It’s no secret that my March Ayahuasca sessions did a serious number on my psyche. I talked a little too much about how terrifying ceremony #18 was for me – the near psychotic break left me humbled and dazed and. . .shit, just stone-cold freak-a-fide.
I thought I had wafted past all of the fearful silliness in the hours before ceremony #19. I tried to be proactive in the days prior to the next deep-dive — meditations that just weren’t deep enough (or sincere enough), the incessant processing of the why’s and the how’s and the never again’s, the deeply real gratitude for every last thread of emotion – fear and all. I suppose it was an ok effort, but I did what I do so often – too often -
I skimmed the bloody surface. I did not serve myself in the highest fashion. And as such, there were more lessons to bring forth.
Everyone arrived Saturday for the weekend’s festivities – fresh-faced and heartfelt. Most were newcomers to the world of shamanism – a few of us were trusted repeats. We had a lovely time bonding and getting into the energies – complete with a fantastic round-robin discussion with Shaman and his Attendant. Beings of light that we all are, it was a gorgeous conversation.
And about 2/3 of the way in, I felt it – a wave of utter, primal, heart-gripping terror.
I felt a charge of energy wash up around my throat and head chakras, burning and flushing my cheeks and cells. I excused myself moments later, staggering into my bedroom and sitting on my bed to contemplate how to maneuver through this fear. Just moments before, I felt bliss. I felt ready and willing to let Ayahuasca take over – to surrender my illusion of control. Now. . .there was just no way. I mean, how could I go back to that darkness? How could I face down those demons when I had suddenly lost faith in myself?
I went back to the circle. The conversation winded down, and the clock ticked before us – about 30 minutes to lift-off. I thought about purging the medicine right after I took it – I could just rush off to my room and throw-up where no one would know. My ego adored this option – we could play the part but not have to hurt. Wouldn’t that be nice. To not have to hurt.
But I couldn’t. I knew too strongly how much I deserved this journey, and I felt too connected to mother Aya as a whole. I couldn’t dishonor this opportunity by hiding. I had to find the strength to go under.
I called Orion. He was in Denver for pilot training. He would be joining us the next day, and we lamented not being side by side for this cosmic undertaking. I knew, however, that he would be closer than I could ever fathom, no matter where he might physically reside. This would turn out to be so poetically true, it would be hard for us to accept.
But I digress. We’ll get there.
Orion gave me a little tough love pep talk. He reminded me to see the fear as a blessing, a big neon sign showing me how deep this process was taking me. Ego death was just on the horizon, he assured me, and the only way out of the fear – was to go through it.
All of the things I knew, but didn’t want to face. I felt resistant to his words at first, but fell into them eventually, unable to disagree with what I knew to be true. I loved him so much, for giving me this boost. I hung up and got to work.
We found our places in the ceremonial circle, and before the sun had even set, one by one, we walked up and swallowed our medicine. I straightened my spine and focused on my breathing. Focused on letting Ayahuasca run the show. On finally. . .letting go.
I waited for the unfolding to take me away as tears of primal fear flew down my cheeks. I wanted to be anywhere but there. Anywhere. But falling into my inexplicable terrors.
“Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.”
- Dylan Thomas
