That’s me and a very large very sweet anaconda
Fitting that I’m squared and ready to spill my memories of Ayahuasca Night Two and everything is aching. A tiny bit of repeat. Something far too familiar.
Z is silent today. I guess you could say we had a bad night, but I found it stimulating. Easy for me to say. We hit Children of Men (avoid it – blech; interesting idea with piss poor execution), and then swung into a local martini bar. I had a pumpkin one. It made my toes curl. I decided to call out his strange energy send-outs, and the Grill began. I’m a dangerous freak when I hit Question Mode – I just started digging deep. Z responded beautifully, weighing his answers and feeding me heartfelt honesty about all the emotional stirs. We like this. Honest outpours are like pretty little diamonds. But now he can’t sleep again and this morning I feel walls. Big visious bastardly walls. I wonder if my forehead is bruised.
I had nightmares. Last night, that is. Strange ones. If it were weeks before Christmas instead of weeks past, I’d ask for a turtle shell.
Night Two, as the Ceremony started, felt a little ill-fated for me. Wall writing and such. I sucked down the vile Ayahuasca and created a cocoon made of blankets and hoodies in my safe little rocking chair. I was person 6 in a 19 person circle. I waited for the others to choke down the medicine, and the Shaman blew the candles out. My tears set in right from the get-go, before things even had a chance to kick-in. By the time the Ayahuasca hit, I was a deluge. All this shit I had to apologize for – imagine every damn mistake, parading before you in a multi-colored tapestry, demanding your acknowledgment. Demanding I get my face out of that blanket and apologize.
And I did apologize – Christ, I could stop crying. When I leaned over to purge, I did so with a vengeance. Fierce yet silent releases, I let go of the guilt and listened to her dive into my bucket. And when I heaved a few last painful times, an angel came to push me back into my chair. One of my guardians. I recognized him from an ecstasy trip a while ago – a beautiful old American Indian man in a huge headdress. He stood behind me and stroked my forehead. I just kept apologizing.
Yet they didn’t want the I’m Sorry’s – they wanted forgiveness. They being Mother Ayahuasca and the spirit realm. I was supposed to forgive myself, and for the first time, I felt that was possible. I accepted, and the nausea released. I could breath again.
Suddenly, I was transported to a celestial mirror, standing naked and forced to stare at my reflection. This is not something I’m fond of, those mirrored moments. I take showers in the dark. I turn my back to reflections when there is no clothing to cover me. But Ayahuasca, she insisted – and followed through with a daily request. I must take my body in every day and thank the Universe for her; imperfections and all. I resisted. Each time I did so, I got violently ill. All right, fine then, I relented, and not only did the pain dissipate, but I found myself bathing in blinding yellow light. Yellow stars and rays and warm luscious light. The kind that spells redemption.
By the time the night ended, I felt truly beautiful. One of my intentions this trip was to break the barriers that prevented self-love; layers upon layers of anger and judgment. What a difference a night can make. Since then, I feel absolutely liberated. I was terrified of landing in arrogance; this was my resistance. But one can clearly be prideful and humble, and I am making my way to a peaceful place. No more fighting with myself. Especially this little house I live in. She’s a gift – solid and healthy and vibrant. And finally, I Know.
Amazing, isn’t it? How this magical plant can teach me something I’ve been fighting 31 years to find? It took five Ceremonies to get there, granted, but I can’t stop saying Thank You. And yes, I’ve been looking in the mirror, every day since this lesson. The shocking thing is, I love what I see.
