Serpent Mesa, Howard Lawler, Amazon

I had procured Huachuma cactus sometime ago, with the intention of embarking on a sacred ceremony in the near future. A little blurb was scribbled into my to-do list recently: “Schedule Huach. Ceremony”. I guess by that I meant: “Dive in, and fast.”

Orion went forth on another vision quest recently. When he returned from the last one, I (seemingly) fell to pieces. There’s an inner conflict in me sometimes that spurs me into a competitive spirit with regards to this spiritual path wildness. I *know* how off kilter that kind of motivation is, spurred forth by a fear of being left behind, instead of a sincere knowingness about what’s right for me. But there’s a panic that has previously stirred, and she sometimes drives the bus right off the nearest cliff.

On this, his second trip to the desert, we were both in spectacular spaces. I have parred back my own “must do’s” in my spiritual path, and instead have found a groove that just feels right. My own. Mind you, there’s a whole lotta objection going on internally at times, telling me I’m not doing enough, or that I’m doing things incorrectly, but I’m learning more and more to reign that in and just be as I need to be. And let Orion do the same. Lately, that’s not only been working, I’ve also surrendered to the beautiful task of elevating him all the more. What’s my biggest (small) fear, anyway? That he reach the top of the mountain first? Pshaw. There is no worst case in this mixture. I would be so, so honored to be by his side and witness such an opening. He is not only my partner, he is a very tangible extension of my own consciousness. As each of us receives new openings and expansions, so does the other – it’s the magic of this oneness. So yes, I know better. But I don’t always show it.

He went out some days ago, and I felt thrilled for him. Another chance to slip past the egoic spaces and connect with his divinity. There can never be too many. As I pondered my evening’s events, however, something occurred to me – I have Huachuma at home. I, too, can have a journey.
But I wondered – is this in integrity? Am I motivated by the desire to “keep up”, or does this feel destined?
I asked the universe for a sign and received what I felt was a very, very clear one – affirming the timing and the rather spontaneous idea. I was off to the races.

This was my first solo ceremony, my first experience finding my own brew. I had some powdered cactus, the same varietal I had used in Peru, and I had already researched preparations and dosages. So I lay out all my favorite mesa items – objects of power and inspiration – and lit some candles, then I mixed up a big glass of San Pedro goodness.
Goodness? No – thick, putrid, stomach vile-tasting nastiness is more like it. Thankfully, it’s common practice to chase the drink with lemon water, and that helps neutralize the flavor. Plus, Grandfather Huachuma hasn’t got anything on Mother Ayahuasca when it comes to taste. About 30 minutes later, I had downed my targeted amount, and the journey began.

Huachuma is so different from Aya. Where the latter is like an axe wielding maniac sometimes, diving into my consciousness with a brute force I couldn’t dream of combating, the former is more like an uber-intense electrical current, but one you actually have to reach out and touch. He pulses with every aspect of life, and within him swirls every secret, and every bit of knowledge. But he makes you work for it. He asks that you come to him – with reverence and sincerity, curiosity and surrender.

The night unfolded elegantly. I walked around a lot, asking questions on the insides, finding more of myself. And at other times, I lay curled up by the fireplace, transfixed on the flame licks, and on the movement of the mesa. I was shown the backside of my fears, revealed to be empty. Like a theater curtain hiding a stage that sounds like it’s bustling with activity, but in fact doesn’t contain a soul. Yes, of course. My fears are all self-made, and non-existent at that. There’s nothing behind them to make them tangible or real. I loved this reveal. And so many more.

He basically kept guiding me through different layers of life and divinity. I felt humbled and cocooned, but also confused and amateurish. I sat at the mesa absolutely awestruck by the tools I had before me, but without the knowledge of how to really use them. I felt a calling to find a local huachumero and huachumera – someone who can show me how to work with these energies, rather than just fumbling blindly in the dark by myself. I trust the teacher will find me when the timing is right. And it’s not as if I didn’t learn an immense volume of tricks and gifts – I just know my training will be accelerated when I find a true master.

The entire evening, my main experience was safety. A sense of cocooned protection so real it had a taste to it – rather like soil and feathers, cotton and rosemary. He showed me the highest way to work with his energies – outside, in daylight. Do regular journeys in this fashion, and then the occasional nighttime journey when I had the need to integrate. He showed me how on Huachuma, I’m able to see things as they really are – there’s nothing magical in his visions, only the removal of our conscious barrier. The veil that normally sweeps across my mind’s eye is dissolved by San Pedro, and with practice and concentration, I can make this a permanent experience.

And that’s when it hit me. Why the alternate name for Huachuma is San Pedro. I translated this in my head – Saint Peter. Who is Saint Peter? The man who greets us at the gates of heaven.
Aw yes, the one who will lead me to enlightenment.
It all just. . .clicked. This was *my* path – at least in the given moment. I allowed for the chance to drop shamanism from my experience at any time, but also owned the rightness of our current connection. Perfection. I glowed for hours.

And yet, there was a single distortion – I knew down deep I hadn’t been totally honest with myself, or San Pedro. I had taken this journey out of fear, in a way – not wanting to miss out on my chance to go deep, just like Orion. I confessed this to San Pedro, and he held no judgment. Just warmth. He acknowledged this truth, and said he’d take me however I came to him. That my reverence was no less diminished, but if I wanted to, I could heal that part of me. The small child, the little girl who didn’t want to be left behind. The critic who always tells me I’m never doing enough.

I didn’t go as deep into that healing as I know I will with Ayahuasca, but it opened, and some revelations came through. Seedlings. It won’t be long now.

Yet this distortion still had some spike left to it. When Orion came home, things started out beautifully. We shared our stories, and I basked in the glow of his magnificent experience. We were so happy for ourselves and each other, heart-spaced, clear, open – all good things.

Until an odd little chat on the bed turned into a painful shift – all because I wouldn’t fess up. I didn’t admit to being out of integrity in my motivation (although that’s not what the conversation was about, that was the underlying unconscious out-of-whack energy), and therefore lost my grip on my clarity all together. It was a subtle slip, but Orion saw through it in an instant. He called me out and I denied it. And that caused a riff that would unravel, rather magically, in the next 48 hours.

As Pranananda says, intent is 90% of the game. Since mine was about 20% laden in a lie, the repercussions were waiting. And I loved every one.

No, it’s not just you – the blog has been on hiatus and unaccessible.  I made a few changes (new WordPress installation so that I may be omnipotent) but have been woeful about getting it back up to speed.  Apologies for the absence.  Not like it’s been too much of a depravation.  Right?  Don’t answer that.  

Hi there.  

I re-connected the other day with a wild child I met in the jungle on both my first and second trips to the Amazon.  He’s completely immersed in the plants now, and graciously invited Orion and I to visit him in Florida for Huachuma ceremonies.  I am so ready to deepen my relationship with San Pedro.  Ayahuasca herself has revealed my affinity for the grandfather wisdom, and I see myself facilitating ceremonies with the brew in the very near future.  The neurons are firing over the possibilities.  I am ecstatic at the future Ayahuasca adventures.  Today is the kind of day where I can’t stop saying thank you for the chance to go so far beyond my ego with the beautiful ancient practices.  I can feel in my bones the excitement I have to look forward to.  A golden thread in a sea of invisible tethers – I will be liberated.

More, soon – when things are back in digital order.  Until then, may all your moments be enlightening.

“When shall I be free?
When I shall cease to be.
No more I, but we…
In perfect harmony.”

- Shpongle

Two days from now, I will be falling back into the cosmic, healing embrace of Mother Ayahuasca. I am no stranger to shamanic journeys, to soirees with the helper plants, and yet, I’m back into the space of knowing next to nothing. There’s a clean slate glowing behind my mind’s eye, and it’s waiting for just a few dribbles of clarity. A sense of knowing sourced straight from my heart, not filling up the head that thinks she’s full, but is perpetually empty.

I can now say, unequivocally, that I’ve devoted my life to the ultimate ego-shed. 2 1/2 years ago, when Z and I met, I first learned what enlightenment met – the beginning of the unfolding. He was on the quest, clearly, and I found it so fascinating. I placed a pedestal beneath those who sought the same, and especially those who had already reached the pinnacle. And I thrust myself so far below, I didn’t even hold the possibility for myself.

It was the combination of Ayahuasca and Huachuma / San Pedro that gave me my most treasured awakening. I remember sitting on top of El Brujo – the life-giving, feminine powered pyramid – gazing out across the magnificent landscape. Inside my head, the dialogue between higher-self and ego ensued. The spirits had cornered me – asking why it is that I thought enlightenment was not possible for me. The questions unfolded with gentle intensity, and my arguments kept breaking down.
Then it came to me. Like a flash of blue light from a far away lighthouse. My ego had led me to believe it couldn’t happen to me, because, of course, it would mean the death of her. But as I came to realize that I am not my perceived identity – that I am, in fact, all aspects of God – there was no other logical conclusion. I, too, can self-realize.

In that same ceremony, I found myself tracing the footsteps of prisoners from 3,000 years before. They had walked within El Brujo’s life-taking pyramid, where I now traipsed – the last moments of their lives. I tried to reconcile how we humans take our own lives, again and again. It’s always suicide, no matter who kills who. And why? Why this deadly dance? Why haven’t we learned a bloody thing in all these thousands of years?

Because so many of us believe in the illusion. This became so clear to me. We believe in the identities built within our egos. That we are our nations, our families, the definitions we hold about who we are and what we do and why we do it. And what we BELIEVE in – our favorite attachments.
That’s all poppycock. We are none of those things. We are ALL of those things, yes, but they aren’t what defines us. What defines, really – if you had to boil us all down into one collective ingredient – it would be love. The great white light. The only real thing that lives inside us. And the very thing our egos work so immensely hard to keep us from.
Why? Because the ego can’t control love. When we own this divinity, all that perceived control just washes away.

Now that’s a dream I will never stop spinning inside this radiant reality.

This weekend, I’m blessed to be back inside the circle that feels most familiar to me – Ayahuasca. Shamanism. In my current home, with my friends and loved ones. Purging out the painful parts of ourselves, so that our love and light can surface, and become all that we know.

Last time, I let my ego run the show. I let her battle for supremacy, trying so hard to dictate what would and would not happen in these ceremonies. Where we would and would not go. What we would and would not feel. In the end, I faced the most painful, miserable, soul-ripping night of my life. Dark night of the soul indeed. All because I wanted it my way. And what a shitty way THAT is.

This time – THIS time. . .
I am raw and humbled, slack-jawed and limp. I am my heart. I will walk up to the alter on Saturday night to take my next dose, and I will do so without walls and agendas. With trust and faith that Ayahuasca and the higher realms will lead me right where I need to be. None of this bargaining crap I tried before. I will just be. And wherever I am taken, I will go with willingness and reverence. I will love my way through every presented experience. And if I’m able to drop any or all pieces of my ego, all the better. Whoever she thinks I am, I know I am not.

No more illusion. I’m ready to see – and be – nothing but light.

“Enlightenment is not imagining
figures of light but making
the darkness conscious.”
Carl Gustav Jung

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

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

This is so long overdue it full-on frightens me. I’m in healer crossover, having lagged on logging the latest Ayahuasca lessons, and here I am mid-week with energy Healer’s latest visit.
Both are throwing me hoops, and suddenly, I have two left feet.

First, the now.
It’s messy. I can’t look at the internal tapestry and claim anything but scattered energies. It’s not quite the manic mess of Jackson Polluck; more akin to an angular, way too cerebral Kandinsky. Abstract, yet full of quiet rage, with portals a plenty to fall into.
Regarding Orion and Hijo, it’s as if things change every day. They are my bright lights, however, as O and I have managed to maneuver deeper into our bond and mutual dedication with every universal curve ball. There have been. . . .so many. Severe drama with his ex-wife, Hijo’s mom, and an ever-changing grip on what might be our near term destiny. All we know is, it will involve us moving in together. *That* makes me luminous. In every respect, it feels right. I know part of the current turmoil is a simple reflection of the way my life feels a bit unsettled. Finding the new Home with the true Love would certainly assist, but I’m not waiting another month to get my strength and clarity back.

Which is why I’m here. To sort through the symphony of egoic protests, and find the quiet whispers of truth beneath the piercing echoes.

I haven’t been feeling much and it’s catching up to me – I’m like the bridge dweller who suddenly hears the train and takes off for a cat and mouse game. Only I’d really like to get run over already – get me into the space where I’m not avoiding anymore. The resistance to feeling is showing up in little ways throughout my life – a brand new car that spent the first night in the shop, no access to my mailbox because of a lost key, little work mistakes and overall brain misfires. Plus, I’ve not been genuinely happy. Which is simply not the norm. So it’s time to get to work.

Which brings me to mother Aya. Part 2 of journey 17.
I brought you to the point of what I called my Brink – deeply into the meditative state with the first drink fully merged in my cellular being. The attendant, beautiful D2, came to me with an inquiry – would I like more of the medicine?
I had no business – none – taking more. I could barely even process the offer, barely even walk up to the altar. But I made it there, lifted and blessed by my plant spirits, and besides that, my head reminded me of D1′s promise – seconds are always just a little “bump”. An extra boost to carry me along.
He poured this small sip into the glass, but then pulled back suddenly and read my energies. Then he smiled a wide, mischievious grin, and poured an even larger amount than I took the first time around. A full dose, in the truest sense. My hands shook as I gulped it down, then I floated back to my spot and hunkered down.

It wasn’t quite fear that came to me then, but a close friend of hers for sure. Nervous twitches, an immense inability to sit still – my body absolutely shook with energy and emotion. I couldn’t stop the trembling, but I wasn’t attached to it either. I let my beautiful body shake, resisting the urge to wail like a banshee, and just flowed with the process.
Visions surfaced, but I placed them down in the corner of my mind’s eye and instead focused on what I felt. The ego voice screamed up a storm – yet I barely remember her words. She knew she was almost silenced. And when I realized how close I was to separating from her – the childish, anxiety-ridden little mind-space, I went full throttle.
My body followed suit. I started experiencing a few of the physical “ego-loss” symptoms. Sweating and shaking. Chest pains. The feeling that my head was being pummeled by an axe.
It. Was. Awesome.

Right about then, I really owned how uncomfortable I my body felt. I had been freezing all night, which is partly to blame for my violent shaking episodes. My lips were horribly chapped, and I felt a terrible cold coming on strong in my throat and sinuses. I knew I had a fever. I also knew the desert had come to dwell in my throat chakra as well – I was fiercely dehydrated.
All the while, I knew three things – there was a blanket RIGHT beside me, lip balm in my pocket, and a big ole water bottle to my right.
I touched none of these things. I did nothing to comfort myself. I was too afraid my movements would disturb my fellow journeyers. Nevermind that the room was a cacophony of purging. I truly felt the metallic sound of my lip balm might throw off someone’s groove. And I couldn’t do *that*. I couldn’t serve myself.
Oh, how that shows up all over my world – or at least, it used to. I love the micro-metaphors.

And so I dwelt in my minimalistic state. Just being – however harsh the current existence felt. I focused, instead, on leaving my ego. And as I did. . .
I lost myself. Or at least, the limiting view I once had of who I was. The identity fell away.
Suddenly, I was nameless. I didn’t have a story. I looked around the room with curiosity, only knowing that I didn’t know who I was, I didn’t know where I was, and I didn’t know what the heck I was doing. I still felt all the physical drama my body kept pouring out, but that didn’t matter much either. Nothing did. I just moved with the music the Shaman played, and refused to feel anything but neutrality. There was even a little bit of bliss, connecting with my not-knowingness, and loving the fact that – I didn’t care. It was ok to lose myself.
I had asked for this.

About 15 minutes in, however, I started to feel the panic. The shaman had let us dwell in silence for a few minutes by then, and that’s part of what disoriented me – no music to get lost in. No songs to sing me through the beautiful nothingness.
And just as I felt myself rise up in true fear, there was D1, the omniscient shaman – he knelt before me like a yogi, and grabbed my forehead, placing it against mine.
We breathed in together, a few intensely deep, shaky breaths, and I heard him send me the message I needed to hear.

- You are Kitty. You’re at home. In Vegas. With people you love. You’re a shaman, a healer, a mother, a queen. You are all of these things, and none of these things. You are safe.

All of which I knew to be, unequivocally, true.

I felt so freed and connected then, I fell back against the wall with a radiant glow. My right hand independently reached out for a gift, and I immediately found the blanket I had placed there before the journey began. I wrapped the fuzzy fabric around my shaking frame and felt cocooned. I felt the love I had for myself, at last.

I also felt the need to purge. Oh yes, the next phase had begun.

More soon. . . I leave you with a quote that’s been in my mind all morning. . .

“And thanks for
the trouble you took
from her eyes. . .
I thought it was there
for good
so I never tried.”
- My beloved Leonard Cohen
Oh how I hope to see him in Denver. . . .

Ayahuasca Visions

Friday, the new shaman arrived. D1 and his beautiful partner D2 – these radiant, tiny-framed beings just bursting with love, light, and an incredibly divine power. They almost didn’t make it – stopped at the airport with the medicine by officials who didn’t know what the brew was, but didn’t want it going anywhere near the skies. They regrouped, repacked, moved the flight, and made it happen. With only minutes to spare. Ayahuasca always makes us work for it, but when so much is at stake, it’s more than worth the hoop-hopping. The pot of gold always makes her way to my outstretched hands.

I found myself mired in anxieties in the before. Worried about the comfort of all my guests, worried about the noises the neighbors might hear (purging, drums pounding, 2 AM energetic eruptions), worried about the lessons I didn’t want to learn. But that was just my ego. She knows Ayahuasca is there to move her aside, and the more awareness she has of this, the stronger she fights. I was about to learn just how strong that sense of identity can really be.

What an unspeakable gift to share this with a group of true-blue friends. 10 of us in all buckled up for the unknown cliff jump. We smoked a little sacred mapacho tobacco to get in the proper space, and grinned our naive yet knowing smiles to each other, sending love and strength and support for whatever must be. Then we headed over to my house to get the party started.

D1 gave us the rundown – he runs the show in a vastly different way than the shaman I studied with for the past 3 years. His gift of healing comes through his musical nature – he and D2 sing, play multiple instruments, and use already recorded tracks to transform the energies of the space. I so looked forward to the drumming, the harmonica, the strings and pipes and electronic melee. I knew this would be incredibly familiar and yet all kinds of new. I was shocked to hear that we would have multiple opportunities to drink as well – three in all, if we so chose. Even more chances to go deep and face the divine.

We each took our turn to drink. This Ayahuasca was just as vile as ever, but highly concentrated, and thus I had to drink far less. A huge gift, as the process of getting the liquids down is often the toughest part for me. This time, the medicine sailed into my system, and I felt electric. Alive. Protected And ready to fly.

It took about 30 minutes for me to start confronting the strength of the brew. It was as if my previous 16 ceremonies were just a build-up to what I fell into in those moments – an enormously potent, mind-shattering experience. I heard the primal buzzing kick in – the low, tribal groaning that I hear so often in this space – and felt the very energy of creation start to fill up my being. I lost myself. Completely. Time and space and identity dissolved into a nothingness – a beautiful void where I could just be, without stories or expectations. Even the chatter in my brain shut off – there was no need to describe the experience, to name it or give it any tangible description. Instead, I fell as deep as I could go. I let myself – or the image thereof – dissolve into the ethers. And in those moments, I would have been content to never, ever return.

The music kicked in shortly thereafter, and I thought I might explode from the power and awe. The drums rattled our insides, bringing up the purge for many. When the shaman started in with the drums, that’s when I once again became aware of my body. It started shaking like a full-speed locomotive – so much energy soaring through me this one little vessel just simply could not process it fast enough. I shook for hours and hours and hours. Violent shaking at times – forcing me into quiet fits of giggles, because it was so over the top and so intense and so completely unfathomable.
I didn’t now then that the shaking was a foreshadowed glimpse into my resistance. But I would know soon enough.

For much of the ceremony, I sat suffering – ice cold, and yearning for a blanket, but too spent to try and find one in the dark abyss. I also became keenly aware of my intense dehydration, but did nothing to soothe myself. There was water sitting RIGHT next to me, but I worried about disturbing my friends’ trances, and didn’t want to disrupt the space by knocking something over in my dazed-out stupor. And so I let myself suffer. Just like in the default world. More akin to take on abuse from myself, rather than inconvenience someone else.
As with all my ceremonies, this was fast becoming a microcosm for who I am in the default world. I couldn’t see it just yet, but the latest issues my soul asked to heal were surfacing at light speed.

D2 came to me then, about halfway through the ceremony, and asked if I would like more Ayahuasca. I was still so incredibly altered, but felt a very strong, compelling urge to say yes. I stood up and slowly made my way to the alter, expecting a small dosage to just keep me where I was. D1 poured a small amount, and I reached for the tiny drops. But he halted, stared directly into my energies, and grinned a radiant smile. Then he pulled back the cup and filled it to the brim. “Oh. Shit.” I thought to myself. Now I’ve really done it.

I took the full amount and staggered back to my makeshift chair. A double dose. My first. And at a time when I already felt the loss of myself, the emergence into the unknown. I had given up the illusion of control. I was going deeper than I had ever been.

To be continued. . .

Happy/Happy/Joy/Joy

The greatest news possible just landed.
Something I have prayed for, declared to the universe as a deep-seeded wish, but ultimately detached from. It’s been granted, and when I least expected the gift.

My shamanic work began in the Amazonian jungle just under 3 years ago. All Ayahuasca ceremonies to date, save one (until next week), have been run by my beloved maestro, Don Rober Acho. Sadly, last year, he left his post at the Sanctuary. Mired in crossed-wires and violated boundaries. I went through a horrible transition, learning to let him go. Accepting the knowledge that I had to move on.

Which I did. I found someone new, stateside, to study with – and the adventure begins next weekend. But I have never lost hope that Don Rober and I would reconnect. He is unspeakably precious to me.

And today, the news came. Howard, the Sanctuary owner and San Pedro / Huachuma shaman, wrote to tell me Don Rober has returned – emerging from the jungle to see if he can get back into the saddle. He doesn’t officially have his post back, but I’m certain this means I will in fact be in ceremony with him again soon. Now I’m all about manifesting the funds for a fast return. I have to create abundance, because so much is at stake. It’s time. No more waiting for the right moment. The world is waiting, 2012 is fast approaching, and I have some rabbit holes to dive into. I just can’t fathom my fortune – all these blessings. And since I have a new beloved someone that simply must come with me, it’s all the more motivation to get out there and manifest. I’ve outdone myself in that department this year thus far, and I’m not about to stop now.

Motivation – coursing through every pore. I am fire – grateful and glowing.

El Brujo himself, waiting our arrival

After the uber-amazing Fire Mesa, the crew enjoyed a down day, rested up, then hit the road. Our bus took us to Huachaco Beach, an awesome coastal town brimming with hostels, street art and lovely surf. We had a night of revelry, then arose early the next morn for our Power Mesa at El Brujo.

Prior to all these shenanigans, however, Howard took us to a museum so we could learn all about the Mochi. As the creators of El Brujo, our second Mesa stop, it was integral that we understand their path.

The Mochi were master Shamans. They were an Andean civilization that stretched all the way to the coast, reigning from around 400 BC to 300 AD. They had crazy cool rituals, amazing artwork and jewelry, and a really big fixation on power. In the beginning, I didn’t know how to take this; power is not my strong suit. I duck and cover in it’s strongest showings. I blame power for much of the world’s chaos. And yet, I know it can be so beautiful.

The Mochi uncovered a Huacha (energy vortex) in a desolate coastal area, and they built two small but amazing pyramids to harness the power. One is the feminine Huacha, or life-giving center, and the other is the masculine life-taking pyramid. You can’t have one without the other, after all; such is our undeniable spiral.

The Mochi had one gigantic problem during their reign; the weather. Every 40 years or so, El Nino would swoop down from the north and absolutely devastate their community. As masterful Shamans, however, they started upping the ante, built those pyramids, and decided to take on the task of controlling the weather. Lofty, yes, but with the Mesa magic, anything is possible.

They would stage enormous ceremonies, administering Huachuma to thousands of people. Everyone would be deep in the work, asking the Gods to please spare them the devastation of the next El Nino. It didn’t work, but they refused to give up.

The Shaman developed the idea that perhaps human sacrifices would appease the Gods and grant their wishes. Yet they didn’t plan to offer up the weakest of their tribe; no, they were serious about this contract. They created a blunt instrument that could knock out an opponent, but wouldn’t actually kill them, and they gave them to many of their strongest warriors. Every 30-40 years, when the signs of El Nino started appearing, they’d take these warriors, pair them off, and lead them to battle. Those that won the duels were heroes. Those that lost immediately became prisoners.

The Mochi would then begin another massive Huachuma ceremony, and even the prisoners would partake in the drink. They would lead the captives through a procession to the life-taking pyramid, and after a period of time, each would be taken to the top and executed.

Here’s the thing: it worked. El Nino, for a period of hundreds of years, ceased to create any more significant damage with the tribe, and they were elated. Life was prosperous, and otherwise peaceful. But when those spondella shells appeared on shore – the sure sign that El Nino was planning a return – the Shaman would prepare for another round of sacrifices. And the process would continue.

Eventually, however, controlling the weather simply wasn’t enough for these profoundly powerful people. And isn’t that the way with power – many of us don’t know when to cease the ascension? The Mochi began practicing black magic, too, using the lives of the prisoners as more than just offerings to the Gods. This proved to be the Mochi’s undoings. Within a comparatively short time, they were wiped out forever.

I took all of this information into my deeply open heart, but I couldn’t make peace with the human sacrifices. I couldn’t help but wonder if that was really necessary – couldn’t they have found a better way? Wouldn’t it have been more noble to just take on El Nino and weather the storm, as it were?

Knowing the spiritual portal that Huachuma provided, however, made me instantly connect with what the prisoners must have felt, walking into death while under his spell. I can honestly say there would be no easier transition. Huachuma takes you into the spirit world, the same way that death does. I can imagine that many didn’t even know the difference between “life” and “death.”

Still, this did little to comfort me. Before arriving at El Brujo, I had to acknowledge my judgment for their actions. It made me ill to consider such a tragic fate. But my Voice – the wise one – asked for a little reservation. She insisted I would see the beauty.

As we rode in our bumpy van down the long, lonnngggg dirt road to the ancient El Brujo site, all of these truths collided in my mind. Doing Huachuma at such a dark place felt a little anxious to me, but I was ready. Ready to take off the blinders and see the dark side of heaven.