Blanket hanging in the main room at Etnikas, which we decided must have been inspired by visions during an ayahuasca trip
On Monday, Shelly, Raul, and I were picked up in Cusco and driven to the Etnikas retreat center about 45 minutes away, to a town called Taray. Often, ayahuasca ceremonies are held in isolated areas deep in the jungle so that complete silence can be provided during the ceremonies, but Etnikas happens to have their facilities in a town. (This was fine and posed no problems until Day 3). The Etnikas campus is beautiful -- it is landscaped with plenty of trees and flowers, and several chairs are spread out throughout the lawn for us to read or nap or meditate, etc.
We were instructed to fast all day Monday so that our bodies would be clean slates for the ayahuasca to work with in our first ceremony. With all the fasting involved, the "meals included" part of the deal added up to four breakfasts, a lunch, and a dinner over the four and a half days we were there -- WHAT A SCAM! (Just kidding, the fasting really didn't feel like an issue and the vegetarian meals we were provided were quite delicious.)
Shortly after we arrived at Etnikas, we had a "cleansing ceremony" with the shaman (who has been shaman-ing for 36 years), which involved being gently swatted on our torsos with two special plants and then having flower petals sprinkled over our heads as the shaman recited prayers in Quechua (I think?) asking for Pachamama (Mother Earth) and Wiracocha (God the Father/Creator) to cleanse us of bad energy so we would be prepared to receive the ayahuasca. It would be easy to get into skepticism mode and think things like "there's no way that this 'ceremony' can actually rid someone of negative thoughts or energy, what a bunch of nonsense," or other such doubts. However, the thing is, I really don't see why the specific words, gestures, plants, colors, or other symbolic aspects of these types of ceremonies has to be scientifically validated in some way compared to another process with similar intent, because all that really seems to matter is the intent itself. It's about doing whatever we need to do, as human mortal beings with minds more powerful than we can possibly realize, to exercise whatever control we have over our own psychological energy. Sometimes we need to go through a ceremonial process and engage in familiar rituals to get ourselves into the desired headspace. Sometimes the details of those traditions will feel arbitrary, but that's fine by me; if the intent is still there, the desired effect is likely to follow.
Later in the afternoon, we did some yoga, and then suddenly 7:00pm arrived and it was time for our first ayahuasca ceremony. We gathered our water bottles, rolls of toilet paper and bottles of electrolyte beverages in case we vomited, and walked over to the hut.
The First Ceremony
The hut where it all went down
Inside the hut, three mats were laid out along the wall with sleeping bags, alpaca blankets, pillows, and a vomit bucket. Every ceremony was attended by one of the coordinators (either Gabriel or Stefan), the Etnikas doctor, a nurse, the shaman, and sometimes an Incan priest, who all sat on mats across from the rest of us.
Each ayahuasca ceremony began the same way:
1) The nurse would come by and record measurements of our heart rate and blood pressure.
2) The coordinator would come to each of us with a bowl of water and a bowl of dirt. We would dip our hands in the water and then grab a pinch of the dirt, rub our hands together, and run our hands over our heads. This was intended to provide a protective "helmet" against bad spirits during the ceremony.
3) The nurse would squeeze a few drops of two different oils into our hands, which we rubbed together and then over our bodies from head to toe. (Raul joked later that the oils made his hoodie smell like cheap cologne, and I said, "maybe that's what drives the bad spirits away -- they just have sensitive noses.") The oils were also believed to have protective powers, but perhaps more oriented toward physical, rather than psychological protection? I'm not sure if there was a substantial difference between the protection provided by the oils vs. the dirt-water helmet.
4) The shaman would light his pipe, oversee the coordinator pouring each dose of ayahuasca into a plastic cup, and the blow a puff of tobacco smoke into the cup of ayahuasca, before the coordinator brought it to us.
5) Once each person had received their cup of ayahuasca, the coordinator would say, "bottoms up," and we'd all (the participants and the shaman) chug our dose as quickly as possible. Mine was generally about three or four gulps' worth.
A note about what Ayahuasca tastes like: It is not good. Imagine, if you can, a liquefied combination of wood, dirt, burned coffee, and tobacco with the consistency of pasty mud. (I know those flavors wouldn't sound so bad if they were just notes in a fine wine, but trust me, ayahuasca is not pleasant.) Rather than acquiring a taste for it, it actually became more unbearable each time. After the third ceremony, I would shudder just thinking about the flavor of it.
6) The coordinator would light a few pieces of incensed wood in a clay bowl in the middle of the hut, which would provide a soft glow to the room during the half hour we waited in silence for the ayahuasca to start taking effect.
7) After about half an hour, the shaman would begin his icaros, which are the song-chants that help guide the participants' ayahuasca journeys. The shaman can't see the visions we see, but he can read our energy and detect if we need encouragement/more intense experiences, or if we need the icaros to soothe us, ease the effects, and/or push dark energy away. I really wish I could have recorded the ones that our shaman used, because they felt ancient and eerie and comforting all at the same time, and I want you to hear what I was listening to while I was trippin'.
Here's a website I found with audio files of some examples of other icaros, but so far I haven't been able to find any that sounded like the ones our shaman used (each shaman probably writes his or her own unique icaros): http://sacredvalleytribe.com/medicine-songs/#icaros-south
About 15 or 20 minutes after I took the ayahuasca, I realized I had to pee, so I asked if someone could help take me to the bathroom. When I opened my eyes, everything looked blurry, but in a glistening and stringy kind of way; they were blurred along curved lines reaching from the opening at the top of the hut and down the walls, and objects in the corners of my visual scope would flutter. The nurse took me to the bathroom, and that's when I realized I was losing touch with physical reality beyond my vision being compromised. My arms were weak and it took concentrated effort to close the bathroom door, and find the toilet and the toilet paper. When I closed my eyes, I saw a kaleidoscope of bright colors moving in circular patterns. I must have smiled or laughed or something, because the nurse asked, "are you okay?" and I said, "Yes, it's just... it's just funny because it's so stereotypical..." I was expecting something "deeper" from my subconscious than the cliche kaleidoscope of colors you see whenever a psychadelic trip is depicted on TV.
I got settled back into my sleeping bag on my mat, watching the colors, and then I started to realize I wasn't breathing very deeply. I said, "Is it normal if it feels hard to breathe?" and I could hear the nurse and doctor rush over. They asked "Are you having trouble breathing?" and I told them, "I can still breathe, it's just hard to take deep breaths." I think someone put their hand on my chest. They whispered things in Spanish, but I could understand that the nurse said "yes, she's breathing normally," which helped put me at ease. At the same time, I was in a vision thinking, "Is it okay if I don't breathe here? Maybe I don't need to breathe in this place..." Later in the night, I could also hear Shelly ask someone, "Am I breathing?" None of us were expecting this sensation of being unable to feel our own breath during the experience, and as you can imagine, it was pretty uncomfortable. They tell us to just accept and "go with" the experience, whatever it may be, but "going with" not breathing feels incredibly counter-intuitive.
Shortly after that, I had to vomit, but I could barely locate the bucket, so I asked for help. A couple people (the nurse and Gabriel, i think) rushed over, made sure I hit the target, and provided words of encouragement as they rubbed my back and arms. I tried reaching for my water bottle, but I was too weak, and I gave up. I remember opening my eyes and realizing I could no longer rely on my senses to ground me in normal reality -- it was gone. It is very disorienting to realize that you cannot "wake up" from a dreamlike state; you are already awake, and your options are an eyes-open dizziness in which everything is too blurry to serve as an anchor to any familiar physical reality, or an eyes-closed, unpredictable alternate reality. You are down the rabbit hole and there's no escaping it for the next three to four hours.
It felt safer to keep my eyes closed, but barely. When I closed my eyes, the kaleidoscope of colors would start to become overtaken by dark images; I can't remember exactly what they looked like, but the dark energy basically manifested as figures from an evil circus, like demon-clowns. I must have said something out loud, like "whoa, no, no, no..." because Gabriel, still next to me, told me to focus.
Me: Focus on what??
Gabriel: On love, on gratitude.
Me: [thinking]: But this is scary! Why did I do this? I suppose I can be thankful at least for the opportunity to have this very rare experience...
Me [out loud]: But how? What does that mean? What does love look like? ("Love" was too abstract a concept at that point; I needed something concrete to visualize to push out the dark images)
Gabriel: Focus on the faces of your friends and family.
Thankfully, focusing on faces of loved ones did help tremendously, although I remember being surprised at how quickly the dark figures would invade my vision if I didn't focus hard on positive things. I pictured Danali, Lucia, and Sami, then my sisters, and my parents. As I saw their faces one by one, I felt the love I have for them, and the darkness and the fear faded away. I also remember thinking, as though trying to convince myself, "there is more love, there is more love, there is always more love than evil," because a part of me was truly starting to consider the possibility that maybe evil and fear are the dominating forces in the universe after all, which is terrifying. Love has to win at the end of all this. It just has to.
I was hoping to encounter God during my ayahuasca journey, but in the middle of it, it occurred to me that ayahuasca -- although it feels like it transports you to a spiritual realm -- is a plant whose transformative power lies in its ability to dig into your own subconscious. You don't go anywhere outside yourself, you just go so far deep within yourself that it feels like a new, disembodied, spiritual place. So if I were to have a conversation with God, it wouldn't necessarily be THE God, it would be my own mind's conception of God, and anything God said to me would simply be the messages I subconsciously yearned to hear from God. Then I thought about the idea that we all share in divinity, that God exists within each of us... and following that line of reasoning, being "limited" to one's own mind doesn't mean an encounter with The Divine is impossible, because maybe The Divine has been in there all along anyway.
For a very brief time (5-10 seconds?), I experienced another vision. I saw a blue daytime sky, which opened up in the middle with a circle getting larger and larger, and inside the circle was a dark starry night sky, the rest of the universe, and then within that dark universe sky, another hole opened up and grew larger with the daytime sky in it, and each sky kept getting overtaken by the other in this pattern. I had the feeling that I was supposed to go INTO one of these sky-holes, but I was hesitant; after being overcome by even a brief experience with the darkness and fear that my subconscious could conjure, I wasn't willing to say "yes" to just anything the ayahuasca presented to me. I focused on tuning back into my physical self: I rolled my head from side to feel my neck and shoulders, I took deep breaths, thought of the words "love and gratitude" over and over, and listened intently to the icaros. I even hummed along with them a little.
At some point, the vividness of the images began to fade and I realized that what I was "seeing" seemed no more immediate or intense than what I see when I visualize things in my day to day imagination. These softer "visions" were mostly of mountains, goats, and the colorful geometrical patterns that are on textiles everywhere in Peru (like the blanket in the photo above).
In this state, I became a little more courageous and willing to play with the idea that I could give love to anything and make it okay. For example, could I bring love to something that terrified me and not find it terrifying anymore? I tested this out by imagining a giant tarantula. As I looked at its eight eyes and furry legs I thought, "heeeeey buddy..." Weirdly enough, it kind of worked. I started thinking "tarantulas aren't so bad, they're kind of cute in their own way, and they just evolved to be how they are because that's what they need to be." I imagined myself in a bathtub full of spiders to see if that didn't scare me anymore either, and sure enough, it felt okay. I still hope to God I never encounter a wild tarantula in real life, but perhaps if I do, I won't be as creeped out/horrified as I would have been before the ayahuasca helped me confront it and come to the realization that if I'm focusing on loving something, there's much less energy available to be afraid of it.
As time went on without any more dark thoughts or fears, no intense visions or psychological challenges, I started to wonder if maybe I just didn't have any inner demons for the ayahuasca to make me confront. And on one hand, that was a comforting thought, but I also remembering thinking, "Crap... how am I supposed to be a comedian if I have no inner demons??"
In the meantime, Raul and Shelly were having their own, far more intense and challenging experiences. Raul was to my right, in between Shelly and I. That first trip, with just the three of us, was definitely the most vocal, since we were all trying to feel out what was happening, and if it was normal. In no particular order, this is what I remember hearing from each of us:
Raul: I'm right here, right now.
*hits wall and floor with his hands*
Right here, right now. I am so right here, right now. Are you here, Michelle?
Me: Yes, I'm here!
Raul: Yeah, you're here. You've always been here, haven't you?
Me: [laughing] Yeah, I think maybe I have? This all feels so ancient and wise, like Peru was home at some point...
Raul: I woke up this morning in Peru. In the Sacred Valley of the Incas. El Valle Sagrada de los Incas.
Shelly: This is SO. WEIRD. I can't feel my body at all. Am I breathing? I don't even know if I'm breathing.
Raul: Did I die?
Shelly: I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't know my name, or where I am.
Raul and I: Shelly! You're Shelly.
Shelly: Does anyone have a sense of reality? Can you see anything?
Me: Yeah, I'm here in the hut, I can see everything, I can see you -- you're still here in the hut, don't worry!
Shelly: I'm so thirsty, can someone help me drink water?
Raul: God help me. Oh wow, God help me.
Shelly: I'm so thirsty...
Raul [to himself]: You wanted this. You asked for this. This is what you wanted!
Raul: "Come on, man... come on, man... let's go somewhere! I didn't come to the ends of the Earth for nothing. C'mon, man...
Me: It's just the first night, Raul. It doesn't all have to happen tonight. Remember, we've got three nights of this!
Raul: You're right, that makes sense. It doesn't all have to happen tonight, does it?
Raul [to himself]: I know you... oh, I know you.
Shelly [talking to the coordinator or nurse]: I need this to stop. I'm in the middle of a crazy psychedelic trip and I need it to stop, like, right now. It's too much.
Raul: What day is it? Does anyone know what day it is?
Me: Monday?
Raul: Is it still Monday?? Are you sure?
The doctor would come by at least once an hour (more, as needed) to check in with each of us and make sure we were okay. One by one (me first, then Raul, then Shelly), we sobered up, and one of the staff members helped us out of the hut and back to our rooms. Shortly after laying down, the nurse came in to get a second reading of our heart rate and blood pressure, and we finally went to sleep.
The next day at breakfast (food, finally!), Shelly, Raul, and I talked about the previous night. It turned out that Shelly had actually received an injection to cut the effects of the ayahuasca because they were too intense for too long, but even with the injection, she continued to feel it throughout the rest of the night and wasn't able to sleep well.
We all started wondering aloud why we had wanted to do this; ayahuasca is recommended mostly for people who are seeking healing for major psychological suffering of some kind (i.e. grief, depression, addiction, anxiety, PTSD, etc.), and we weren't sure we were fucked up enough to justify the healing potential of going through that experience again, let alone two more times. Like... maybe I'm good. Maybe I don't have much to gain by doing this, and I'd rather not risk any chance of becoming less okay afterward. Raul put it best when he said, "I didn't come here to collect nightmares." No one warned any of us how dark things could get; all we'd heard was that ayahuasca gives you visions, and it has radical powers to heal dysfunctional patterns in your subconscious that cause suffering. Turns out, your subconscious is also really good at knowing exactly where your fear buttons are, and pushing the crap out of them.
Reflections & Interpretations
The day after each ceremony, we met with the psychologist, shaman, and coordinator to discuss our experiences. The shaman then interpreted the visions (or other non-visual experiences) for us, and provided us with some advice for the next ceremony. Shelly described her experience as a difficult-to-explain sense of being disconnected from familiar, physical reality, and being overwhelmed by bright colors in constant motion, flowing in and out of each other. Raul reported two distinct visions: 1) being on a pile of garbage, and 2) being trapped in pure blackness, just surrounded by darkness in every direction. Both of them said they felt that if they went any deeper into the experience, they would risk not coming back -- either their minds would get stuck in that alternate reality forever, or their physical bodies would actually die.
The shaman reminded us that ayahuasca is called "rope of death" for a reason, but that we do not need to fear the death of our physical bodies. We will always come back. The "death" refers only to death of the ego, or death of a subconscious thought pattern or belief that has generated suffering. He said the next time we feel ourselves hesitating out of fear that we may actually die, we should go ahead and explore it -- "Sometimes you need to go through hell to get to heaven" -- because we will always, always come back. So.... that was somewhat reassuring.
As for me, I explained that after my initial visions, I had a pretty mellow experience which was mostly cognitive -- very aware of my observing mind making connections and trying to take mental notes for how I would describe and remember everything later. I even tried coming up with jokes about it. I was also very aware of (and concerned about) Raul and Shelly. The shaman nodded and said that my visions were probably cut short, because I was distracted by my efforts to put my experience into words; he explained that the subconscious doesn't have words, it is not rational, and once I go to that place, I won't be able to "make sense" of it and that's okay. I should not worry about understanding or describing what is happening in my internal experience next time, and I should try not to be distracted by the other participants either. Rather, I should just focus on accepting and being present to the feelings of my ayahuasca journey, whether pleasant or unpleasant, and being open to what La Medicina (another term for ayahuasca) may be telling me.
The Second Ceremony
Tuesday was mostly spent resting. It was another breakfast-only day. We each had one-on-one appointments with the psychologist, and then did yoga in the afternoon. In my session with the psychologist, the theme seemed to be that both of the things that I was seeking healing for (my constant comparing and competitiveness with others, as well as my insecurity and shame around some of my sexual behavior) basically boil down to the same root issue: fear of being unworthy of love. (Classic.)
The psychologist said something that helped, though: "Happiness is confidence." He didn't mean the kind of superficial confidence that is fueled by compliments or external validation; he was referring to that quiet, deeply rooted, unshakable confidence that you can trust your own intuition and strength, and that you are lovable, no matter how stupid, ugly, poor, confused, lost, or weak you may feel at a given time. If I can cultivate enough of that kind of confidence, the other issues should naturally work themselves out.
Entikas operates in such a way that new people are brought to the center every other day, and usually, the new people's first ceremony occurs on the "day of rest" for the cohort that came before them. I won't bother trying to explain the system in more detail; the important thing is that the second ceremony for Shelly, Raul, and I overlapped with the third ceremony of another group of participants: Erin, Sarah, Ralph, and Matthew, so there were going to be seven of us at the ceremony on Tuesday night.
Ralph, Erin, and Sarah had told us the day before that during their 2nd ceremony (on Sunday), Matthew had a REALLY bad trip -- he was rolling around spasmodically in his sleeping bag, throwing his arms around, banging into the wall of the hut, and making noises that were not human. They said it was like something straight out of The Exorcist. Later, we found out that Matthew had brought meth and marijuana to the center, which he probably had in his system when he drank the ayahuasca, and that explained his intense reaction. Needless to say, when the drugs were found, Matthew had to leave Etnikas, so he was not with us for Tuesday's ceremony, and this put everyone more at ease.
As we started filing into the hut for the ceremony, I overheard Shelly talking to Gabriel about how she was on the fence about drinking ayahuasca again. She was feeling freaked out, apprehensive and scared. He just said, "Okay, try not to be scared. It will be a good experience this time." (I thought, "C'mon dude, you know you can't guarantee that... give her something else to work with.") Shelly came into the hut and settled into her sleeping bag, but before the bowls of dirty and water made their way around the room, she had gotten up and left, and didn't come back for the rest of the ceremony.
The fact that Shelly had opted out was a little unnerving, and I started to have my doubts as well. However, I reminded myself that I still had Erin, Sarah, Ralph, and Raul in there with me, and I resolved to go through with it. As I chugged the ayahuasca, I thought "FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK," anticipating the complete loss of physical and mental control that was to come.
...but no visions came.
...and no vomiting either.
About an hour into the ceremony, I realized this trip was going to be more mellow than the previous night's. If I wanted to bump it up a notch, I certainly could have asked for some tobacco or another dose of ayahuasca, but I was pretty comfy just experiencing the warm-fuzzy physical effects this time: light-headedness, tingling skin, and warmth flowing through my arms and legs and around my face. It was incredibly relaxing to just listen to the shaman's icaros and the rain pattering on the roof of the hut. I just allowed my thoughts to wander, anchoring them as needed with the mantras of "trust," "no more guilt," "it's all going to be okay," "Pachamama," and "love and gratitude."
At one point, Ralph said, "I love my life!" and then immediately vomited, which was a genuinely beautiful and hilarious moment.
Raul vomited a LOT, and wondered aloud, "where is this all coming from??" We'd only had breakfast, after all, but ayahuasca has a way of pulling and purging gunk from deep inside your system. Listening to people puke, I was actually kind of blown away at how much could pour out of someone in one go....
Reflections & Interpretations
Everyone seemed to have a pleasant experience during Tuesday night's ceremony (including Shelly, although her pleasant experience involved getting lots of rest faaaar from the effects of ayahuasca). When I told the shaman I didn't have any visions, but that I did have many "normal" pleasant thoughts and realizations, he said that my mind is strong, and I would be given a stronger dose for the third night (...gulp). He also said that even when my thoughts feel like normal every-day thoughts rather than special ayahuasca-inspired insights, they are still being influenced by the ayahuasca and it's entirely likely that the thoughts I have while on ayahuasca are NOT thoughts I would normally be having, so I should pay attention to them and try to allow them to run their course to see where they lead; they are probably forming new connections that will be important to explore.
Day of Rest
On Wednesday, we got ALL THREE MEALS because no ayahuasca that night = okay to have a belly full of food due to low risk of being vomited.
During breakfast, Erin said something about how she's really into alpaca now, and she doesn't think she can wear wool anymore, because it's so inferior by comparison. Immediately, my brain searched for the joke and came up with "Once you go alpaca, you never go back-a," but I decided that was super lame and I should keep my mouth shut. But then Ralph said literally the EXACT SAME JOKE and got a huge laugh!! I don't regret my decision, though. It made me happy that everyone laughed at the joke, but I also kinda definitely judged them for it. Just a little bit...
After breakfast, Erin, Sarah, and Ralph left Etnikas, and Raul, Shelly, and I had an ayahuasca-free day of rest (the new people arriving that day would have their first ayahuasca ceremony without us), which included reading outside, getting a heavenly 90-minute massage, yoga, and volunteering for a couple hours. The place we volunteered at was the House of Mother Teresa of Calcutta, a home for people with neurological disorders, most of whom are unable to talk, or to feed and bathe themselves. Our job was to spend 1-2 hours feeding lunch to the children at the home.
As we walked in, and I saw all the children lined up in their wheelchairs, I thought, "oh boy... this is going to be rough and emotionally uncomfortable." I don't really know how to handle thoughts and feelings around severe disabilities without either numbing myself to it a little, or trying to be so "okay with it" that I'm bordering on condescending. However, after about ten minutes of feeding lunch (which seemed to be smashed up Oreo cookies in a bowl of yogurt....um, YUM) to a boy named Angel-Gabriel, I was able to relax a little. It was fine - we're all just people. I just needed to focus on trying to have a human-to-human connection, not really a big deal. Every once in a while Angel-Gabriel would smile, and it was such a relief to see that he was happy; the hardest part about interacting with someone who has few faculties to communicate with is that it's difficult to tell if they're uncomfortable or sad or if there's anything specific they wish you would do for them. When he smiled, I knew he was okay, at least for that moment. I left the House of Mother Teresa with a deep appreciation for the people who take care of those children (and adults) full-time so that their lives, however limited in other ways, are not lacking in dignity and respect. I was also reminded of what Mother Teresa once said, about how we can do no great things...only small things with great love.
I spent the rest of the evening reading a book that Sarah and Erin left behind for us, The Ayahuasca Test Pilot's Handbook: The Essential Guide to Ayahuasca Journeying, searching for information about interpreting dark, nightmarish visions (in case I came across any during the third ceremony), but the author seemed surprisingly unaware that drinking ayahuasca can be anything but a totes-positive, supes-dupes-healing experience.
The Third Ceremony
On Wednesday night, we all heard loud cannons being fired off from inside the town in the middle of the night/early morning. It turned out that there was a multi-day festival beginning in Taray, and this complicated our ceremony schedule a bit. We were informed around noon that our final ayahuasca ceremony would have to start at 2:00pm that day, since the festival was likely to be quieter in the afternoon than at night. I was not a fan of this decision. I felt certain that daytime trippin' would not feel as mystic as drinking ayahuasca in the evening, and what if we weren't ready for bed afterward at 6:00pm? I'd always gone straight to bed after the other ceremonies; I didn't know how long it would take to fully sober up if I just stayed awake instead...
At 2:00, the ceremony began with Shelly, Raul, myself, and the newbies: James from Australia, Marshall from Holland, and Sebastian from Portugal.
My dose of ayahuasca didn't seem to be greater than it usually was (I was supposed to get a slightly larger dose the third time since I didn't have visions the last time), but I figured I would just feel it out. Every trip is different, and maybe that amount would be enough for me that night. Plus, it tasted worse than ever and I was not anxious for more.
The noise from the festival was distracting, but people seemed to become engrossed in their journeys without much of a problem. I started out with the usual tingling, warm-fuzzy feelings in my body, and just relaxed into my thoughts. I focused mostly on being utterly in awe of the human mind and on gratitude for the abundance of Mother Earth and her ability to give us everything we need. (I know people are getting psyched these days about the potential of humans living on Mars, but I can't imagine I would ever want to do that. Earth is Mother, Earth is home. No planet will ever be able to take care of us like Earth does. I AM NEVER LEAVING.)
My most vivid experience this time was tactile. I had soft, vague "visions," but instead of being brightly colored geometrical patterns, I saw feathers everywhere, and then an image of a bird formed. The bird touched its beak to my forehead between my eyes -- the place of the third eye chakra -- and then I felt a sensation like a pinch/pulling/sucking in that spot on my head. It felt like energy was flowing between the bird and I, but I couldn't tell in which direction.
Every once in a while, I'd open my eyes to check how dizzy I was, how much I was "with the effects," as Stefan would say. After only two hours, I was 100% back to normal. Stefan came over to check in, and I told him I was totally sober, and he asked if I wanted another dose of ayahuasca. (This is rare -- the only other person to have more than one dose was Ralph, and he's a big dude. It was very odd how minimal the effect was for me, when the same dose had sent everyone else deep into journeys.) However, I figured this was my last chance for some visions and I felt prepared to embrace whatever the ayahuasca wanted to show me, so I took a second dose -- just one more big gulp. If nothing else, I figured, it would get me to vomit, and that's what had triggered the visions the first time.
When Stefan gave me the second dose, I couldn't take it right away; I really had to pump myself up to get it down. Just smelling it activated my gag reflex so bad I thought I might vomit immediately after swallowing it. Which I did. (Well... about ten minutes after swallowing it, anyway.)
The warm-fuzzy feelings kicked in again. Eventually I found myself following this (approximate) train of thought:
"What if this life is it, what if we just get this one life on earth and then there's nothing else?
What if it's just blackness and emptiness when we die?
How lucky we are to live and experience this world at all, but also how sad and scary to be able to anticipate it ending at some point.
But it's no use objecting if that's the truth. It will happen whether you object or not.
You just need to surrender to what is -- you can't control it, you were never meant to be in charge of it all.
You just have to surrender to the powers that be and trust in the wisdom of the universe.
If it's blackness and nothing, then maybe that's for the best. Maybe that's exactly what we need after this life is over.
After all, what would be the better, wiser alternative?
Would you really want your same familiar consciousness to survive infinitely?
Whatever happens, we don't have to be afraid of it.
As long as we are anything, we will have love, because love is our essence."
The shaman didn't sing any icaros during the second half of our ceremony. This may have been because we didn't need any guidance, but an equally likely reason could be that he didn't want the sound of the icaros to be overpowered by the festival noises.
At some point, I heard Raul say, "I don't feel good, I need help." I opened my eyes enough to see him being helped into a wheelchair and wheeled out of the hut. During the rest of my trip, I had to reassure myself that he would be fine, and that I should to wait to ask someone for confirmation that he was okay, on the off chance that he was not... (if he had died or was in critical condition, I didn't think my mind was in a place to process that information without breaking on some level.)
Still no visions, but I was okay with that. La Medicina just didn't want to use visions to send the messages I needed to hear this time. Maybe I wasn't ready for them. Maybe I didn't need them. Whatever the case, I still had plenty of helpful realizations on my cognitive journey.
I was the last one to leave the hut. The doctor and Stefan guided me back to my room, but I wasn't tired. I asked if Raul was okay, and he was (THANK GOD). I checked my phone, and it was only 6:30. I had been listening to the sounds and music from the town festival during the whole ceremony and I really wanted to go experience it. I knew I was too dizzy still to go wandering around a festival, so I just slowly and carefully made my way outside to the porch and stood there wrapped in an alpaca blanket, facing the town, listening to the bands play and staring up at the sky.
When I came inside about an hour later, Sebastian and Marshall were also awake, having a light dinner in the dining room. Marshall left, and then Sebastian asked what I was going to do the rest of the night. I said I really wanted to go to the party, and his face immediately lit up: "Me too! I could see the inflatable slide and I've been wanting so badly to go on it!" We asked Stefan if we could go into town for the party, and he loved the idea. So the three of us, as well as a couple other staff members, ventured into town for the festival: we went on the slide, ate some anticuchos (potato & beef kabobs), and played a very low-stakes gambling game. I laughed and smiled a ton -- I was SO HAPPY we made it out to the fiesta -- but there was also a small space in my mind that was occupied by a sense of sadness and awareness of my own mortality. As happy as I was, the acute awareness that it was all going to end some day dulled the joy a little. I thought, "Shit... is this just a part of my psyche now? Is this sad/fearful thing always going to take up a little space in the back of my mind, bumming me out a little whenever I am enjoying myself?"
The answer, thankfully, is no. I don't feel that little dark place in my mind anymore, although I do still retain a heightened awareness of my own mortality, as well as the presence and power of both fear and love in the world.
Reflections & Interpretations
I told the shaman the next day that my most vivid experience was feeling a bird touching its beak to the place of my third eye chakra and either sucking energy out or sending energy in. He said that animals are a common vision from ayahuasca, and birds represent wisdom. So perhaps I was receiving wisdom into my third eye chakra (which, for those unfamiliar with what each chakra represents, is the chakra of intuition, wisdom, and spiritual insight). So, basically I'm supercharged with spiritual wisdom now, which is pretty rad.
I also explained to the shaman that I feel more aware of my own mortality, but that I'm not as afraid of death as I used to be, because I realized I don't really have to be afraid of anything -- that maybe there's nothing to be afraid of after all. I trust God/The Universe to handle the afterlife (or complete lack thereof) in whatever way it's meant to be, and I trust myself to apply love to any situation that scares me until it can't scare me anymore. The shaman smiled and said, "All you need is love."
Goodbye, Drug Camp
On our last day at the Etnikas retreat center (or what Shelly referred to as "drug camp"), the shaman led us in a Pachamama (Mother Earth) Offering ceremony, to give thanks for our experiences and insights, and to focus our intentions on putting these new insights into action as we move forward with our day-to-day lives. Raul, Shelly, and I hugged goodbye to Sebastian from Portugal and James from Australia (who gave each of us a tiny glass vile of red sand from his favorite place in Australia), packed up our things, said goodbye to the staff and the three little mangy spaniel dogs that kept us company all week (below), and headed off to catch our train to Machu Picchu.
