Traveler Tim with a darling group of bubble-loving Bora kids
It doesn’t matter that I went to hell in the fourth ceremony. It doesn’t matter that it ranks as one of the worst experiences thus far, in terms of pain and fear and negative forces. Two out of my seven ceremonies at this point have been excruciating. I still wanted my final cup.
We had one more chance to dive deep and let Ayahuasca lead. One last dance with the Shaman. Many of the nineteen crew decided they had had enough, and I certainly understand this. Drinking that cup is an uncontrollable commitment. You don’t know what will materialize before you, or what will be waiting behind your eyelids. You give yourself to the spirit world. It’s so bloody hard to silence your ego.
Seven of us chose not to drink. I was not among them. A couple of those folks, however, still sat in the circle with us, participating in every aspect except consumption. One of the non-drinkers said she even felt the urge to purge. If you’ve been there, well, it’s easy to return, with or without the medicine. I consider this an immeasurable blessing.
The Shaman promised at the beginning of our journey that this one would be peaceful and joyous. He doesn’t always dictate how the nights will transpire, but generally, the last cup in a cycle is less intense and unpredictable than the others. I believed him. And that’s probably half the battle.
We locked in, the lights went out, and my visions electrified. I was transported to a place I had quite literally been before; the Mayan culture. It was as if I was placed on a moving parade float; I saw myself gliding before hundreds of smiling, dark-skinned faces. The children reach out to touch my hair. The women grinned and nodded. The men glowed and waived. One walked abruptly up to my side and placed his palm on my head. My chakra exploded. I felt all this healing love exploding inside of me. Then they showed me my hands again, bursting with stars and rays of light. I felt like one of them. Powerful and benevolent. Such an old, old soul — with newfound innocence and energy. I didn’t ever want to leave them.
Then I was taken to a beach – not an island, but tropical all the same. I have always hated beaches because they represent bathing suits and showing skin. Remember the body battles? Well, I didn’t. Not in those moments. I stripped down to a bikini and ran for the waves. I saw Jesus again, way off in the distance, floating above the waters. He waved at me. I pranced for him in my suit, giggling at my childlike awe. He was proud of me. I was proud of me. There was no fight in me anymore – not for myself. I was finally free.
The night swirled around me like silken threads, brushing my skin and making me smile. Untouchable and sacred, part of the beautiful unity – that’s how I was feeling. I took in the energies of everyone in the room, and I just couldn’t believe how much I loved these people. Unconditionally. And then I felt that love extend outward – to my dearest friends. To the mass of acquaintances. To my family. To everyone at war, everyone suffering, everyone dancing, everyone breathing. I knew then this could be limitless. Nights like the previous one, they always have endings. I could have this kind of glow for eternity. I could hold onto my bliss for the rest of my lifetimes.
Thousands of visual glimpses were granted to me that night – most of which I didn’t understand. I will make sense of them in the next posting – see, while this was my last romp with Ayahuasca, Huachuma was still waiting. The wise grandfather spirit. My first trip with him. And he filled in the life.
That’s next. For now, I am just in love.
