I recently spent five days deep in the woods with a brave and remarkable group of people, most of whom I'd never met before. We were all there to learn and heal from the spirit of the ayahuasca plant. Ayahuasca is native to the the Amazon rainforest, and has been used as potent medicine by the indigenous peoples of the region for over 5,000 years. The ingestion of the ayahusaca brew is done in ceremony, led by a shaman, or
ayahuascero. The plant is regarded as the mother of all the tens of thousands of plant species of Amazonia. She is the most powerful teacher I have ever known.
(Henceforth I shall refer to Grandmother Ayahuasca as Grandam A, a variation of Grandma, and changed for ease of pronunciation. Grandam A. scans better than Grandma, and I'm all about sounding words out loud when I write. Besides, she truly is a Grand Dame.)
Anyway...
Meeting with Grandam A. requires true courage. She is a strong hallucinogen, and can bring the psychic traveller face to face with their deepest fears and inner demons. In fact, the more messed up you are, the tougher the trip is likely to be. Grandma A. is mighty medicine.
I knew all this going into my most recent journeys, because I had drunk her brew twice last year in Peru. And it wasn't easy going, let me tell you. But when I learned that the fabulous female shaman I worked with in Peru was visiting my part of the world to perform three more ceremonies, I jumped at the chance to invite Grandma A. into my home again. I had unfinished business to do.
A more recent term applied to hallucinogenic plants is
entheogen, derived from the Greek, meaning
the god within. Unfortunately, hallucinogens have long been associated with hippies tripping on LSD for recreational purposes. Ha! Some recreation. Ayahuasca's primary purpose is to heal. Only after some good and proper healing is done can the participant hope to experience communion with other realms. Well, okay... that's my personal take on it, otherwise I can't explain why I chose to drink ayahuasca again after two harrowing, nauseating experiences with her in Peru. Unless, of course, I'm some kind of a masochist, and get my jollies from self-abuse and physical torment. The scary part is, that's a distinct possibility, and something I've known all my adult life.
I'm not unfamiliar with self-abuse, conscious or otherwise, and have scars on my body to prove it. Years of self-reflection and western-style therapy have helped me overcome these dreadful behavioural patterns - well, almost - but haven't completely eradicated the lingering emotional crap that goes with them. The childhood trauma that led to these destructive habits was a very long time ago, yet all these years later I still lay blame on the past for recurring problems in the present. I fancy myself a relatively aware and sensitive person, so rehashing past injuries aggravates my ancient hurt with guilt and shame for not being able to let it go. I mean, how many times do I have to make the same bloody mistakes before I finally get it? I thought I was smarter and wiser than that. It's not that I'm opening old wounds - the worst is long over for sure - but I'm still scratching and cursing at the scars that remain. And that's precisely why I invited Grandma A. to pay me another visit.
When I was in Peru I participated in the ceremony hoping to commune with all that is - Mother Earth and the Universe. To put it as prosaically as possible, I was looking for a mystical experience. I've sought beauty and magic all my life, and was hoping for one big, whopping dose of it with Grandam A. But Grandam A. had her own agenda, and taking a trip to paradise wasn't part of it. She is a teacher and healer, first and foremost. She showed me who was boss right from the get-go. She told me in no uncertain terms that I can't have it both ways, and what's more, that I didn't deserve it yet.
Grandam A. addressed first things first - my self-destructive habits and deliberate self-abuse. In the past I've indulged in this gross behaviour for two reasons: 1.) to punish myself, and 2.) to escape myself. A journey with ayahuasca is about revelation, not escape, but I still had hopes that I'd have glimpses of Grandam A's magnificent, magical world of flora and fauna. But no such luck. Grandam A. went to the very heart of the matter and sent me reeling through hours of nausea that even frequent purging was unable to quell. (There's often a lot of purging going on throughout the ceremonies. A vomit-bucket is standard equipment for the ride.)
So why on Gaia's green earth, you may well ask, would I choose to go through that again? Am I really a hard-core masochist? The answer to the latter question is no, I'm not. Nausea sucks. Big time. But I guess I needed the physical hardship to realise what I had to do first.
Stop hurting yourself, Grandam A. shouted at me,
There's no moving forward until you reckon with that. The ball's in your court, baby.
The morning after my first ceremony in Peru, I was sitting in the garden of the hostel where we were staying, contemplating the previous night. I was disappointed not to have had a mystical experience, and wondered what I was supposed to have learned from the whole thing. I did have some lovely, light and colourful visions, but they seemed random and purposeless to me. As I entertained these thoughts, I heard a deep, growly
, non-threatening
hrmmph hrmmph a short distance from me,
and looked up to see a big, black German shepherd trotting straight towards me. He lived at the hostel with one of the employees, but tended to ignore the guests and their benign attentions. So I was a little surprised when I saw him very deliberately approaching me, as if on a mission. He stopped directly in front of me, just a few feet from where I sat. After staring me in the eye, he lowered his head and proceeded to vomit on the grass. Once he was done, he walked in a large circle all around the swing where I sat, right back to where he started, and puked again. When he was finished, he looked up at me once more, then turned and loped away. There's no way this little incident was just a random, meaningless occurrence. It was a sign! (You knew that was coming, right?) And I had a pretty good idea what it meant.
Winston Churchill suffered from dark bouts of depression all his life, and referred to them as "the black dogs." So when that big, black dog decided to pay me a visit that morning, I knew exactly what he and Grandam A. were telling me. I'm pretty sure she sent him as a messenger, in case I hadn't gotten the message the night before. She also decided to teach me exactly the same lesson the second time I drank her elixir, which was the day after the episode with the dog.
Our shaman had told us that no two journeys with the plant are the same. Unfortunately, that rule of thumb did not seem to apply to me, because the second visit with Grandam was as nauseating as the first. For some reason, and it's probably my penchant for self-flagellation, I don't learn lessons the first time, or even the second, or third... as if I were stupid or something. It seems Grandam A. decided to give me a taste of my own medicine. She's obviously not without a wicked sense of irony. As a writer I suppose I should appreciate that, but it's not so easy to do when the laugh's on me. Sheesh.
On my most recent journeys with ayahuasca, and closer to home, I knew early during the second ceremony that I wouldn't be drinking the potion a third time. I didn't like the body I was stuck in, and Grandam refused to lift me out of it. So I breathed as deeply as I could through the rough spots. While thus engaged, I noticed a dark, shadowy figure hovering in the the far end of the ceremonial room. I could barely make it out, because the room was so dark, but I could see that it was making its way towards me. It inched along very slowly, constantly stopping and starting, as if deciding what to do. As it got closer I could see that it was the figure of a young child, probably a girl of no more than ten. The faint, indistinct form finally stopped a few feet in front of me, and stood there briefly, until it evaporated into the surrounding blackness. I attended the last ceremony the next night, but did not drink. She appeared to me again, and this time I realised who she was. She was that ubiquitous, New Age wunderkind, my "inner child." She seemed friendlier this time, and not as tentative. I had the distinct feeling she was there for healing as well. I was face-face with my shadow-self. Talk about your shades of Carl Jung.
Last year in Peru I attended three ceremonies, without drinking at the third, and felt nothing the last time. Eventually I got bored and sleepy; so I left before I disrupted things with my snoring. Not so this time. Our shaman had mentioned that there are people who participate in the ceremonies without drinking that feel the effects of the plant anyway. Perhaps they feel the energy of the people around them. Whatever the case, I was glad to be one of those people, because I hate feeling left out.
I stayed in the circle for two hours, and felt every sigh, burp, yawn, bump and rustle of movement course through my body with corresponding intensity. Sometimes I was certain I could feel other people's heart beats. My body felt like a finely tuned instrument, or a tuning fork. I vibrated in synchrony with every sound and movement. Sharp sounds snapped and shot through me. Soft ones felt like a massage or gentle breeze. Even if I hadn't been able to actually hear the sounds, I could have described them nonetheless. Okay, so I didn't "see god," nor did I meet the devil. But at least I didn't feel left out or separate. I felt truly connected,
in tune with everything around me. As within, so without.
Grandam's hard lesson has become more clear to me the longer I think about it. She's a plant spirit, and a mighty potent one, so I'd been hoping for visions of flora and fauna, totems and spirit guides. (These were my hopes, not my expectations. Our shaman had repeatedly advised us not to expect anything.) In retrospect I can see that Grandam had, indeed, addressed my longing to be in tune with her world, but not in the way I was expecting. (It's hard not expect
something.) I often think of my body as a microcosm of Earth herself, and imagine that my physical condition is a reflection of what's happening in my environment. My legion of followers will recognize that last statement as a recurring theme on this web of mine.
Grandam A. didn't show me visions of lush vines and tropical jungle, populated with exotic birds and beasts, nor did she send me flying through the starry Cosmos. But she did show me just how similar I am to Mother Earth herself. Grandam made me whirl. And whirl. And whirl. You see, Mother Earth does the same thing, too. She's always revolving on her axis, spinning through space.
I can hear Grandam laughing right now. Like Earth herself, Grandam A. always has the last word.
The point is, I think I've finally heard what she's been telling me for so long, even before I ever invited her into my home. I've always learned the hard way, but sooner or later (mostly later) I
do learn. Grandam A. rewarded me with the knowledge that when I truly pay attention, I'll be sensitive enough to feel what's happening at a deep, physical, vibrational level. Once the body's clean and clear, it can serve as a vessel, and an open channel to the unseen world. It can be a host for magic and divinity.
I now understand why Grandam told me I didn't need to drink her medicine a third time. She told me to listen to my body, which I did, and wouldn't you know, my body was in complete accord with the wise old plant. I was disappointed at first, and felt like a spiritual neophyte, despite being the oldest participant. So not only did I feel physically battered, my ego was bruised, too. Fortunately, my faith was restored at the final ceremony. By listening
to my body, and Grandam, I was able to listen
with my body, all of it. My entire body became a receiver. It was awesome.
I'm running out of things to say now, but not because I don't have more thoughts on the matter. I do. But some things are best kept to oneself. As it is, this blurb has rendered me as vulnerable as I've ever been on my little web. I like to think it's a safe place, even though it's available for the whole world to read. I also like to think that what I write is at least amusing, and maybe, just maybe, offers useful insights. You know, something helpful. Otherwise I haven't learned a thing. Because when it's just about me, spinning New Age bafflegab in my little, but hopefully expanding universe, I'm not doing anyone any good, least of all myself.
I can't stop the wheel of fortune from turning, but I won't be a victim any more, either. Riding the rim of that wheel is treacherous. It's not stable, and can make you sick, or prone to injury. That's why I'm climbing down from the that rim and putting myself smack dab in the middle of the wheel, where I can find some balance and be still for a while. It's a lot easier there.
Many thanks to Grandam A. for her ancient, earthly wisdom - and to my wonderful shaman and brave, beautiful, fellow participants for their kindness and support.
- G. P.
I'm well aware that not many people share my point of view. They must sit in the company of good story-tellers and conversationalists much more than I do. Or maybe it's me. Yeah, it's me. I don't enjoy listening to people talk about their travels. For many years, when I was broke and bitter, I didn't want to hear other people chatter about where they'd been, what they'd done and who they'd met, etc. I was stuck in the same place for a long time, and it wasn't for lack of curiosity or a sense of adventure that I didn't just get up and go somewhere to satisfy those longings. My material circumstances prevented it. That was the reason, plain and simple. 
