In the heart of mystery, in the depths of the unknown, and somewhere between cow patties and coyote calls, I embarked on my first journey into the sacred world of ayahuasca. The whole thing was so hush-hush that even leaving a voicemail felt like a secret handshake with a secret society. At first, I thought the answering machine was challenging me to a whistling duel, but eventually, I got the hang of it.
After some clandestine message exchanges, I was armed with instructions, a date, and a shopping list of things to bring. However, the one thing conspicuously absent from this treasure trove of knowledge was the location. Perhaps they thought it was all part of the mystique, like some cosmic game of hide and seek. So, there I was, waiting in suspense, feeling like I’d accidentally signed up for Grandmother Aya’s twisted version of a surprise party.
I had heard the rumors, the tales of Ayahuasca’s brutal initiation rites. The ones that involved a descent into the fiery abyss, a cosmic disassembly, and then a return with profound revelations. To put it mildly, I was nervous. So, I did what any rational person would do: I called a friend who’d been to nine of these shindigs.
She reassured me that I had it all wrong. Grandmother Aya, as she put it, was like a stern but loving grandma who’d give you a dose of truth serum. Armed with this comforting thought, the day of the ceremony finally arrived, with two brave friends in tow, and we still had no idea where we were headed.
Then, like a beacon of hope in the desert of uncertainty, our phones pinged. We had a map, a video, and a prayer. We set off, a mix of excitement, fear, and optimism, like explorers off to find a mythical treasure deep in the rugged ranch country.
We followed a pickup truck, off-roaded through dirt fields, and finally arrived at what can only be described as a rustic cowboy’s paradise. There was dirt, cow patties, and a roaring fire in the blazing heat. It wasn’t exactly the luxurious spa day I’d envisioned. It was more of a South Texas Burning Man.
Once I’d cleared a space for my mat (and the all-important vomit bucket), I laid back and gazed up at the stars through the limbs of a tree. The ambiance was set with the calls of locusts and coyotes serenading us, while gentle music played in the background.
After what felt like an eternity of people arriving and getting settled, the shaman finally addressed the 45 or so participants. We introduced ourselves and declared our intentions, receiving a beautiful blessing in return. Then, it was time for the main event: the medicine.
The shaman meticulously blessed each cup, watching as we drank. I held mine close to my heart, forging a connection with Grandmother Aya. I asked her to work her magic, to heal what needed healing, and cleanse what needed cleansing. It was a vague intention, but it felt right.
As I lay back on my mat, surrounded by the symphony of fellow participants purging all around me, I started to wonder if this was a non-event. Had I made a big fuss about nothing? But the shaman wasn’t done; he offered another dose.
I decided to give it another go. I downed the brew with newfound confidence. Soon after, with my eyes closed, I saw faces, unfamiliar but oddly significant. They danced at the periphery of my vision, like cosmic party crashers.
At one point, I found myself inside a dark cabinet, peering out at a man peering in at me. It was like playing hide and seek in the cosmic realm. Then, Picasso-esque characters wandered by, their movements as jerky as a scratched record.
But then, a calm presence enveloped me, and I saw a heartbeat. It was a reminder that I was right where I needed to be.
As the night wore on, my friends took another dose, but I declined. I was content, basking in the cosmic symphony above me, feeling at peace and connected to the universe.
When I quietly asked Grandmother Aya why she hadn’t shown herself to me, her answer was clear: she had been the one who left me the rainbow colored heartbeat. She told me there were so many people there who needed so much help and that I was fine, that I was on my rightful path and that I was her little helper. This made me feel very accepted as a member, no matter how small, of a great movement of healing that is sweeping the globe.
As the sun peeked over the horizon, the shaman gathered us around the fire for the ceremony’s closure. He took a mouthful of brew and, in a mesmerizing display of artistry, spewed it in a graceful arc, sealing our connection with the Grandmother.
And there, amidst the cow patties and cosmic visions, I learned that sometimes, you have to venture into the unknown to find the most unexpected treasures of all: the peace within and the magic of Grandmother Aya.
Contact me for preparation instructions, ketamine dosing or integration sessions for any psychedelic experience, current or from the past. I am happy to help. Apparently, it is my destiny, approved of by Grandmother Aya.