Yes, I had admittedly wasted the better half of this cosmic ceremony, consumed by fears that I’d return to the out-of-control terror I visited in ceremony 17. Yet something in me stronger than any meager fear had awakened once more, and I called into my awareness a deeper experience. The kind I never used to fear.

Ayahuasca is nothing if not a giver – she responders to the intentions of the drinker in a staggeringly tangible fashion. So there was no shock when I sincerely called to her to pull me into her clutches, and she in turn started up the fireworks. I knew that the medicine was far past the crazy intense point, and there wouldn’t be any more chances to drink. Yet Ayahuasca forgave me for my previous trepidation, and the games began – albeit a wee delayed.

I had really only one question and request – please release me from this fear. Get me back to the point of trusting Miss Aya, the process of the ceremonies, and most importantly, my higher self. I can’t really communicate what it is that started transpiring, but things began dissolving in me – like an Alka Seltzer tab plunked in a vat of water, my weak little anxieties fell into the ethers.

The music kept surging wave after wave of emotion in me. I cried / sobbed / wailed openly now, letting this be my tangible purge. I had had a mini-purge earlier in the evening, during a bathroom visit, but like everything in those early hours it was very half-assed. This sob fest was a legitimate outpour. Like many such recent sessions, I didn’t really know the stories behind the emotive releases, but that didn’t much matter – I needed this.

I knew, in part, that I was purging my self-hatred. I even hated myself for still having so much hatred to release – part of the fuel that burned in the self-destructive fires. But inside of me, I felt the hands of various well-intended spirits, reaching deep and pulling out the poisons. God, what a gorgeous release. I felt at times I might be weightless by the time the evening came to an end.

I once again connected to the people in the room as well – grateful that the illusion of separation had also fallen away. I saw Orion’s feet moving manically off in the far corner, outstretched in front of his beautiful body and quasi-dancing to the infectious rhythms. And oh my God the love I felt then – the overflowing adoration that I should be blessed enough to call him Partner. I felt the walls I still held between us, and visually pulled them away, feeling instead the sheer power of our bond. I drank in the vibes and said thank you to him – the only way I knew to send him what I was feeling.

I laid back on my cushions then and blissed out. My legs fell open, exposing every chakra to the surrounding energies. My palms faced upwards – every piece of me was in receiving mode. I wanted whatever she had to give. I saw images of women around me – everywhere I looked, goddess-like creatures stared down upon me, casting protective layers and infusing me with strength and remembrance. No more pretending, they told me. No more forgetting that I was one of them.

I reveled in these energies, still laying on my back and staring up into the cosmos. My mind had completely drifted away, allowing the rest of me to soak in the experience. Suddenly, I felt the most tangible vision arrive – I could literally feel Orion’s lips cascading kisses down my forehead and cheeks. The sensation only lasted a few moments – he whisked in above me, showered me with affection -then totally disappeared. So vivid, so real. Could it be he really just did that? It seemed improbable – contact with anyone in the circle was strictly against the rules, in the event it pulled someone out of a delicate yet important meditation or vision. But the timing was so blessed and the gesture so appreciated. Orion wouldn’t break the rules, I surmised. So it couldn’t have been real.
Oh wait. Jesus, of COURSE he would break the rules. This is Orion we’re talking about.
Then it must have been real. I giggled at his audacity, and the sincerity of his affections. How beautiful that we could be so in love, and to share nights like these.

I sent out a wish then, to Ayahuasca – I asked her if I might have the chance to take care of him soon. It felt imbalanced in that fashion – Orion was always in such a capable, take-charge position. So strong and together. I hoped down deep that I might get to repay the favor – to help him through a time out of sorts, whatever the source may be. Paybacks. The least I could do.

The end of the evening started to loom – I knew this because I noticed the shaman and his attendant had begun the physical healings. They attend to each person and followed spiritual guidance, gifting each participant with the exact amount and location of required healing. They came to me, and I still lay on my back. The shaman immediately began tapping my third eye in time with the music playing in the background, and his gorgeous assistant did the same across my heart chakra. This totally and completely cracked me open. They sang the most uplifting, beautiful tune and kept tapping above me. I absolutely gushed – a dam burst within. It felt so, so magical. I had finally hit my center.

They worked on me for a much longer time than usual, but I knew I needed it and I kept sending internal gratitude. Then they moved on to Psychic sister next to me. Once they were finished with her, however, the shaman came back to me.

He whispered in my ear and I strained to make out his thickly accented words in my altered state.
“Kitty, do you remember the song I played before this? The harmonica tune?”
I did remember. It was freaking gorgeous, and part of what helped me to go so deep into myself and my heart.
I nodded.
“I have never played that before. It was an impromptu song, and as soon as I started to play it, I knew it was for you.”
I started crying even more then, so incredibly honored. He squeezed my shoulder and disappeared.

Not much time later, the ceremony ended. The candles were lit, and we were invited to merge into the circle and discuss our evening. I couldn’t say much – only commented on how much self-destruction I had connected with and purged. The shaman’s assistant / girlfriend honored my honest reveal, and told me about her similar path, and how important the work we all did was that evening. I listened to everyone else’s stories with awe.

Most poignantly, I noticed in an instant that my wish was granted. Orion had climbed next to me in the circle, but I suddenly felt how deep he still was into the experience. I wrapped one arm around him, and he immediately dove into my lap for an embrace. He stayed that way for the rest of the talking circle – head in my lap, falling into the loving transmissions of my fingers as they traced his scalp, neck, shoulders and back. I could tell how much he needed my protective energies, and I was so happy to be able to gift him with all I had.

At some point, however, another embrace beckoned to me – I saw my dear friend Leo laying rather motionless a few feet away, and rose to attend to him briefly. I lay down next to him and wrapped my arms around him. His breath drew in with a surprised yet deeply satisfied sigh, and we smiled and snuggled for several minutes. When I knew he felt how much I loved him, I kissed his forehead and returned to Orion.

At the end of the chatting, the attendant rose and disappeared in the kitchen. A few moments later, we all turned to see her emerging with a burning candle. Everyone started singing happy birthday, and I finally connected that the goodies were for me. I felt SO adored. Raw vegan cheesecake, dark chocolate, and these amazing raw cookies were all scattered on a plate. We all gobbled them and giggled, feeling festive and heart-spaced. More than a little relieved that the hard parts were over. And as I leaned down and sent my own cascade of kisses across Orion’s forehead and cheeks, all I could feel was my own goddess energy – reawakened, and mine to access.
There was no more fear. I had been cleansed again.

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)

Best Friend and I shuffled into my massive bedroom, and as I walked to the king-sized throne, I felt the emptiness of Orion’s absence. I instinctively grabbed my cell, and was happily shocked to find 8 text messages waiting. All from my beautiful partner.

Orion doesn’t fancy himself a very intuitive soul. He doesn’t sense that he’s all that connected to energies, or anything outside of the tangibles. I may disagree, but that’s irrelevant – his perception is reality.
This evening, however, something rather unexpected happened – he was present for the ceremony, without physically being in the room. Through his texts, he revealed that in the midst of a deep meditation, he could literally feel what I was going through with Ayahuasca. His pulse remained at an unusually high level for the exact duration of the ceremony, and that became the tangible evidence of this energetic connection – without which he would have failed to believe in the link. His timing was impeccable – the intro and exit texts matched the start and ending of the experience almost exactly; information he could not have known otherwise.
Orion had been there all along. I knew this, and yet knowing in the default space as well, I just felt overwhelming peaceful.

I called him immediately, and we had a brief but beautiful discussion. I shared what I could about the night, as did he, and basically I just gushed about how much I loved him, us, our connection. I don’t believe I would have been able to face such primal fears without his encouragement. Sometimes it takes a cheerleader that reminds you of your strength. He was / is that gift.

Best Friend and I laid in bed talking after the phone call, recounting the evening’s events and lamenting the next go-around. We were tired. The night was hard on us both, in ways we knew we would benefit from. But night two loomed above us like a storm cloud, so we said our loving night-nights and escaped into slumber, sourcing the power for day two. My twentieth ceremony was hours away.

My internal fight had risen to a crescendo. The not-so-little ego had identified her target, and as I previously mentioned, she just wasn’t going down in a peaceful fashion. The boxing gloves were merged into my consciousness, and I felt paralyzed by the back and forth battle – the anger and hissing judgment juxtaposed with the higher self acceptance. Only the higher self stayed mostly out of it, in the later moments – I was on my own to revel in this incredibly dark and negative barrage of venomous words.

I kept marveling at my ego’s tenacity, but getting lost in the frustration and perceived failure. Immersed and floundering, I begged for a release – a letting go, in any form. It came from a surprising vision / visitation. Ayahuasca took me back to my very early childhood. I was two again, a tiny being trapped in an oxygen tent, and because my lungs were full of fluids and my body temperature was so sky-high, they wouldn’t let another soul touch me for fear of a heated overload. I felt myself in that secluded state, ravaged by this illness, and staring out the clear tent walls to see my mother. She peered at me with desperation and pain. I wanted those arms I spied – a womb of safety. I screamed my protests, begging to feel her touch, to be comforted and scooped out of this isolation. But no comfort came. Nothing but sterility and solitude, coupled with the intrusive glances of strangers and family that could not do anything but look. And pray.

Why am I here? I wondered with a demanding surge. As if I didn’t have enough to battle internally, now I felt submerged in complete loneliness and abandonment. Then, however, the voice came – that wise, velvety, glorious higher self / Ayahuasca voice.
She told me the simple truth – that the fight I felt in the present moment – the ego’s heroic showdown of force and presence – was the very same vivaciousness that kept me alive during those childhood death-dances. I almost perished in that memory; I could feel how close to leaving my body I really was. And instead, I fought to stay. My ego’s glorious survival instincts kept me tethered to this reality, and I found myself feeling insanely grateful for her maddening strength.

It was precisely the revelation Ayahuasca had been waiting for – the acceptance of this ego’s power, not the resistance. I felt my internal battleground dissipate a bit – it morphed into something more akin to a debate, and less like a war. I could breathe a little deeper, and listen a whole lot closer. This was the shift in the wild ride that would allow the transmissions to land in my emotional and higher selves, as my mind had relaxed enough to trust the process once again.

The rest of the night would be wrapped in a veil of blankness. I was in the experience of feeling, but received little else in the way of lessons and awakenings. I did not mind. I had passed the terror stage again and found a little serenity – I only felt grateful for the chance to just be.

In the final hours, I allowed myself to play in the room a bit, and really get lost in the music. I marveled with sincere awe at the entirely unique journeys every beloved in the room confronted. I could feel with subtle certainty where everyone was in this cosmic unraveling, and there remained zero doubt that many felt monstrous struggles, while others were finding their bliss. I thanked Ayahuasca for the perfection of every story. And once again, connected with my sincere adoration for this crazy, beautiful path.

At times, I rose up and danced out my expressions, utilizing the open space outside of the circle to let my body take control. Thoughts completely disappeared, save the occasional egoic concern that people were watching. Even if they were, I (mostly) didn’t care – I enraptured myself in the movements, the unity with the awesome music the shaman created with his myriad of instruments. Those were my only pure moments of happiness during the actual ceremony, but to be true, they were more than enough.

I ended the night with thoughts of Orion, sending him my love and gratefulness for his tangible presence. I simply couldn’t wait for our reunion the next day. The talking circle formed when the ceremony ended, and I had little to say. I verbalized a bit of my experience, and acknowledged that my birthday had officially landed at midnight that eve. The rest of me attempted to listen to everyone else’s amazing journeys (although that is always made challenging by my hearing loss – oy.)

When I finally found the right moment to steal away to the bedroom, a present sat waiting on my cell. 8 text messages from Orion, revealing yet another miracle from the evening’s events. These would uplift me in unnamable ways – as would the treasured Best Friend bonding that awaited. More on that very soon

As a further comfort, to distract my freaking-out ego as the medicine rushed up to greet my senses, I took a trip down memory lane and remembered my very first ceremony. Much of it involved her – Best Friend – and our beautiful, lifetimes-extended connection. I had dreamt of having her know this journey since those first moments, and it felt beyond surreal to know it had finally come to pass. She sat far away from me, snug in a corner nearest the shaman and attendant. I lingered at the far end of the circle, nearest the bathroom hallway, easy access to a big empty floor space that beckoned me to join her for a jig, should the mood strike me.

Ayahuasca came on with a gentle surge this time, a shocking development in light of the last two rounds with this shaman. I did not complain. God no. I needed this. I felt fearful about trusting this graceful return, in every moment pondering “Is this as strong as it will get? Will we have to go deeper? Will we go back to the fucking nightmare?”
A constant analysis. My mind wouldn’t stop – not for a millisecond. Waiting for more terror, waiting for the demons to strike, spewing out her judgments and rage for what may never be and what has been.
The myriad of ways in which I am not fond of myself started surfacing like a brush fire. Just like the old days again, I thought – that rabid, seething voice that once ruled the roost in my head space. She was back with a vengeance, yelling about fat thighs and insecurities and ridiculous, old-way woes. I, however, did not resist. I let her just be, hoping that a few short bursts would be all it would take to settle back into my trusty heart – where the dialogue was always blissful and kind.
No such luck. Not for an instant. No, the fight was on. My ego raged up with an impressive power, absolutely refusing to succumb to my intentions – to lessen her impact, to quiet her rage, to slip her out of the driver’s seat forever. She was having none of this demotion.
I knew it was going to be a long damn night. Again. Another dark night of the soul – the third in a row with lady Aya.

Thankfully, my body wasn’t nearly as fidgeting as past ceremonies. I actually felt a wave of peace now and again, moving only occasionally instead of in a constant shaking flow. Another striking revelation came to me then, in those first 90 minutes – I would not be purging this evening. My very first dance with Ayahuasca that would not involve a purge. And I love the purge, truly – it always holds such symbolic relief. So this lack of a purge, it didn’t really equate to good news – it told me I was holding on tightly this night. I was not ready to let go, despite my deepest desire to do just that.

And so I sailed in and out of conscious awareness, witnessing very few visions but shielding a chorus of angry internal voices. Every last one, save a tiny little whisper, held cruel assessments of my character and well being. I went through every minute detail of my life at times, furious about an endless list of infractions. Jesus was I angry. I felt my fingers curl into fists on numerous occasions, and though I’d swiftly release them upon realization, the defiant stance would be back in a nanosecond. I felt so frustrated with my power struggle, answering back in a quiet tone that this was Ayahuasca we were dealing with here – my spirit mother, my trusted guide. Why on earth did I have to war with my dearest deity?

By now, the room was alive with activity. I started to sense the journeys of several others in the room. Again, my heart ran to Best Friend, and I cringed at what I found. I could feel her hunched over, purging, dry heaving, and struggling a great deal. I knew on the highest level how poetic this was, how perfect it was that should was releasing everything she deserved to let go. But it pained me even further to feel her strife. So many others in the room had a similar journey. I felt the resistance and fear rise up, but then suddenly, a laugh erupted inside – I wouldn’t buy into this bullshit. I knew how cosmically beautiful this ride was for every last soul – I would succumb to the negativity on a global scale.
Leo’s purging made me smile then, when I needed it most. He sounded like the brave lion I knew he was, confronting a few internal demons and refusing to let them get the better of him. I knew it would be a long night for him, too, but I also knew he’d be better for it. Better for it. Yes, maybe I could hope for the same.

I lamented, for a moment, the loss of Orion in this ceremony – he was in Denver for the eve, on the tail end of training for work. He would return the next day for my birthday ceremony, but he would not be there for comfort and sharing in the after hours. My mind went to express disappointment, but I couldn’t seem to force it – the poetry of my aloneness rang loudly, as I knew the opportunity to face this solo was a blessing. A chance to own my individual power, and share the results with O on his return. And besides that, I felt him. With every fiber, I felt him with me. I was reminded of the strength of our bond, the foundation that it gifted us both, and tried to get lost in this beautiful knowledge.
Ayahuasca, however, had other lessons in mind. I didn’t stay with Orion long.

Next up, I would visit my childhood. Age two, to be exact – by far the most profound lesson I would receive all evening.

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

After powering through the absolutely worst, most nightmarish 90 minutes of my life so far, I found the trip back to the ceremonial circle to be pure bliss. I walked from the tiny bathroom to my spot in the space with a poundy little purpose – excited to feel such a tremendous release from my terror. I had recognized so much in those purging minutes – how much I hold myself small. How much I torture myself for not living up to my insanely high expectations. And what a glorious, powerful being I really am.

The shaman started pounding on his luscious tribal drum, and my entire being surged with alive-ness. I shimmied and swayed, allowing the intense energies to flow throw me now – no longer locked down in resistance. I had released the need to make the night’s events look the way I wanted them to look, and instead left it up to divinity. No more fighting and resistance. And as such, my pot of gold awaited.

After a stretch of silence, The Duo (shaman and attendant) started up another round of magnificent music. D1 honored an out-loud request I had made to Orion before the ceremony – he sat down at Lucy, my upright piano, and played what has to be the most gorgeous melodies I’ve ever heard her coo. Hearing this symphony, I literally felt my heart crack open. Light poured in and out of my chakras, and my chest rose up toward the sky, my arms outstretched and falling to my sides. I was a puppet being pulled into the cosmos, and as I felt my body rise and fall without my conscious effort, I also became keenly aware of the tidal wave.
Tears. So. Many. Tears. They burst forth down my face in a flood of release, and the observer in me smiled at the poetry. Yes, I sobbed – fiercely at times, shakes ripping through my fame – but I felt so joyful to let all this go. I didn’t have stories attached to the tears, just a very clear knowing that I was being cleansed. That I was being prepared for the next chapter of my existence. And it wouldn’t involve hiding, pretending to be powerless, or any sort of easy road.

I accepted these messages with open arms. Ayahuasca confused me, however – she kept calling me a mother. Over and over again, she showed me the parts of me that are nurturing and maternal. Children appeared from all sides and all ages, with beaming faces full of trust and admiration and love. I took this to mean I would be a symbolic mother for children in the world, and could certainly accept that.
I didn’t know how much this mother-vision would mean, in just two short weeks. Ah, the symmetry.

The night played out in between the magical shaman-songs – I would process the beautiful lessons a particular piece brought forth in the silence, then feel my emotional being cracked open again when a new song would start. I felt the whole range of emotions, all the while shaking with the energetic flow. But my observer-self, the elevated, blissful being – she just radiated her appreciation for the night. Even for the agony. Especially for the agony. And she is the one I connected with the most – the one who encapsulated the “I” within me most prominently. Which is right where I love to be – in the highest self I can access.

As the night hit the 2/3s mark, I rolled over to my side for a breather, and saw Orion facing me, laying in the same fashion. I could see his gorgeous smile, and it filled me up with an incredible sense of love. I reached out for his hand, and he reciprocated with a tight, glorious grip. We stayed that way for some time, staring and beaming and feeling and connectting. I felt his energies merge with mine, and before I could get lost of the beauty of it, Ayahuasca stepped in with a message.
Detach, she told me.
Hold on to him, love him with all that you are, but don’t let it define you. Be ready to lose him. Be willing to lay down this bliss.

I processed this for some time. I thought about what it would be like if he left me tomorrow – if our journey found an abrupt end. I connected with the sadness of this possibility – the inevitable emotion – but it did not feel overwhelming. What I was most conscious of was an incredible gratefulness – for having known him at all. For receiving such a tangible glimpse of what a truly connected, truly devoted relationship could be.
I acknowledged the ways in which I was attached, and started letting each thread release and float away. And just as I did, Orion released his grip, smiled, and rolled his face to the other side of the room.
Perfect. Timing.
And we would discover the next morning that just as I was processing the lesson of detachment, he was too. Landing at the same conclusions – how fortunate we are, how fragile it all is, and how crucial it was to remain grateful and detached.
We listened. That much has been beautifully apparent in the days after this amazing epiphany.

The night ended quietly. The shaman repeated the previous evening’s ritual by lighting a candle and inviting us to sit around and discuss the events. This time around, I felt alert and alive – the previous ceremony had left me speechless and dizzy, still in too deep at the end to find any way to communicate or become truly in the room. This night, I was there – glowing, feeling, basking. I listened, contributed a bit here and there, and connected with all of my fellow travelers. ET and I had an especially magical bond – I saw him rocking and holding himself, very much where I had been the previous evening, and I obeyed the urge to envelope him in a tight embrace.

Welcome to college, he told me.
And I knew what he referenced. We had done previous ceremonies together, he and I, and as amazing and powerful as they were, they felt like grade school. We had graduated, together. And this just felt unspeakably precious.

Orion and I made our way to bed at some point, still a bit discombobulated and goofy. The night was spent in fitful bursts of sleep, embraces, and beautifully connected pillow talk.
What started as the worst of times did indeed become the best of times.

And today – today I am facing down the next two ceremonies, just 19 days away. What will come next is an examination of where I’m at with the aftermath, and the looming opportunity to dive back in. There’s a lot to accomplish and feel between now and then. I’ll be here to do just that, in preparation. And as an homage to all of you who share in this ascension.

Certain these clouds go somewhere . . .

“So I know it’s just a spring haze
But I don’t much like the look of it
And all we do is circle it
And I found out where my edge is
And it bleeds into where you resist
And my only way, way out is to go
So far in”
- TAmos

There I was, drowning in the metaphorical blackness of my most nightmarish Ayahuasca ceremony. Confronting the deepest layer of my madness. Wondering if I would survive. If I even wanted to anymore.

And the only thing I could think of doing to help myself was . . . to ask for help. Throw out an SOS and see if the Universe was even listening.

The shaman played his music, my friends were lost in their own journeys, but I knew I could summon D2 – the shaman’s intoxicating and powerful girlfriend / assistant. I sat at the far back of the circle, placed there because I could presumably handle myself and not need as much guidance. So many bodies, so much energy to sift through, if I chose to stand up and walk to her.
That was not an option. I couldn’t move, couldn’t risk disturbing Orion or ET or any of my other angel journeyers. But I knew I couldn’t take this anymore, not alone, so I just stared her down and willed her to come to me. Please, D2, oh my God – please come make this go away.

I trembled as tears flew down my cheeks, but otherwise did not acknowledge the intense emotion that simmered within. D2 didn’t move – she sat next to D1 and surveyed us in the moonlight. I kept fidgeting and shaking, sending out my energies as best I could. A few minutes in, D2 rose and approached ET, who sat to my right. My heart surged at the opportunity. I brushed back my hair and readied myself to catch her attention in the near-total darkness.

ET did not need assistance, so D2 turned to walk back to her place in the circle. I bolted up as straight as I could without standing, staring at her with desperation. She saw me. She felt me. She leaned in and simply asked – Are you ok?
No. No, I’m not. I shook my head to emphasize.
What are you feeling?
I brushed my hair back again and tried not to scream.
I’m terrified.
Do you want to purge?
I nodded. She nodded. I rose and tried to follow her.

Walking to the bathroom took everything I had. I felt like it was a plank of sorts, that more dark depths awaited my plunge. It couldn’t be any worse though. That was my only consolation. It couldn’t be more frightening or painful. And it might even help.

We got to my tiny downstairs bathroom, and as soon as the door shuffled shut, I collapsed on the floor. D2 gave me a handful of beautiful, comforting words – things I did not hear. I hovered over the toilet and sobbed.

She handed me a liter of salt water and asked me to drink.
I tried, but the feel of the water on my lips repulsed me. I shook my head and kept rocking back and forth.
Take it, she told me. It will help you purge.
And so I tried again – and failed. As I took in the tiniest thread of liquids, I felt an immediate need to spit it out – yet the purge didn’t come. I was frozen in hell.

Then she spoke the words that started to crack me open.

You know, it’s interesting how you won’t take the water. You won’t take the one thing that could help you. There’s still a part of you that wants to be here, Kitty. There’s still a part of you that doesn’t want this help.

I stopped the incessant moving to truly listen. And I knew she was right. I nodded slowly and stared at the toilet water as it swirled and beckoned in the candlelight. Then I grabbed the salt water and sucked down as much as I could.
A few seconds later, my release began.

I purged with a viscous energy, yet almost silently so. My body rejoiced at the letting-go, and my mind kicked into overdrive. What does this mean? What am I purging? How did I get here? How do I heal?

I saw it so clearly then – my face so relaxed and willing to purge for eternity, it floated just above the splashing liquids. I saw what it was I was resisting.

It wasn’t death or sanity or pain that I didn’t want to know. It was just the opposite. Ayahuasca had been gently, and then not so gently, showing and telling me about all the ways I had been content to play small. Across the board, I had been playing it safe in my world, refusing to acknowledge my own power and divinity. This was her cosmic bitch slap, as the only option I allowed was a full-on onslaught. I refused to hear her any other way. And there I was, puking and shaking and sobbing – and recognizing – TRULY feeling – how much of God I really was. Am. Always will be.

There was nothing tangible in this epiphany – it was just a supreme Knowing. I am afraid of what it means to be God, to step forward and claim the dharma that has been waiting for my eyes-opened self. All of my attachments raced into view – everything from the materialistic (my house! my car!) to the illusion of security (my job!) to all the many people I cling to (Orion! Sage! Best Friend!)
But I laid them all down, as best I could. As the demons flew out of me, so did the need to cling to everything that made me feel safe. I know, of course, that my willingness to let them go – to truly lose them, if that’s what’s for our highest good – is the only way to prevent losing them all together. In those moments I spent with D2 at the toilet, I was ready to give everything I had, and everything I ever was, in order to be free.

When the purging stopped, I knew it wasn’t over. But I also knew I wasn’t going to get to the pot of gold that night. I was still holding on.

Do you have more to purge? she asked me.
I nodded, but told her – It won’t happen now.

It was time to go back to the circle. I knew this. Before I gathered my courage and clarity, I sat in the energies for a few more moments, positively blown away by the profundity. I didn’t have the answers, didn’t know how exactly I would learn to embrace who I really was, but I had the experience of feeling my greatness. I knew, too, that it was no more or less than anyone else’s, yet I realized the supreme gift of getting an inkling of what lies within.

I thanked D2 in my tear-filled whisper-breath, and she beamed an angelic reply.
We are each other’s saviors, I thought to myself. But we can really only save ourselves.

Off I went to continue the journey. . .the night was far from over.

“It must be worth losing
If it is worth something.”
Miss Amos

To be continued. . .

The day between ceremony 17 and 18, in retrospect, felt like the ending / beginning of Gaspar Noe’s emotional onslaught film “Irreversible”. Full of sweet innocence, naps in a sunshine drenched park, organic eats with radiant beings. We all quietly frolicked in our aftermaths, some of us touting a few battle scars, but with excited grins, rather than winces and complaints. A beautiful, perfect, serene handful of hours – save a couple of dark side waves.

After only a couple hours of sleep, Orion and I still had a quiet energy, a strong resolve, to float through our happy post-hours. His experience was fun, but not as deep as he had hoped — mine was devastatingly deep, and I just felt relieved to be back in the default zone. Tasting my illusion of control, but content with its falsities. I needed a time out, a little softness. He provided as much with his sweet kisses and coos and love-laden words. I didn’t want to leave the safety of his arms, but I felt the attachment to this state and instead chose to face the day.

It seemed like just minutes had passed, and suddenly, we were moments away from the next ceremony. I felt within a blend of tidal waves – surge after surge of emotion I had never, ever felt prior to an Ayahuasca ceremony before – apprehension. Dare I say fear. Resistance to whatever she had to teach me. The night before had kicked my ass, and the higher parts of myself knew it hadn’t been enough. I hadn’t popped, hadn’t been cracked open, and I felt a little terror considering how hard she’d have to come at me in order for the lesson to be heard.

And yet, I wanted to drink more than anything. I trusted her with every quivering thread of my being.

We drank in the same fashion as the night before – faster this time, as two people had bowed out. I missed Sage – he had been near me in night one, but had to jet to a family function that day. The last five ceremonies had featured his strong, driven presence, and there was a noticeable void. In my state, those are the energies I noticed most.

It took only thirty or so minutes before the medicine had me in her clutches. My mind lurched into turbo mode, hell bent on taking the wheel. Normally, I would have laughed at my ego’s attempts, but this night – this night, I was her. I wanted what she wanted. To have an easy night, to not go too deep, to stay in the room and help and stay far, far away from my demons. Hadn’t I suffered enough the night before? Couldn’t I just take it easy, just this one night?

The more I fought and pleaded, the more she wrestled and assaulted me. I felt my worst nightmare starting to brew – intensity like I have never, ever known – wretched images of fractal demons and grotesque creatures – god-awful energies coursing through my pores, making me twitch and wretch and breathe sporadically – and most notably, the sounds: screeching sirens, pulsing groans, and the most evil, blood-boiling cacophony. Like Satan’s favorite video game, a soundtrack to a snuff film – these were the noises that I couldn’t escape. I’d slam my hands over my ears and the ebb would swell with a snickering eruption. I had been sucked into the underworld.

Parts of my Knowingness kept speaking from the abyss. It’s ok, she told me – this is all self-created, there is nothing to fear. You can surrender into this terror and find your bliss. Just relax, sweet girl, just breathe. You are safe. You are love.

But she was a liar. I could barely breathe anymore, the darkness had me consumed. Every one of my senses felt annihilated by death and fear and an imminent destruction. I asked myself – what is it that you’re so afraid of?
It wasn’t dying. It wasn’t any sort of physical harm. At that moment, I was afraid of losing myself. Ironic, as that’s precisely what I had asked for.

Sixty minutes in, and I was near the breaking point. Eighteen ceremonies, I thought to myself, and yet here I was – a fucking novice about to lose complete control. Anger spilled out of me as I twitched and jerked my body around, trying to fling off this nightmarish energy, trying to make this fucking go away already. I hated this experience more than I had ever hated anything. Anyone. It HAD to stop. This was too much, even for me. Even for the big-mouthed shaman-wanna-be who talked her gigantic game. I had reached my limit.

I slammed my head back against the wall behind me and contemplated my options. The most probable felt like complete insanity – I thought this might just be the point at which I experienced my psychotic break. Images of bolting up in a raging explosion, screaming at them all to make this stop, telling the whole damn world how horrible this made me feel appeared in rapid succession. I didn’t want to expose myself though, to frighten my beloved travelers, but I couldn’t cage this. I couldn’t contain this terror any longer.
Another option – I could ask for help. Something I had never attempted in all my shamanic journeys. This was not my way. I shouldered things for others, and handled my own shit without incident. I am not the girl who needs a hand. Am not. Ever.
Well, maybe now I am. What would that look like? I tried pondering this as another wave of desperate darkness simmered up inside me. This was the last one I could take. Self-destruction felt like such a real possibility, I clung to the tiny spec of intelligent light that glowed within, and prepared to do the unthinkable.

To be continued . . .

The medicine has taken me to a place I’ve never been by now – it’s my 17th dance with her, and yet I’m feeling the folds of the unfamiliar start to overwhelm my senses. The good news – my ego is almost-silent, so flabbergasted by the intensity that the internal “This is happening and that means that and blah blah blah” nonsense has faded to a hoarse little whimper. The bad news – I do not like it here.

My body is reflecting this resistance. She is in part a trembling, manically twitching vessel, trying desperately to control the coursing energies, to prevent the fearful slide into the dark beyond. I can hear the wretched hums and buzzes of the underworld, a place I know too well, and my body joins the ego in saying – no thanks. We’re not loving the deep dive.
At the same time, I am moving in slow motion. I am aware of how cold and thirsty I am, and very soon, I become cognizant of the inevitable purge. The liquids are moving through me, bringing my emotions to the surface – asking me to feel the pain of self-destruction. I reach for my bucket like a snail stretching out to cross the finish line – fearful of making a sound, of drawing attention to my not-ok-ness, of disrupting the meditative flow of those around me. Slowly, slowly the bucket reaches my face, and I release – a tiny purge, hardly satisfactory, and just a tiny bit symbolic. The bigger message is not what I let go in the release, but what I held on to.

I’m not listening.

I’m playing the Ayahuasca game my way. Despite my universal knowledge of this futile effort, I refuse to surrender. My double dose has me so far gone, however, I can almost feign ignorance. She is being gentle with me, allowing me to skirt the truths and keep sailing around the room – in service, and in escape. I keep focusing on other people’s pain, other people’s bliss, instead of owning my own. I know there will be repurcussions. I know, and yet persist.

It seems inconceivable, but the ceremony has suddenly ended – the Shaman has lit a candle, and the crew moves in a circle around him. I am the last to join, wondering how on earth I’m supposed to function in such an altered state. The Shaman speaks to us, but all I hear is a beautiful music – I cannot piece together his words, cannot even pull out one for context. My head rests in my lap, and I am still moving, shaking, rocking – my body’s attempt to distract me from the insanely potent insides.
It’s working. I feel very little, only awe at the depth. My ego keeps me at the surface, praising me for surviving another ceremony, another waltz into the unknown. Only I didn’t go willingly this time, and part of me knows this. The part of me in lockdown.

An hour goes by, and the circle is animated now – talking and telling tales. Things I am aware of but cannot hear. I finally remember that Orion is with me, that maybe I could reach out to him and connect. That maybe he’d like to know where and how I am.
I look across to meet his gaze, and his is twinkling. We lock eyes and I watch his mouth curve up into a playful, loving smile.
This is what I need. I melt inside myself and scuttle across the floor to fall into his lap, burying my face into his beautifully rhythmic stomach. He whispers a thousand I Love Yous into my ear, and I am consumed with the connection. So blessed, so grateful. So much in love with him.

At some point, my bladder wins the protest battle, and I test my legs as I wobble to the bathroom. I gain confidence from the success of this venture, and instead of rejoining the circle, I head straight upstairs to my bedroom. The cats have been calling me – I feel them. I can’t stay away anymore.

As soon as I enter my room and collapse into bed, all three felines scamper up to bathe in my energies. Boo, the soul cat, is particularly bonded – he lays with me for hours in a contented cuddle-purr. They are fur-filled, loving distractions – bringing me to a peaceful, contented space.

And Orion – he is such a King – rushing up to check on me every 15 or so minutes, then rejoining the group to report back. I cannot speak when he arrives, save a few I Love Yous and coo-ing giggles, but I am so grateful for his love and affection.

The night is spent inside this dance, and finally, Orion and I sleep. I’m not in the least bit sure of my lessons at this point – and I have to admit, I’m a little more than fearful of the next ceremony – just a handful of hours away. I feel the ominous foreshadowing, yet, as has been my theme for the recent endeavor, I am pretending not to know.

The truth is coming.

“Can’t stop what’s coming
Can’t stop what is on the way.”
- Tori Amos