Intellectually, I know what’s transpiring.  I have poured myself into integrity, into finding out my true self, and relinquishing the ego’s stronghold.  I have declared truth at all costs, willing to feel whatever I must to liberate.  But oh my fucking god, sometimes I feel like it’s killing me.  (That’s that small me talking, and I suppose she feels that way because. . .it’s true.)

This last month has been like the opening line of A Tale of Two Cities – the best and worst of times.  And everything in between.  I have had authentic, heart-stopping moments of complete surrender, complete knowingness of my divinity, and complete ownership of what this world really is and isn’t.  Coupled by breakdowns so painful, I literally feel like I’m being split in two.

I’m in the space of the latter right now, although it’s a crowded space.  There are two very real points of view – sometimes many more.  The disappointing thing is that the small side keeps getting the upper hand.  I have wailed with sadness and pain today.  And then hopped RIGHT back to the kind of surrender that would make a Taoist ogle and ahhh.  I’m dizzy and tired and I want to scream, cry, and laugh hysterically.  All at once.  Which, if I’m counting correctly, has already transpired four times.

Why the insanity?  It’s all a matter of contrast.  I have wisely chosen a partner that is immensely powerful, and equally dedicated to this path.  Maybe even more so – another petty fear.  And while my process is ripe with emotional outbursts, head-splitting terror, and ridiculous little sob stories, his is as graceful and joyful as any I’ve seen.  He just had another incredible, indescribable experience – so close to knowing the All it feels completely inevitable.  And nobody – nobody – deserves it more.  He is transforming so much and so fast, sometimes I feel like I don’t know him.  But then I see his eyes shining at me, and realize it’s the *real* him.  He is so, so beautiful.

But I am torn to absolute pieces over the stark, embarrassing, and devastating contrast between us.  The more he shines, the more my insecurities and fear rise up and threaten to strangle me.  I am so damn beaten down and so ready to take on all the more – both at the same time.  It’s (sometimes) overwhelming.  I’m a walking contradiction, a non-stop paradox.  And I wonder why I am so afraid of losing my sanity.

Pi, your words of wisdom are my anchor right now.  I know I’m in a state of resisting this painful process, which is really where the rub is.  As you always say, “whatever state you’re in is perfect”.  Adya has the perfect words for this too – “when the resistance comes up – gently ask yourself: Is there a reason I need to resist this?”  When I do so in my quiet voice, all of me breathes a sigh and answers – No, I guess not.

As much as I don’t know any other game to play other than this big cosmic whirlwind, for now, I don’t know any other way to play it.  I ache for the ease / grace / flow I see reflected back to me by Orion.  But apparently I don’t want it badly enough, because I keep feasting on the darkness.  I know why.  It’s where my power is.  But in this small space in which I currently dwell, I resent that.  Because I’m really, really afraid I won’t always be able to fight back.  Not that it matters in the grand scheme, but I’m well aware this game is anything but small.  The stakes get higher as my ego’s resistance intensifies.  It’s only a matter of time before one of us wins.

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

The door to the ceremonial maloka at my favorite Amazon Ayahuasca lodge

I’m trying. I’m really fucking trying – to live a spiritual life, to be a shockingly honest person, to heal every bloody wound and to give the world all it deserves. But tonight is a breakdown. There are no obvious circumstances to trigger such chaos – at least to an outside observer. I know what this is about, and yet I still don’ want to feel it.

First, let’s get the particulars out of the way.
I feel -
Very, very hurt. Earth-shatteringly solitary / abandoned / diminished. Absolutely disgusted by my body, the state I’ve allowed myself to fall into. Rage for the lies I’ve told myself and others. Massive resistance to facing the music.
I know better, on all accounts. I’m usually so gentle with myself these days. So forgiving, so quick to see the positives. I don’t know where this came from and yet. . .I know where this came from. I always know, and that, too, drives me insane. Yeah, I miss the victim days. It used to be so easy.

Joyful, cheery, strong. Grateful for this incredible life I have. That’s who I am – who I want to always always always experience. I am still slow to accept that I am also someone who has emotions, and breakdowns, and that ugly nasty word I don’t even like to see – Anger. Why the damn dichotomy? How is it I can love so sincerely the emotive, healing process – and nurture others with incredible joy as they navigate their way through the pain – and yet have such judgment for the same process in myself?

I’d really like to shutdown right now. The profundity of it all is scaring me to pieces. I wrote my Guru just two days ago and asked for the next round of healing. I asked for this. And now I want to shove it back into the hole from which it came.

I’m feeling broke, powerless, needy, and lost. All lies, by the way, but somehow the illusion has a hold of me. I even watched a horribly negative “expose” on TV this eve as I powered my way through the cardio workout at the gym. I never indulge in that crap anymore, and yet there I was, gasping at some teenage girl’s gang rape account, feeding into the negativity. I caught myself and quickly switched back to my iPod, but the damage was done. It pushed me farther in.

Poetic, I guess, because it is helping me get here – a place of feeling. A place I’ve turned away from. . .countless times. Countless.

So. Much. Magic. I see it, I’m in the experience of it, but when I’m overwhelmed with tears and pain and fear and rage and total desperation – it’s hard to know how to breathe, let alone smile and feel grateful. I am disgusted that I feel this way, I’ll be honest. This is the part of spiritual evolution that I dislike the most. I hear myself sob and it makes me cringe. And of course I can’t drink it away, I can take a tab of E and escape, I can’t do anything but wallow now – this lovely little reality I’ve created. All the outlets are gone.

That is, in part, why I’m angry. I guess I didn’t expect the clean / sober / fully conscious road to be littered with such cosmic breakdowns. But without anything to numb the uprising, it stands to reason that the emotions would have so much more Power. I haven’t felt this kind of freakout for – well, years. Since I used to sit around dreaming about suicide all day, drinking and drugging and doing whatever I could to shut out the pain. Doing whatever I could.
Now, I do whatever I can to confront these demons. Despite the protests. They’re stronger than I ever imagined. I don’t even understand the sources. I do and I don’t and it doesn’t matter anyway – I feel them. They’re so blindingly real.

That’s why I’m here, writing To be honest. To release a layer or four. To try and make sense of what I already know. I know. But I’m also supposed to feel. There’s no other way out of the horrendous illusion. Why it makes me so angry, so blind with fear, so quick to throw up a thousand No Thank You Walls. . .

So I’ll go cry and release and break shit and yell and throw a fitful tantrum. And then I’ll laugh about it and wonder why I make things so much more challenging than they need to be.

The next time you feel the tears coming on, for heaven’s sake, just go there. It’s the only way out of the madness.

“No ones picking up the phone
Guess its me and me
And this little masochist
Shes ready to confess
All the things that I never thought
That she could feel.”
-Tori Amos, Hey Jupiter

A haunting image from Peru - I don’t know what it is, but it’s magical. Photo by Steve Johnson.

I am frightened of everything right now. Everything inside of myself. My money is running out, and the thought of ever returning to the hideous structure and falseness of an office job literally terrifies me. I have just a few months to figure out how to sustain myself by working from my little home-based office. It must be done or I’ll go insane.

Thank god I have a trip to the Amazon before the levees burst. My answers are down there. I need faith again – I feel the tiny embers of my power still flicker here and there, but I want a fucking firestorm.

And yet, I love this anxiety. It means I just have to listen; to open up and cease resisting. There’s some mighty messages coming down. This much I know.

This is the longest I’ve been alone, too. I’m fine with that. I’ve changed so much about my world in the last handful of months, it would have taken an iron-clad connection to roll along with me. I’m not done yet; not even close. But today, as I drove home from the grocery store, I felt my heart bursting. I am aching to adore and love – it’s astounding how much I have to give. I just need to choose wisely. I just need to listen.

A night of insomnia is a perfect chance for a little Tarot – and a lot of revelation. Tomorrow is a new moon. I want her riches.

Peckories (Amazonian pigs) grazin’ on some tasty jungle grass

I could wax poetic for a millennium or more on how our cowardly government is using this tactic. (Fruitless terror alerts, anyone?) Post-9/11 (and I won’t touch how I believe they were in the know about that either. I’ll be good. Promise.), they have frozen us into blindly following their bullshit by creating so much fear, we’re too busy just dealing with our immediate drama to branch out and protest things like preemptive wars. Crafty! And see how much we’re spending on products to numb us, to “protect” us, to pacify the impending doom? America wins! Hot damn!

I wish I could say I wasn’t afraid. I’m just as shaky as the rest of us. But I don’t lose sleep over whether or not terrorists are invading, or whether our government themselves are the real terrorists. I can’t control such things outside of my benevolence and my attempts to source peace. I am really afraid of what is happening to our cultural consciousness – all this mass-killing and hatred spewing is tainting us all in ugly, dramatic hues. Some of us are already feeling the sinking, nauseating affects. Those in denial are getting hit even harder.

But I’ve got a lot more fears, too. Oddly enough, the one thing I fear the most is being ruled by fear. The way this manifests right now involves the Amazon. Now that I’ve been there, most things do. I am returning in December for a solstice celebration – papers are signed, fees are paid, ducks/in/row. When I went for the first time back in April, I can honestly say I wasn’t at all frightened. I trusted my Seeker, and more importantly, I trusted my instincts. Neither lead me astray. But as I filled out the required questionnaire this time around, I felt a panic I didn’t expect. The standard question about fear almost blinded me – “What do you fear?” I wanted to write “myself” and be done with it. But suddenly I was back in that lodge, night two, listening to a seething, primal buzz, and feeling, quite literally, the pain of the world. I panicked at the thought of being in that exact moment again. Which, of course, I won’t be – those lessons are learned, or are being learned. But it’s entirely possible I’ll face other pains and demons, and I suppose that’s what made me quake. These are intense, indescribably fierce moments. Moments that make the meek parts of me tremble and ask, very nicely, if maybe we could just stay home.

Poppycock. I’m going back. I’m riding on the assumption that just the very presence of those fears mean I get to push through something big again – and the rewards are just that much greater. That’s my instinct, now – if the fears develop, I know I’m on to something. I wasn’t frightened for the first journey, and yet, my life changed completely. I don’t have the boyfriend anymore, nor the job, nor the non-serving hang-ups. I’m living my dream life, publishing a novel, busting my ass to be authentic, and gearing up to better myself in so many more ways. So if this next journey finds me afraid of what’s behind door number two, holy shit, it’s gonna be good.

A perfect little hut in the Peruvian Amazon. My jungle tis of thee.

There are still so many things I fear. All tied up in myself. I fear tomorrow – the sabotage may have extended into places I wasn’t ready for. At least, not consciously. Yes, I keep harping on how I love change, but like most, I prefer those changes I myself control. That’s what the buzzing is – a reminder that it’s not all up to me. Not the awake, egotistical me. Maybe the Higher Self me, the girl behind the curtain, but she isn’t the one steering the eyes-open ship. She isn’t the one who has a grip on all this . . .anxiety.

I am reminded today of how secretive I am. The things I hide are both miniscule and gargantuan, and I’m starting to learn a bit more about the motivation. I am aces at punishing myself. Why I think I deserve such agony – that’s the core. It doesn’t feel like past life/karmic debt, but I’m going to back to the Amazon to explore that option more. No, it seems more like a challenge to see how much I can really take. I feel somewhat desperate to prove my strength, but only to myself. Not sure why that matters so much. In any event, I feel like it’s proven. Repeatedly. So my vision is to let that go already and just be Real.

I watched Capote yesterday – the consummate writer. He preached about the importance of the truth but lied at every turn. Of course he did – he was a story teller. He was full of self-hatred like the rest of us. And even though he became the most famous writer in America, he never published another book after reaching such success, and drank himself into oblivion.
I can relate. The writer’s path. But I’m fighting back.

Shhhh, that’s a secret.