a heightened sensitivity—you perceive things you didn’t before. Through daime, I discovered new effects, textures, and insights that I now use in my work. For me, it was an awakening, a new era, a new phase of consciousness."
