DISCLAIMER: Ayahuasca contains DMT which is an illegal substance in many countries. So consider carefully before breaking the law, because it’s naughty and the law is something you should always respect. After all, it’s illegal to break the law! That said, it is legal in many countries, like Italy, Brazil, Ecuador, Peru, Colombia, Costa Rica and in certain religious settings the United States. I had my experience in Spain, where it’s controlled and not unequivocally illegal.
There is a good reason Ayahuasca may be illegal in your country, even though it is an ancient old vine from the Amazon that is used world-wide as a means to connect with the deceased and seek help for various problems like anxiety, panic attacks, depression, addictions and numerous stress-related diseases. It’s nothing to take lightly and certainly not a recreational drug. It is plant medicine.
Whatever you do, I am not responsible if you decide to seek help from illegal substances.
Some or all names in this blog are changed for privacy.
The Explosion: “I’m not a fucking Jesus”
…and I dove in the bottomless pit of the bucket, face first only to notice it’s exactly the size of my head, not letting me enter deeper but I didn’t care I couldn’t get inside since now I had to go and no metal could stop me from pouring all the bottled-up feelings mercilessly to the bucket from the bottom of my stomach. The bucket was like a giant canyon, sucking out my bowels with full-power.
And I complied. A giant bow of slime poured from the tip of my toenails, and I was shouting and murmuring into the metallic echo chamber making the whole ceremony room vibrate from the holy union of infinite anger and sorrow of more than 30 years in the making.
I was entering the void full of burning rage against nothing specific, yet I was destined to set things straight once and for all. The calm music gave way to my roaring, making the resonance of my body ring in my ears and in the universal consciousness even if I was in my own bullet proof bubble, battling against unidentified force. This was me paying back everything it had done to me, using all my strength to contract my body head to toes only to fall flat on my stomach like a sloth. Squirming to get up I noticed I am not controlling my movements, my arms or my neck.
“Don’t fight” Adi said, “just let it go, let it take over. You are not in control.” All Adi said to me was something I had discovered just minutes ago myself, making me crack up: “HAH, Yeah. No shit?” The fact that I was seemingly possessed was as perfect a moment as any for taking the piss at my guardian angel. Yeah, I am such a… Joker? Is that it? Hmmm… That Joker thing from the night before started to make sense in a really twisted manner. Hell, what else is new?
Things started to click but this was not the time for self-analysis. Slurs of slime was pouring from my nose like violently cascading waterfall, all the while I did my best to talk it out.
Good luck with that, big boy! My actions were taken over by Mother Aya, including everything that came out of my mouth. And nothing but hissing, blowing, slime-filled rattling, gurgling, minute long burps were pouring out despite my trying to speak in complete sentences.
This is probably the most annoying thing being a baby, I thought. All the pampering and endless breast suckling can’t make up for the nuisance of having something important to say yet nothing of importance coming out. Maybe it’s got something to do with diapers: wear them and no one takes you seriously. Same goes to elderlies. I felt sorry for them, too.
But here I was, becoming the baby. Only incomprehensible bellowing came out every time I tried to say something. One moment I sounded like a kid imitating a race car, salivating through vibrating lips. Next moment I sounded like a bear and a werewolf fighting for their lives on giant whoopee-cushion, all the while I was trying to make sense of the moment for no avail.
But I wasn’t going without a fight. I made all the effort to push myself off the ground like the strong man I am, but quickly realised again all the struggle was redundant. There was nothing I could do. I lied on the mattress face down, my muscles drained and I found myself immobile, stripped off the right to decide my next move or burst of bodily liquids, though I was perfectly aware of what was happening. Hah, Aya can kill my body, but my super-ego was still standing!
Eventually came the moment when I could form some words of my own again: “Looks like I am not driving anymore,” I said, bursting into shameless laughter of my own discovery of my power to finally give up, something I was hoping for so long.
Most of all I was worried that my tantrum would disturb my friends, but as soon as I realised how stupid a thought that is, I quickly laughed it off. It wasn’t for me to decide if I make noises or not, not anymore. Take that, all of you. You listen to me!
I was not in charge and felt sorry about that.
Oh, the control freak was still there? Show him the door, please.
Regaining some strength again, I was four-wheeling and again head deep in the bucket which had now taken the shape of a hexagon. Every time I mega-burped, my guide Adi enhanced it by gently pushing along my spine and stomach for more of anger covered deep in my system. I didn’t know a human being carries so much slime in him. This lasted for at least an hour, maybe two, before I could finally make sense of the music again.
The energy in the room was tangible, all eyes were on me, I felt that everyone was paying more or less their full attention to my primitive howling and my ever shifting moods. It didn’t make any difference whether I tried to moderate myself or not. I was possessed. And it felt amazing! Like a huge boulder lifted off my chest. I knew now that the violent spasms, the pulling of teeth and the squirming the night before were all a preparation for this exact moment, warming me up for the fight I was destined to lose.
I already thought I was slowly coming to, when the song Blessed we are started playing in the background, yanking me back to the black hole of personal miseries. The guides gathered around me, singing songs and playing drums, stroking my hair and soothing me, making me even more moved by the undeserved attention I was getting just for being me, the baby.
The guides at Om-mij are real virtuosos. As if they were always one move ahead of me, observing my emotions before they even showed, doing just the right thing. As I was in a baby-like helplessness state, they changed guard whenever they saw necessary, switching the energy around me with a push of a button. Each of them have their own character they represent to me:
Adi, my personal angel, is a real gentleman. He is the “best man,” who is there for you no matter what and is not afraid to tell you the truth no matter how ugly it is. When he left, Suze came to hold my hand and to look after me, soothing me instantly, for she is like the Mother Nature herself, not a single fraudulent hair in her. Klaudia is the all-reliable, no-nonsense manager-type. She takes care of everything, firmly and friendly as she is. Floris, the “little brother” is the prankster, who brings nothing but joy around him. And Gerben, whose name I never learned to pronounce so I called him the Gentle Giant for that’s who he is. He is the “big brother,” who not only can lift you off the ground but also a 200 kg barbell anytime, with one hand. If I didn’t know he was the most easy-going, loveable man on the planet, I would have placed him and his tattoo-laden frame in front of a back-alley strip club, or as a hitman for the mob. But here he was, handing out blankets for those who were cold, hugging the needy, securing our way to the toilet and taking care of our overall well-being.
“Remember why you’re here for,” sang the voice in the speaker, making me immediately deny what I thought she meant by that. “I am not a fucking Jesus,” I said but not a word came out, only gibberish and some more slime.
But I could figure out where this notion came from.
In ceremonies, when someone goes through tough times, feelings are silently shared and energy gathers to the one who needs it the most. So far I’ve been persuaded to think my job in life is to take care of everyone’s problems and in the process neglect my own needs. I would be a carrier and a healer who seeks troubled souls, so I could hide from my own problems and shortcomings like a pretender I am.
I knew this pattern had to stop, because if I continue like this, I would soon start to spread more misery than help. I was already becoming toxic waste no one wants to look for help. This is why I am no Jesus. Indeed, I’m not even his foster-father Joseph, that gullible cuckold.
Though at this time all eyes in the room were on me and the aimless anger and suffering I had clogged inside. Laying there, head buried in the bucket, I was well aware that this was all a necessary procedure. Little by little the layers of grudge were wiped away and dumped into the bucket in front of me, waiting to be disposed of. If my organs weren’t tightly joined together by veins and nerves, I would have had to pick them up from the floor. What a nasty image.
And then Gerben the Giant came sitting next to me, and I just couldn’t hold it in. I started to giggle at the ridiculous scene we just had witnessed together, spreading the sigh of relief around the room as my tantrum was slowly turning into sweet slumber. Genuine laughter is so contagious. The relieving sensation made me laugh more and more, transmitting the feeling of happiness to others, whose laughter made it ever more impossible to cut it off.
Finally, as the ceremony was called to an end, I heard people applauding, even cheering spontaneously. Was this for me? For the fake baby Jesus Joker?
Whatever was the real reason for each and everyone’s applause is of little importance. To me, at the moment, it felt we were all applauding for me and my audible efforts with the bucket, my seemingly never-ending battle with invisible forces of anger and regret that eventually fell off my chest. One participant even shouted: “you went deep my friend,” causing another burst of collective laughter.
My dear friend Jan came to hug me, complimenting on my hard work, and all I could do was burst into tears of joy, for his warm care was something only a true friend like him can offer. I was so grateful to have him there.
I was still in the process, slightly ashamed of my one-man-show, and in a moment flat on my back, giggling myself to sleep for another hour or two.
All this had made my ceremony worthwhile, of course, but here is the biggest lesson to take home: this ceremony was the first and only time I really felt, deep down in my heart and soul with no fakery and pretending, that people were paying attention to me genuinely, caring for me and cheering for something I had done nothing for. Except, of course, being just me and letting completely go, letting over, moving from the driver’s seat, not forcing or pretending anything, not putting my brain or muscles into work. And all the while I had this fear that I am disturbing everyone, drawing undeserved attention to my problems thus making a fool of myself.
Indeed, nothing of this magnitude would ever have happened had I been on the driver’s seat and fully controlling the outcome, making sure to stick to being in the middle of the road. This lesson I will carry in my heart for all my days to come.
Now that I had purged, my hopes for the last ceremony were amped up.
It didn’t let me down this time either.
Go to part 6.