This is obviously a reenactment. I don’t think I’ll ever look at that container the same way again. The plant was tossed into it after the Shaman brushed me with it.
The room was dark and I quietly waited. I could still taste the bitter Ayahuasca brew in my mouth. I breathed slowly as I wondered what would happen next.
Within a few moments, strange sensations began coursing through my body in huge waves. I imagined I was on a car ride going over large humps where my stomach dropped. I couldn’t see the twisting road ahead and I certainly wasn’t driving.
I quietly focused on remaining calm.
I thought about my doctor friend, Sam, who had hoped I wouldn’t go through with this. He had warned me about the effects of taking a hallucinogenic drug. I hadn’t read about anything horrible happening with ayahuasca – it wasn’t quite the same as LSD. I also knew it was an intense experience.
The weird sensations reminded me of why I hated any form of alcohol my entire life. With one sip of any alcoholic beverage, my stomach felt warm and queasy; I hated that feeling. I didn’t like being “out of control” and realized this ayahuasca experience might be hard for me.
As a menopausal woman, I was fortunate I hadn’t suffered from hot flashes, but suddenly I had an intense experience of one. Searing heat poured through every cell in my body. I felt liquid pouring from my pores like rain, and rivers of sweat splashed down me in a torrent. I gripped the bucket and held on tightly as if I were on roller coaster.
I clutched my bucket and leaned forward. The queasiness and nausea that gripped me was unrelenting. Suddenly the room was filled with roaring sounds of retching and vomiting. People were puking their guts out.
My friend had told me she never threw up at any of the hundred ceremonies she had participated in. I wondered if perhaps I might escape it, but it didn’t seem likely because I felt so sick. But I couldn’t throw up because I hadn’t yet reached “the point of no return.” The Shaman said if the Ayahuasca spirit required me to purge, I wouldn’t be able to stop it. The medicine spirit knew exactly what each person required in order to heal.
The Shaman said purging was something that allowed a person to release toxins from their soul. If someone did not vomit, it meant that they weren’t carrying anything to purge. I hoped perhaps that might be my case, because I achieved so much healing already from my music and writing.
Still, the intensity of the sensations were like torture for me, and I wondered how much longer it would last. The sound of retching and moaning continued to fill the room, and I was amazed that I hadn’t vomited yet even though I continued to suffer from intense nausea. It seemed that my ability to exert control was extending my suffering, because I couldn’t simply let go and vomit.
I wondered if I was holding onto to pain and suffering because of PTSD. But I countered that with the knowledge that I didn’t feel pain over the death of my child anymore. I always felt him within my heart and he was a part of every one of my songs. I was so grateful that I healed from “the amputation of my soul.”
I had no illusions that Ayahuasca wasn’t a drug. My personal take on the experience was that the intense pain would climax with intense pleasure; it would be similar to a sexual experience. The Shaman’s role was to help people get through the pain to reach that place.
The minutes melted into hours. I waited for visions, but there were none and I spent all of my energy in my mind thinking about ways to cope. I felt intensely alone, but marveled that I was not fearful. I wondered why I hadn’t had any visions. Many people do and my friend told me I would see amazing things with my eyes closed.
All I saw was darkness.
The pain began to intensify, and my spiritual work began. From the beginning, I prayed to god to give me a safe and pleasant journey. I held onto the belief that I was blessed and had suffered enough in my life. I was a good person and deserved to heal. The Ayahuasca spirit would fill my heart with love and my healing would be beautiful.
But now, I didn’t care what the outcome would be and decided that whatever it was, it wasn’t worth this much pain. With humor, I thought about the fact that I had paid money for this. I imagined myself at a swanky resort having a massage instead of being huddled in a fetal position on a lawn chair.
I began to beg for relief because I couldn’t stand it anymore. I still could not throw up or relinquish control.
The Shaman had talked about the different ways that people experienced ayahuasca. Some were observers, almost in a scientific kind of way. That sounded just like me. Others delved inward and let go of themselves, which often led to an amazing “out of body” experience.
I was in so much discomfort that I hung my head over the bucket in exhaustion. At that moment, I decided I was not going to come back the following night to repeat this ceremony.
I leaned forward and found myself dozing in order to numb the pain. It dawned on me that I was very good at sleepwalking through life for decades in order to cope. From the time I had gotten married, I was depressed. Six years later, when I gave birth to my first child with a severe congenital heart defect, I was constantly suffering with his care. Now it dawned on me that perhaps this was my greatest lesson from ayahuasca.
I could not allow myself to stop and feel pain because otherwise I was afraid I would fall down and not get back up.
Suddenly, I could hear the Shaman singing in front of me. He was brushing me with a twig and leaves while chanting. He firmly squeezed my shoulders and whispered instructions for me to sit up. He said, “Stop fighting the medicine; let it help you. You must breathe deeply and let go.”
I told him I was so tired of the pain and suffering and wanted it to be over.
He gently said, “In the next five minutes, you will experience something that will change your life.” It was almost like he was coaching me toward an orgasm.
I sat up straighter and felt more awake, but the dizziness was unbearable. I took a few deep breaths, and the waves were intensifying and my heart was pounding like a drum. I began to pray to god to help me let go. I wondered when I would be released, as I heard other people’s moans of ecstasy.
But the minutes ticked by and it had been much longer than five minutes. I realized the Shaman was wrong because nothing had happened.
A few people were singing songs, but I could not really hear anything. I was completely tuned out and in a black hole of pain. It was more exhausting than anything I had gone through in a long time. It reminded me of childbirth.
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The Shaman came back and said, “You are too still and you need to move more. You do not understand how to use the power of your breathing to help yourself.”
He was right about my stillness. I had definitely slowed down in my life and had hardly been exercising for months.
Another hour went by. I began to shake from exhaustion and was still intensely nauseous, but couldn’t throw up.
I called out again for the Shaman to help me.
He gently said, “Healing will happen when you are ready to let go. Just let love into your heart.”
I sincerely tried. I thought about the love I felt for each one of my children. A revelation came to me at that moment. They were all such beautiful humans and represented a piece of both my husband and I. Therefore; it meant I could allow myself to feel love toward my husband. I was holding onto a lot of anger toward him. I felt myself letting it go as I remembered that he had fathered our beautiful children.
In order to cope with guilt about hurting him, I carried a lot of anger about what I had missed in our marriage. But he had suffered, too.
He would never have left me. I also knew it was impossible for him to change and I wasn’t going to force him to in order for us to stay together. I had blamed him subconsciously for neglecting my physical needs, when the truth was that I was the one who was blocked and withholding.
I began to forgive him and myself.
I moved on to thinking about my children and how angry they all were because I had hurt their father. Guilt and resentment overwhelmed me. I would bounce back and forth between those two emotions. I wanted to pacify their anger while at the same time being angry that they didn’t want me to be joyful in my life. My children weren’t happy that I discovered writing and music for many reasons.
I desperately wanted their forgiveness while at the same time being angry at myself for wanting their blessing. I was often devastated that they didn’t care about my happiness and felt so misunderstood. For years I had been a caregiver and sacrificing so much for my entire family. Wasn’t I entitled to find a better life free from pain and negativity?
So often I had felt that my love for my family had gotten me through grief. But now my children didn’t appreciate all that I had done for them. That led me to realize that my love must not have been unconditional.
Then it dawned on me – my own mother behaved that way with me. Later in my life, she told me how sorry she was for pressuring me to marry because I had done something she felt was sinful by having sex before marriage.
I could let go of my anger about what she had done because I realized that she probably suffered terribly. She knew how much she had hurt me and worried for good reason that perhaps I hadn’t truly forgiven her. For the rest of her life she tried to make it up to me.
I opened my heart and begged for peace. Despite my beautiful and forgiving revelations, I continued to suffer.
The room was no longer as quiet. The Shaman announced that it had been six hours and the ceremony was over. Everyone could either go to sleep or talk outside on the patio.
Now I felt like I was a total failure. Everyone in that room seemed to have had an amazing experience but me. I began to feel sorry for myself. Once again, life had dealt me a tough card and I lost out. It looked like I wasn’t going to be healed from the pain and sadness that manifested itself with my eye condition.
Disappointment filled my heart, but I was strangely unemotional about it.
I wasn’t sure what I should do next. Some of my dizziness began to subside and for that I was grateful. My mouth was parched because it had been open for hours while I wrestled with nausea. I touched my fingers to my lips and they were cracked and bleeding. I was dehydrated and had to pee at the same time.
I called out for my friend so she could help me get to the bathroom. In a squeaky voice I announced, “I can’t afford to fall and hurt myself. I am a mother of three children who still need me!”
I could barely walk, but managed to get there holding onto her arm. I thought about how when she invited me, I expected she would literally be holding my hand. Instead, the entire time she was across the room, having her own experience. I tearfully told her that this wasn’t what I expected as I stumbled alongside of her in the darkness. She counseled me by saying, “Healing is hard work, my friend.”
After using the bathroom, I felt more alert. I took a sip of water and wet my lips to ease the dryness; then I went back and sat in my chair.
My emotions were deadened as the feeling of failure continued to overwhelm me. It was reminiscent of sexual failure, of feeling completely frustrated and left “high and dry.” It was a god-awful horrible feeling. I began to shake. I had been unable to purge in any way, shape or form. There were no tears, vomiting or diarrhea. I realized that I was incredibly adept at blocking pain.
With that thought, I suddenly started to reframe my thinking in a more loving way.
My power of control was truly amazing, even though it unfortunately didn’t allow for any pleasure. It was what had enabled me to survive grief and to go on living. My coping technique had saved me. But as the Shaman said in the beginning, humans tended to follow “habits of thought,” even when it no longer served them.
I celebrated my strength and reminded myself how I had healed from grief over Jason’s death. Also, I had most definitely experienced tremendous joy from my music and songs. My spiritual awakening was a direct result of those things.
I decided that perhaps God hadn’t come to my rescue because I didn’t really need any help!
It was after 3 a.m. and the Shaman told me he was leaving the ceremony to go to sleep. I asked him if I could just give up and go to sleep, too. I was relieved when he said I could.
He said I was allowed to use a couch instead of the small mat I had brought to sleep upon the floor.
I knew I was dehydrated. I felt weak and helpless and could barely stand up. Exhilarated people were whispering nearby and whenever someone came near me, I felt their pity. It was clear that everyone felt sorry for me.
My friend came to help me get to the couch. We both walked slowly toward the living room and kept running into chairs in the darkness.
I asked her for some water, and she brought me a glass. As I settled upon the couch, the dizzying sensations continued to mount again. I realized my bucket was still next to my lawn chair in the other room and asked her to please bring it to me.
One of the funniest moments happened when she came back and handed me someone else’s bucket with vomit in it. If that didn’t make me want to throw up, then I knew for sure I had a cast iron stomach!
She and I both laughed when I groaned and told her it wasn’t mine.
This time, she returned with my empty bucket, but told me she couldn’t help me anymore. It was because she was in tremendous discomfort; she said this particular ceremony had traumatized her.
She choked back tears as she apologized for my awful experience. I believed her and was concerned for her, as well.
I was alone on the sofa and felt better lying down. It seemed like the worst was over. I made sure to be on my side so if I did vomit, I wouldn’t aspirate. That was definitely a real concern the Shaman had mentioned. We were not allowed to lie down during the ceremony.
I tried to doze, but it was difficult because I heard other people whispering about their incredible experiences. I began shivering and realized that my blanket was still in the other room next to my lawn chair. It was a thousand miles away as far as I was concerned; because there was no way I could get there.
I drifted in and out of sleep, and was certain I had outlasted the medicine’s effect after over eight hours of hell.
But it wasn’t over yet . . .
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© 2013 by Judy Unger http://www.myjourneysinsight.com. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Judy Unger with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.
