The dock, surreal-style, at the lodge in the Amazon. Photo by Steve Johnson.
I wasn’t afraid of Ayahuasca when I went to the Amazon the first time. It’s hard to fear something you don’t know, on any level.
Now that I’m less than 2 months out from returning, oh hell yeah, I’m jittery.
Because I know.
So much of what I/we do – borderline everything – equates to an escape. Television and movies, books and magazines, even conversations. Alcohol, drugs, food – consumption baby; non-stop some days. I used to call my suicidal ideation Consumption, because she sucked up so much of my obsessive thoughts. But that is the ultimate escape, figuratively and literally – allowing myself, during those pitch-black days, to imagine a permanent way out. It never served to provide any answers, but it did serve me. And I’m still here. At least there’s that.
All of these things make us less of ourselves. Some of us are in constant hiding. I find meditation excrutiatingly difficult, because it requires a bona fide deep dive. My brain doesn’t shut the fuck up, and she’s not me; just the ego. The hidden veil. She’s fun to hit the town with, that outside mask, and she’s a great conversationalist, but she’s a constant distraction. Chatter chatter chatter.
Ayahuasca, in about 30 minutes flat, shoves you deep into the recesses of your being, back to the cosmic memory. She didn’t shutdown my brain noise by any means – those voices still had a hey day. They tried to control the experience, to talk me through it, but the ego lost her power in an instant. By the third ceremony, I made my way to the Authentic Voice in an instant, and I don’t even remember listening to anything else. See, there’s no hiding, regardless of how many voices are part of the symphony. There was one woman I remember, she managed to control all 3 experiences, and told us all she didn’t get much out of it. About 4 months later, she wrote me to say she woke up in a cold sweat one night, all these voices coming through her ears, and she realized how much she needed to change. Ayahuasca is far more patient than we are, but make no mistake – she’ll get through.
This is why the sacred vine is anything but a drug. The Shaman calls the brew medicina – and it is the ultimate medicine. It tastes like ass, it cleans you from the inside out, and it heals whatever you brought to the surface with your intentions. And then some. But not without a balance, and it’s the other side – that incredible unknown vortex of visions, past lives, and hardcore lessons – that keeps me quaking.
Well, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to escape. A little food, a little film-watching. Definite Boo time. And all kinds of delicious fear.
