My two shaman - Howard and Don Rober Acho, sitting in front of the Ayahuasca mesa

It got me thinking – what’s so great about individuality? It gets so goddamn lonely when you insist on being independent and headstrong. I fell into loving the notion of interdependence – standing strong as a sole soul, but reliant on the kindness of others. We can have it all.

And so I entered my tenth ceremony with absolute openness and reverence. My intention was to heal my past traumas, in a physical and emotional sense. Specifically, I asked that my heart and my reproductive organs be addressed – both have been devastated. I didn’t want to carry those burdens anymore. They just weren’t serving me.

I hadn’t forgotten that Ayahuasca hinted at a death for me, despite the fact that death didn’t exist. I loved the conundrum this generated within – the both/and philosophy. There is no black and white when you accept spiritual knowledge. Things just Are, and it’s beautiful.

We went through our usual, magnificent rituals, and I took my turn with delight. The Ayahuasca tasted for more rank and foul again; just like my memories. I sucked it down with a sour face, and grinned as I stumbled back to my rocking chair.

The worse it tastes, the more intense the experience. And that’s just the way we like it.

She didn’t take long at all to swoop back into my system. Ayahuasca always picks up where she left off – there’s never a disconnect. That’s why it feels so much like a homecoming, always. Every last session.

Immediately, as I fell into the altered state, dozens of children appeared with glowing palms. Half of the crew set to work on my heart, while the others lingered between my legs. They were absolutely illuminated, smiling from ear to ear, and consistently making eye contact with me. I kept taking deep breaths, but I didn’t resist in the least. Their hands lingered above my body parts, swirling in circles, and healing the hurt. I felt floaty and sacred, and with every hand sweep, I knew I was getting closer to Cleansed. I kept thanking them, and they would giggled and nod. Their eyes – they knew so much more than I did. I couldn’t help but marvel.

When the healings ended, I entered a cosmic looking playground. The children didn’t leave me – some stayed by my side and others appeared. Trees sprung up from every line of sight, and from them emerged dozens of slithering snakes. They were multi-colored and vibrant, and some raised up to meet my eyes. Hisses erupted, but I felt fearless. They were channeling their knowledge; I could feel it. Snakes represent the lower world, and are often a symbol of death and wisdom. Dying is a blessing. That’s what I heard.

I prepared myself for the spiral, but Ayahuasca had other plans.

The children all backed-up and formed a circle around me, still smiling and staring. Mother Ayahusca appeared, a body of gorgeous glowing eyes, with a pair of outstreched hands that cradled my cheeks.

- Are you open, child?

- I am. I am. To anything.

- Hmmm.

I felt her hesitation …

- Are you open to never having another drink of alcohol again?

I pondered this, truly, and gave a reply.

- Absolutely. I could do that if I had to.

- Are you open to having children?

My heart surged. This has never, ever been on my agenda. I vehemently express, and always have, that kids are not my bag. Why would she ask of me anything different? She responded in kind.

- I’m not saying you should have them, dear – I only ask that you be open. To anything, as you stated. If your heart isn’t open to any available path, you’ll never know what your true destiny is. We spend too much time chasing someone else’s pot of gold. I just want you to know yours.

- Then I’m open – most definitely.

- No, you’re not. Your mind is – and it’s a tricky devil. You want to be. Go into your heart and open that door.

I tried. I swooped down and felt resistance.
Ugh, I just wasn’t sure I could do this.

- Think about why you have always resisted having children.

All right, let’s go there.
I know I have always resisted my femininity – my unique blend of passive power. I am curvier than many, and that used to invoke shame. Used to, of course. But how is that tied to having kids?
Oh, there it is – yes. I was abused as a child. Not on a grand scale, for months on end, but there was serious trauma. From people other than my parents, but it didn’t matter – even though I thought it should.

- I can’t have children because they are so susceptible to unspeakable pain. I can’t let that happen to another spirit.

- You’re not in control of such things. That’s an illusion. Besides that, do you regret what happened to you?

- Not for a second. I love everything about my story. It made me. I love me.

- Precisely. So that’s not the reason. Try harder.

I dug deeper. I finally allowed myself to see me as a mother. I was luminious, adoring, protective, sincere. There was nothing wrong with this picture. So what was stopping me from letting the possibility in?

My ego, yes. I was a girl who would never be a mom. I had said it a million times – enough so I believed it. Everyone knows this. How could I go back?
I was stone cold petrified.

I leaned into my bucket and purged like mad. Shame, guilt, fear, resistance – all merged together in a liquidy release.

And I felt – fucking fantastic.

- OK, wow, I’m open. To not drinking, to having kids – whatever it is I’m here to do.

She didn’t respond. Instead, I was pushed so bloody deep into the experience I had to hold on tight to the chair, just to remember what this was. Billions of images flashed before me, at light speed – the kind of lessons and messages that only my heart could hear, and thus defies my explanation.

But I listened, and learned, and as the intensity wore off, I drifted back into my body with a newfound fearlessness. I was a dam that had suddenly been slammed open, permanently. Whatever fate awaited me, I felt zero resistance or fear. Be it motherhood or an immediate death/transition, I had open arms.

I must tell you, there is no greater sense of strength.

As the ceremony ended, I could have danced back to the room. Z and I entertwined and crawled on back, but I tabled my bliss. I could feel his darkness. His night had not been so light and magical. And so I asked the Universe to keep me strong, to tap into my healing nature, and I engulfed him in all the love I could muster. We talked for eons, and fell into a healing slumber.

Paradise. And I didn’t even have to die … yet.

Myself and one of the awesome little ones lucky enough to call the jungle Home

Z and I flew down to the Amazon on April 19th, pushing our way through his head cold illness and a whole lotta fatigue to find the womb of the world waiting. This was my third trip, and traipsing through the jungle in those first moments felt more like a homecoming than a trip away from home. My feminine energy seethed, my womb wiggled and my blood bubbled up in cosmic gratitude. Let the ascension begin.

We met our fellow journeyers – beautiful people, every last one. Folks who were reverent and curious and perfectly flawed, looking to heal themselves so they could give the gift on to the rest of the world. I felt so unbelievably honored to share the shamanic dive with such amazing souls.

We worked on our intentions, helped create the Ayahuasca brew, bonded with the shaman, and found the strength to surrender. I and a couple of other peeps had experienced Ayahuasca before, but most were newbies, which excited me beyond words. Watching people transform in the hands of the plants – that’s my idea of reality entertainment. Like the time lapse photography of a orchid in bloom. Perfection.

Our first ceremony occurred on night 2 – faster than usual, but we had much to accomplish. I felt electric, if only a tad anxious. Don Rober, the magnificent, words- cannot-express-how-amazing shaman, began our ritual in the usual fashion; with blessings, with Quecha songs, and with many puffs from the Mapacho, the sacred tobacco. We were ready to fly.

I sat near the end of the semi-circle, watching each of my companions suck down the brew. The first ceremony in any cycle is normally mild by comparison, and the medicine (Ayahuasca) somehow tastes less rancid. It’s as if my cellular memory hadn’t yet kicked back in. The brew went down easy, and I shuffled back to my rocking chair, wrapped up in the woven blanket, blew Z and kiss, and closed my eyes to heal.

She took about 20 minutes or so to fully begin to shift me, and by then, the lights were completely out. In contrast of my last journey, we sat in the dark of the moon, so no light found it’s way into our ceremonial maloka. This didn’t phase me. Darkness is beauty too, after all. As I felt Ayahuasca start to simmer up within, I found myself in an infinite smile. The real homecoming. I asked to release my body and just experience the other side, if only for a few moments. Instead, my Daddy appeared.

I knew I’d see Dad on this trip. When I said good-bye to him at his funeral in February, I knew another hello was just a few weeks away. I didn’t expect him to be so turbo, however – that wasn’t his way in life, but I rejoiced. Jesus appeared to me again – just as during my last cycle – but it was a lightning fast introduction; he swept in front of me with a smile, kissed my cheek, and disappeared, revealing my Dad. And my, what a reunion we had…

I felt him dive around me, our energies embracing. But as I blinked to take him in again, there was nothing; he had disappeared. I’m still here, he told me. It was just hard to appear in the physical form. He spent a lot of time working with me, teaching me to recognize his presence without the use of my unreliable eyes. I felt his hands on mine and I cried an ocean. It felt so magnificent to have Daddy back again. He told me how proud he was of my rebellion, of my courage in finding an alternative spiritual path. He was a rebel, too, and in the end, he acknowledged our similarities. Things that never happened in the Before.

Daddy drifted behind me, offering me strength and support, as the visions intensified. I saw decapitations, wellsprings of bloody water, morphing bodies and faces, and a whole smattering on nonsensical, intensely fast-moving images. This was my mind clutter, spewing out in a visual form. All this crap had to purge in order to get to my core.

As expected, I felt the purge rising up as the clutter pushed forward. I didn’t resist her. I leaned in with a grin into my bucket, expelling a few poisons and feeling 80 pounds lighter. Then I heard the room start to erupt in other purgings, and I felt so fucking alive. I couldn’t help smiling, couldn’t help marveling at how absolutely fantastic this process was. I was home I was home I was home.

I never wanted to leave.

The rest of the night cascaded me with vibrance and strength, showing me futures and pasts and endless streams of animals, asking for my help. Begging me to stop the madness. My animal spirit, the majestic Jaguar I call Sacha, appeared with a mischievious grin; also thrilled to have me back. My cat Boo appeared, diving in for love as well, but every last pair of eyes beckoned for my protection. I listened. I promised. I melded with their energies.

So much gratitude. So much joy. And yet, I resisted – I felt it and said hello. WHy would I do that, I wondered? An obvious answer – because I connect too much with the balance of things. I started to feel anxiety around my bliss, knowing that pain must be around the corner.
But I need not create that, my voice echoed. I need not fear the other side – only to be present for these joyful lessons.

I plastered on a grin and just freaking let go. And it was unspeakably blissful.

And then a message came through; one I had heard before, but needed reminding. There’s no such thing as death. It doesn’t exist.

All the same, she said, prepare yourself – you’re going to die soon. It just has to be.

I came back into the room and into my body toward the end of the ceremony, as the shaman sealed us up, and as I walked with Z back to our cozy room, I pondered this coming death. I welcomed it. I knew it would be beautiful.

The sun pushes down through the jungle canopy

Mom called yesterday, all aghast and asking about my cats. Mom’s a church-goer, a do-gooder, a golden heart who doesn’t question much. So when she starts talking Spiritual, I fall over myself to listen.

Deep into the core of the night before, Mom couldn’t sleep. She got up to snatch a warm blanket – one I gave her – and settled back in. Within minutes, she could sense the presence of two cats, leaping onto her bed. She said they both lay next to her, as guardians, offering comfort. She knew they were my cats – she could feel their energy. True, my cats were about 600 miles away, settled in with lucky me, but yet, they had gone traveling. She moved her hand and one playfully nibbled her fingers – that would be Boo. Mom was freaked – absolutely terrified. But as we discussed the matter, she settled in. Later, she had me tell them both they are free to visit any time.
And then I realized the true magic.

Z and I had been discussing that very morning the mystic qualities of cats. I also pondered that bona fide cat people – in a stereotypical sense – are often the occult-loving, spirit-wacky types themselves. Like attracts like. I know that these creatures can be in both the tangible and the spirit realms at the same time. Boo joins me in my dreams – and during Ayahuasca ceremonies – when I’m aching for comfort. He always will. He told me once, in this dream state, that he protects me in this netherworld, and I protect him in the earthly one. Unconditionally. Makes me feel omnipotent.

But Boo and Cressie didn’t visit Mom just so that she may feel their presence. They went to open the spiritual portal for her, so she may easily sense my Dad’s presence too. She’s been locked down since he died, still attached to the scent and feel of him. He is no less there, she just needs to adjust. And here these magical creatures helped Make It So.

Blessings. Ghostly or not, I am swirling.