I've been absent recently. Not much time to stick around, as my journey through Peru has been quite dynamic. A couple of days ago, following a several days long dieting I finally got the guts to do ayahuasca. The Sacred Valley felt like a good place to do it.
As soon as I found myself in the mountain cabin where the ceremony would be held, I was enveloped in a thick blanket of doubtfulness that I want to proceed with it. A simple mud hut with one mattress on the ground and a fireplace in the middle. It was somewhat equipped for ceremonies, a few of which had been already held there. However, the place seemed too primitive and devoid of almost all comfort. The lack of a chimney or adequate airflow also meant the space was thick with smoke from the still developing fire. I was really on the back foot and was ready to tell them that I don't want to do it. But then I was offered to be blown rapé by the translator (Joe) to clear my mind and settle on how I feel about it.
He knelt before me, blowpipe loaded with a generous amount of jungle rapé. A few prayers were murmured above it before it was shot up my left nostril. Now, I've done rapé almost daily for the last month and a bit, but only in small, therapeutic quantities. The amount of powder that nestled itself in my sinuses was overwhelming for the first 30 seconds. It felt like a shot glass worth of ignited napalm was poured in my nose. The painful sensation spread to my forehead, but before I had time to process it, the other nostril followed with the same quantity of medicine. In a minute my entire body was buzzing and warming up intensely. For 15 minutes I couldn't even walk normally, it was so strong. I felt a very powerful connection with nature, and reached deep to ask if I should do it. I didn't receive a direct answer, but there were no red flags risen anywhere, and it was already pretty dark outside, so I decided I'll do it.
The ceremonial space was already mostly prepared, with all the tools of the shaman (Beto) laid on a colorful blanket next to the fire pit. There were some 10 candles lit inside the hut giving it a very warm and sacred ambience. We sat in a circle and shared our intentions for this journey, mine naturally being a direction to deal with my speech impediment. A short breathing session followed, and then an icaro was sang above the container of ayahuasca that was on the blanket. At around 8pm I drank my first cup of yagé. Taste-wise, it resembled a wine that had gone slightly bad - nowhere near as bad as I've heard people claim it tastes. Beto and Joe also drank one cup each. Then we fell in silence waiting for the onset. At around the 25 minute mark Joe purged. Beto immediately grabbed his guitar and began playing and singing a beautiful song in Spanish. But there were no effects for me. 40 minutes after the start, Joe had purged twice more and was already going deep, but I was still left in the dry. A second cup of yagé found its way in my shaky hands. I asked the medicine to reach out to me and help me again. 25 minutes later - still nothing. Then the third and final cup sloshed down my system. My dream amethyst crystal sat in my lap compassionately observing my actions. It was shortly after that when it all began.
Throughout the entire experience there were no geometric or any other explicit visuals of the type one expects with entheogens. The visions I got were more akin to ketamine visions - unbelievably abstract, odd, and seemingly unconnected. They were a complex fractal augmentation of my imagination, and stretched as far as I would let them stretch. The peculiar thing about it all was that it worked in waves. When the intensity wave first hit me, I started feeling my entire body being crushed by some force. Breathing became a struggle, as a weight on my chest increased. Extreme nausea was surging, but the purge wasn't coming. I could feel the medicine scraping my entire body's energy deposits and holding on to all the bad stuff in my stomach. The sensation was, to put it very mildly, suffering.
Each intensity wave persisted for about an hour or so. Following those, there was a brief period of absolute tranquility and warmth when I could feel the presence of the DMT. I used those rare moments to sit outside beneath the Sacred Valley night sky and gaze at the silhouettes of the grand mountains ahead, as well as the millions of visible stars. I wept in gratitude for being given this moment of sanity, and I thanked for everything and everyone in my life. Just as I was starting to enjoy it, a new surge of intensity invited itself over. This time it was even worse than the first one. Then one more wave of calmness, and here came the final struggle.
The medicine was so strong at this point I didn't feel like I was on ayahuasca, but rather on a very large amount of alcohol. I was completely unable to focus my vision on anything, and my stomach felt like I was going to die. I was barely able to breathe at this point, taking frantic gasps of air underneath the excruciating weight on my chest. I was sweating in the night chill. Over and over again a begged the medicine to stop torturing me, and I kept realizing my cries were going to be left unanswered, as my numerous questions were. They said ask the medicine, and she'll tell you. But all I got was the comforting trickle of the Urubamba in the distance - nothing else. At times the intensity increased to such dramatic levels that it even got a tinge of evilness to it. Almost like the medicine was enjoying putting me through this visionless physical torture.
I know very well that surrendering to the process is the right way to do it. I've learned as much with my ketamine experiences, where resistance is the worst thing you can do. But something about the current situation was very different. Whenever I tried to surrender in my worst moments, I was forcefully thrusted into resistance, only to be shown again and again that resistance is futile and is doing much more harm than good. But I wasn't allowed to surrender. The medicine made me struggle, and in turn suffer. It was as if she was testing me if I'm really dedicated to working with her in the future or not. I didn't ask for the shaman's help at any point in time, because I wanted to deal with it alone. I wanted to face her alone and show her she can torture me, but I would survive in the end.
After an hour of this mindless resistance, heavy breathing, and battle to retain consciousness, I finally felt the purge approaching. It felt like there was a snake in my stomach that was moving around faster and faster, to the point where it told me it wants to go out. And so I let it. To call this purge intense would be a major understatement. Joe had purged at least 15 times by now, two cups of yagé in. I was 3 cups in, and it took more than 6 hours for the purge to finally come. It was so intense I nearly fainted. Beto quickly popped next to me with a spray bottle with some aromatic water and a shamanic rattle and started to cleanse the area around me. In a few minutes of violent retching I was done. All of the bad stuff was finally gone. It seemed the medicine had finally showed mercy, as this was the last wave of intensity of this journey. I spend the rest of my time there predominantly in my hammock, gazing at the night sky and recuperating from this ordeal.
Even after all the suffering I went through, I feel very good. I don't hold a grudge against the medicine, because I know it does to you what needs to be done to you at the moment, regardless if you comprehend it or find any meaning behind it. I am oblivious as to why I had to go through this all, but I trust it had to happen. Needless to say, when you spend 3 hours begging the medicine to show mercy, you aren't in a hurry to go back there again. For now I need to integrate the experience and explore the changes it brings in the future. I'm infinitely humbled by it all. It will take a great deal of courage to drink yagé in the future, but then again - working with plant medicine is the very symbol of courage in and of itself.
I'm hopeful future ceremonies will be gentler on me.
With gratitude,
Nydex
