Twenty ceremonies. That’s a lot of dancing with the sacred vine. It’s a normal assumption that many cast my way – surely the training wheels are off now, sweet girl. Surely you know how to let go. To go deep. To be not afraid.
And yet, that’s not how these energies work. It seems the deeper I go these days, the less I know about what I’m really dealing with. The less I know myself and those around me. My ego is being dismantled, so the old knowingness is slowly ceasing to exist.
Going into the twentieth, I will at least concede there was slightly less fear than the previous evening. My darling ego-child still had her stronghold, however – I could feel the vice grip locking down on my being. No options, she told me. We were skirting the surface and nothing more.
I had no intentions as I rose to drink the brew that night. I felt whisps of joy – Orion had returned from his training, and would be joining us for the festivities. I loved, too, how all the women had elected to sit on one side of the circle. The swirls of sisterhood seemed to strengthen us, and for many, that was a much needed boost. There was trepidation as we stared down the next adventure. The previous evening hadn’t been gentle with the lot of us. And yet, we wanted more.
I wanted more. Barely, but that part of me that knew the sacred importance of these go-arounds still lived and breathed within. She is who nudged me to drink the medicine again, with a smile this time. I didn’t know what my intention should be, so I let them all fall away like acorns in a windstorm across my consciousness. The only wish I could grab hold of was simple – please don’t take me to hell.
The lights went off and we all went inward. I felt the energies of my Psychic sister next to me, and felt immediately comforted. Her tears came as my tears came. I didn’t know why I would cry so soon, but I didn’t know much of anything at that point, so I let them flow. The shaman’s music filled in the blank spaces and became my heart, my voice. Every now and again, I would remember once more that it was my birthday. The 34th. And yet, nothing felt special. I did not feel. . .much of anything.
The hours passed and not much transpired within. I had minimal visions, and could only really lock onto the many ways in which I was blocking the medicine. I had lost my fight. The ego relinquished control with a vengeance. She threw up walls in front of my third eye, making what little visuals I could perceive appear blurry and distant. My heart fell into a cavern with locks and deadbolts. At the highest level, I knew I had trapped myself. Yet the prevalent numbness insisted that I simply not care.
This, I obeyed.
I leapt up at one point and tried to move with the drums. It felt staged and egoic, as if I only danced to prove I could, and that I was beautiful when doing so. I felt inept and hideous in those moments, so I threw myself back onto my cushions and scolded my ego for wanting to show off.
Such an emptiness. Such an unnamable void.
I wondered if perhaps hell was better. This place I fell into then, it felt farther from bliss than the dark side ever did. But I knew there wasn’t enough medicine in me to break the chains. And when the offer came to have another drink, I promptly said no. On some levels, I was still immersed in Aya’s clutches, but there was little sincerity in my being. And no intention whatsoever to truly surrender. Knowing this, she gave me what my ego wanted – an endless stream of nothingness.
About two thirds into the ceremony, I started craving more. The shaman within started screaming – just load enough that the ears perked up inside.
Yes, we can go deeper. Yes, we can.
There were no more opportunities to drink, but Ayahuasca told me firmly that I didn’t need more brew in order to access her powers. I had so much in my veins anyway – I always have. She challenged me to drop the victim drama, the blank little girl-child stares, and tell my ego to fuck off already. I felt the throw down.
And I took the bait.
I would not end my twentieth ceremony with a quivering little whimper. There was so much more for me to be.
More soon . . .
“Strong Black Vine
you just might see that
sweet jesus
in a
Strong Black Vine
submission
is my mission for a
Strong Black Vine”
- Tori Amos
(And yes, she’s talking about Miss Aya)
Gday thanks for the last cool post.