Lessons from Ayahuasca

     Heart slamming, I cupped the medicine against my chest.  Not out of fear, as it had in my first ceremony, but out of longing to connect again; to invite Her inside to do Her cleansing, teaching, and healing.  I drank the sweet shot, focusing on my intention of surrendering.  

   Her Spirit slipped into my body.  An image appeared of a Navajo grandmother, weaving in an adobe hut.  "Come," She said, extending a hand to my 7-year-old body and leading me out into the desert. The vision faded as I became aware of pressure building in my crown chakra, then spiraling downward through my body, a familiar sensation I'd been experiencing in meditations leading up to ceremony.  So, I flowed with that: energy spiraling from my crown through my body before rising up again.  And again.  And again. 

    The repetitive spiraling, I realized, was Eagle, soaring on warm air currents in lazy circles.  I looked at the Navajo Grandmother next to me on a desert cliff. "You're teaching me to fly?" I asked, and She smiled in response.  But jumping off the cliff loomed daunting.  I imagined that with enough frustration from the still repetitive exercise, I would fling myself off the cliff, spread my wings, and just do it.  

    But I wanted the safety of slipping into Eagle skin, so She took me to my hometown nature center with a caged bald eagle.  I opened a portal to his cage, slipped into his skin, and took flight into the night.  Despite the blissful soaring sensation, something felt wrong.  Because Eagle is not a bird of the night.  "For that, you're going to have to see your Grandfather (i.e. Huachuma, the San Pedro cactus)," she said, and we were promptly yanked back to the desert.  

    I remained grounded, realizing that it wasn't about flying, but gliding with ease and grace.  What about soaring up from the ground, and hunting, and... I realized that Grandmother has many, many lessons to teach, but today was focused on downward gliding through each of my chakras until she lifted me up again.  When the shaman's rattling and chanting in the room would stop, I'd falter in doubt.  Flailing in a nose dive towards splatter in the sand, Grandmother would intervene, protecting and lifting me back up once again. 

    "I am within you.  Of course you can fly," She whispered.  

    The shaman woke us up from our reveries to share some of our experiences with the circle.  "Aya is teaching me that I can do seemingly impossible things," I said, the realization only dawning as I spoke the words out loud.  

    I approached the altar for a second dose, noting a whimsical stuffed owl that someone had placed there.  Her cartoonish gaze followed me to my mat, where I acknowledged these quiet huntresses as the queens of the night.  

     Would we resume our spiral gliding? I wondered, but refocused to my intention--yielding to whatever the medicine had in store.  The effects of the second cup came on stronger and faster.  Instead of a desert landscape, the most exquisite splendor possessed my vision.  A cosmic symphony of geometric rainbows in undulating patterns that I could barely witness, let alone comprehend.  The radiance inundated me with uncontainable bliss in the comfort of my plush blanket, soft pillow, and cozy clothes.  I struggled with accepting such immense pleasure and comfort, and then laughed at the absurdity of my toil.  

    The image of a soft, grey kitten going limp so that her Mother can carry her by the neck came to me.  I softened more to the medicine, and let Her show me images of utter perfection, beyond words, dancing rainbow jewel gems in the night.  I wholly felt gratitude for the love I've been shown in my life, especially from my mother and father.  My hands caressed my supple skin, soothing and embracing my flesh perfectly as it is.  

    In the room, others purged, yelled, and wept, releasing their own suffering.  I felt grateful for their healing, trusting that Grandmother was doing Her work.  My purge was in tears, slipping serenely from my eyes alongside a simple, whispered, "Thank you".  Aya showed me the opportunities in my life to mother, not only myself but also Her people, plants, and pets, thereby answering the unspoken intention I'd brought to ceremony in my heart-space.  She showed me opportunities where I could embody my appreciation through generosity; that my work was to ground myself in the present moment so that I could see all the miracles and riches around and within me.  She told me that I need to learn to listen to her ancient, mysterious song to learn Her way of Love. 

    She taught me how to glide, by way of becoming a kitten.  

    How could I go into a second night?  Surely it would be a rough, tough challenge after such exquisite bliss.  I recognized my fear getting in the way and, rather than project expectation of a negative experience, I came back to my intention of surrendering and, now, listening.  She'd taught me the yin energy of the throat chakra (listening), but also how to step into my power and use my voice to speak Her truth of Love that is flowing within me. 

    With residual medicine still in my body, mind, and spirit from the previous night, the first dose came on strong.  There's no way I need to take the second dose, I decided, as the medicine overpowered me.  Again, She painted cosmic visions, but tinged with more darkness.  When fear began to creep in, or discomfort at the shaman's incessant rattling or cleansing tobacco smoke, the sounds scrambled in my ears; the smells needled nausea at my stomach.  I remembered my intention to listen, without judgment or attachment.  And suddenly every sensation, from a neighbor's purging, to a distant train rumble, to the frightening image of some forgotten nightmare became exactly perfect.  I allowed whatever to come, welcoming it in its perfection.  I realized that I needed to step back and let the medicine do Her work.  To let the visions morph.  That I don't need to (or indeed perhaps can't) understand what She is doing on a cellular and energetic level.  Then, even more glorious visions from the night before appeared: a perfect rainbow gradient morphing onto mother-of-pearl canvas.  I realized that I don't come to Grandmother with a full cup; I empty myself and allow Her to fill me with her teachings. 

    But when the option came to take the second dose, I listened to my head and went all in.  To prove it to myself or to the room that I was macha enough?  Did I need more medicine?  Or was it presumptuous to assume that my healing was complete, that I had no other work to do?  I could have asked for a smaller dose, and maybe I should have, but I was there to work with the medicine.  Besides, it's not like every weekend I get to participate in an Ayahuasca ceremony, I decided with fear-based scarcity. So I gulped it down, letting it take its course.

    Oh, what exquisite struggle.  Where was the comfort I'd so easily found?  All the foundational trust I'd build in the medicine shook in these tremors like trees in a storm.  I couldn't settle into my blankets.  After being so still and quiet for the previous doses, I couldn't relax.  The shaman hummed her lullaby, and I heard the room's purge of puke and tears.  I thought that they were suffering for me.  That if I could just relax into the medicine then they would too.  I wanted the singing and rattling and purging to all stop.  Rather than allow, I resisted it all.  Grandmother reminded me of the Great Truth of Universal Love, but I no longer could believe it.  She told me that we are the answer to one another's healing; that we are our own salvation to climate change crisis.  She showed me infinite Source energy, that I could give away all of my money and possessions because I would still receive what I need.  But how? I questioned.  How would I pay for grad school then? Silence was Her response.  

    All of my egoic insecurities surfaced on display.  I felt like a phony, a fraud.  Like everyone else could see right through my veneer to these deep insecurities, to these deep needs to be loved.  I felt the shortcomings of my relationship surface, insecure about my need for male attention and fatherly love that was purged through others weeping.  I felt them purging sickness for me too, from stuffing myself with unhealthy sugars.  Subconscious trauma surfaced from when I used to get too stoned on edibles and fear death by cotton mouth.  Still, I kept myself quiet throughout the ceremony, not wanting to be a nuisance.  

    It's okay to move. To make my own noise.  To purge.  I remembered my very first Ayahuasca lesson from my first ceremony six months prior: it's okay.  It's okay to let it out, to have a voice, to suffer and let others see it.  It's okay to sit up and sip water--that's what it's there for.  I did, the cool coating my tongue, and sighed a relief of thanks.  The sigh brought me back to my breath, lengthening it from its shallows in my chest.  

    And oh, what bliss.  

    Exhausted, I could finally relax, enjoying rest from the mental marathon I'd sprinted.  I have a tendency to live in my mind, to overthink, and She worked my mind like a tough trainer, pushing me towards newfound inner power and strength.  She taught me suffering; the beauty of that shared human experience.  She reminded me that I am clay, and that She is the potter.  I felt grateful that I could be part of this human pain, that it could connect me with my Brothers and Sisters. 

    Four months later, I am still processing this ceremony, working everyday at integrating Her lessons of gratitude and Love into my daily living.  Perhaps I'll never fully understand, or even remember, the visions I saw.  But I remember the feeling of being loved, guided, protected, and supported, not only from the medicine but also from the community; inspired to reflect this unconditional love and acceptance through my words, actions, habits, and life.  I do this through this writing that I am called to share, perhaps calming some of the doubt and fear that seems to shroud Ayahuasca.  You'll hear when Grandmother calls.  I hope you'll pick up the phone.