The backside of the Sanctuary - that’s the ceremonial maloka you spy
Yesterday, I hemmed and hawed over the need to be a flake.
In true Gemini fashion, I flipped that around, called an Amazon friend in LA for the eve, and hit the town. Can I be consistent? No. No, I can’t, I don’t want to, and you can’t make me.
Seeing someone that I shared the brew with, that being Ayahuasca, brings back all the positive risings. He has a magical tale, this one — he spent months in Peru after my exit, and is still finding his path, but received all kinds of divine instructions. I’m going to try and help. Which is just all kinds of exciting. He brought home heaps of gorgeous, handmade Peruvian jewelry, and wants to make a go of it as in importer/seller.
Feeling the textures and organic materials of the samples he brought transported me back to the jungle. Then William posted a picture of a jungle tree on my profile, and it left me tearful. What is it about those plants that makes me so emotional? Because i have them inside me, I guess. Sometimes I dream about finding an old hollow tree, climbing inside, and holding my breath.
The worst of this last cycle has passed, and I am sucking in deep breaths, hinting at smiles, and ready for the next journey and phase. I think I’ll celebrate the aftermath by getting my hair and nails done tomorrow — a last spurt to feel beautiful before becoming the rugged Jungle girl again. God damn, I love being a dichotomy.
