Inside a Love Triangle: Awakening through Iboga to a Conscious Relationship
Navigating the Twists of Love and Co-commitment Through the Clarity of Iboga
Somehow, I landed in a love triangle: the man who I love deeply, and who loves me just as much, is emotionally attached to another woman.
When the truth emerged, I was devastated. I couldn’t believe this was happening to me, to us. I was also intensely aware of how I had contributed to the situation. The emotional gap I had established in the months leading to their growing closeness was a part of this scenario. All was done with the best intentions, aiming to avoid repeating the errors of our previous relationship. It had not been a healthy one, and I had no desire to relive it. So I declared that we were not in a relationship but were conducting an experiment to see if a different kind of bond was feasible between us.
He took my words literally.
But, the hurt I felt was more profound. Relationships have always been a struggle for both of us. We never really felt that we could be ourselves or voice our truth when in a relationship. It seemed like being in a relationship required us to hold back to prevent causing pain to the other person, or worse, end up losing them.
So we hid. I didn’t tell the truth, the full truth of how I want to live my life. I felt that I had to compromise, that just being me is such a complicated, difficult, messy, extreme, you name it case, that no man would possibly love me or be able to contain me. I felt that I needed to choose between being myself and being loved.
I was scared to confess, even to myself, what I truly desired and what I didn’t. I was worried that doing so would make me seem too demanding or needy. So, I hid myself, and I hid so effectively that parts of me became hidden from myself too.
I feared saying no to him, not being at his disposal, thinking that my constant availability was the only reason my partner stayed with me. If I wasn’t, I feared he would leave me for someone with more time, energy, and attention to offer.
I expected him to offer love and honesty, but the harsh truth was, I wasn’t showing myself that same love, and I definitely wasn’t being completely honest with him or myself. I was like a beggar — desperate for love from elsewhere, serving myself up on a silver platter, all while an inner voice kept insisting that I was unworthy of love.
And I was also projecting all my dissatisfaction with my life onto him. Everything he did wasn’t good enough, and even when I didn’t say it out loud — I could see my own unfairness, my mind was constantly judging him, and this judgement was clearly reflected in my energy and body language.But honestly, all those things I was criticizing him for were mirrors of my own unmet needs, echoes of my own feeling of being trapped in a life that wasn’t nurturing my wellbeing.
After learning about his relationship, it felt like I was being crushed under a massive weight. My entire being disintegrated, burning in what felt like hellfire. In the heart of this torment, came an advice: to stop pursuing the “why” and stay with the pain, the confusion. To hold myself with compassion, but let myself feel the consequences of my actions.
Well-intended actions they were, but with such a bitter outcome. As they say, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions, right?
I wish I could say that I was brave, managing to contain that pain and confusion with elegance and grace. I wasn’t. The intensity was such that it morphed into anger and then hate. So much hate… I was projecting my pain outward onto him.
But I did my best to stay with the anger and the hate, doing nothing. Just feeling how it was burning me inside. And then it shifted — emotions always do. I felt the pain again and the thoughts that accompanied it, thoughts urging me to end it all and stop the suffering.
Thought forms are amazingly powerful entities. The internal voice and the mental imagery are such powerful make-believe because they don’t come alone. The painful experience of a thought is in the body, in the emotions, and the physical sensations that come with it. The tightening of the throat, the sharp intense pain in the heart area, the suffocating feeling — these are all very real and very hard to bear. We cower and push them away, we distract ourselves, we do everything in our power to not feel what is to be felt.
The more we push them away and try to avoid them, the more power they gain over us. Their grip is so strong; it’s like they have lives of their own! Who in their right mind would sit and brood over a painful thought, over and over, suffering while desperately trying not to suffer? It’s insane and makes no sense. The more you try to stop thinking that painful thought, the more you tell yourself to stop it, to let it go, the stronger its grip on you becomes.
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We went to South Africa, something we had planned for a long time. We were there for a deep immersion, working with a plant medicine originating from the continent — iboga. We went to meet Bwiti, the God of Death.
I had met him two times before, and during these previous encounters, I learned to practice equanimity. A deceptively simple practice: when the entities, visions, emotions present themselves, see them, acknowledge them, but don’t engage with them. Instead, do nothing and move on: “I see you. So what that you’re here? Whatever. You can stay or disappear; it’s all fine with me, but I’m moving on.”
But I couldn’t fully understand the practice during the first two times. I thought that this “So what? Whatever” mantra was a spell that would make them disappear forever.
And to some extent, it did. I remember the kinds of thoughts that were attacking me during the first ceremony last year (literally, like planes or angry birds coming at me at full speed) — all my judgments, all the mean things that my mind was saying about the people around, all the sarcastic remarks that made me feel so much shame about my mind. After the ceremony, they were gone. Or at least, they didn’t bother me anymore, they were not strong enough to hijack the spotlight of my attention.
And yet, during the second ceremony, they were there again, laughing at me and my attempts to make them disappear with my simple mantra. As if I actually had any power over them! They made it abundantly clear that I had no control, and they were there to stay.
There’s a story I heard about an old man and his nephew. The old man tells a tale of two wolves: ‘We all have two wolves inside,’ he said. ‘A black one and a white one. And they are always fighting.’ ‘Which one wins?’ asked the nephew. ‘The one that you feed,’ replied the old man.
The odd part of non-doing is that there still is doing. Merely recognizing what’s happening and not attempting to alter anything about it starves these entities. When you don’t nourish something, it withers away. But if you find yourself judging, longing for things to be other than they are, desiring your thoughts and feelings to be different, then you’re doing something different . You’re supplying these entities with the sustenance they need to control you.
I entered my first ceremony in South Africa feeling completely open, like a hurricane had ravaged my psyche and torn up the landscape, pulling trees from the ground, exposing river beds, and crushing mountains. I asked Bwiti, the God of Death, to bring to the surface all those beliefs I had about myself, that I was unworthy, that I was unlovable, that I was destined to be alone, so I could practice non-doing. So I could practice letting them die.
Don’t get me wrong — having such a goal, unless approached with total honesty and a readiness to truly do the work and endure the pain, isn’t something to mess with. But I was all in, ready to face the truth and to understand the countless ways I was crafting my own suffering.
It’s funny how thought forms work. When we believe them and what they are saying, they make their way into our lives. I could see it so clearly, how the beliefs I’d gathered over time had molded my life and become my reality: Once again, I was not chosen, alone, stuck in a life that wasn’t bringing me joy.
And so, I practiced, in a calm, beautiful place that reminded me of a garden with blooming cherry trees. Everything that came up, I looked at it, acknowledged it with a simple “Ah, I see you,” and then I didn’t do anything about it. “So what if you’re here? Whatever. Stay or leave, it’s all good with me, I’m moving on.” And with that, I just said goodbye and turned away, continuing on until the next thing came along.
The day after the ceremony, my mind was clear and empty, like the blue sky. I could see a few clouds drifting by. Where before my mind felt like a snow globe aggressively shaken by a child, with all the snowflakes whirling around, now it seemed more like a subtle motion, with some flakes gently rising above the snow bed and floating softly as I observed them, before finally settling back down.
And I was at peace, filled with love, gratitude, and bliss.
In the quiet nights that followed, I’d wake up when the house was still asleep. Laying in bed, I’d just rest in myself. Then the insights would come. Not by forcing my brain to think hard or solve anything, but more like the puzzle pieces just falling into their places without effort. I understood my truth. I knew the answers to my basic questions: Why do I even want a relationship? What should it feel like? What are my needs in a relationship, the ones I pushed down or couldn’t even admit to myself?
Then came the clear understanding of the love I feel for this man. The love that was there all along, beneath the pain, or better said, the reason for the the pain.
And as the daylight came, I could finally see him clearly, free from the filters and judgments that once clouded my view. I began to see him for who he truly is, and also who he is not. And I could connect with him differently without the need to convince him of anything. I simply spoke my truth and acknowledged my feelings.
And then, I found that I could now listen to his truth, seeing the situation as it truly was, free from the emotional distress I used to feel. And if for a moment I “forgot”, the God of Death made certain to show me again, helping me see, acknowledge, and not fool myself.
Three weeks in South Africa and two ceremonies later, the circumstances had dramatically shifted. We mended all that required healing about our past relationship. I laid bare my truth regarding my life and relationships in general. I acknowledged the fear that had previously led me to shield my heart and refrain from fully expressing my love for him.I made a conscious choice for him and this choice was made with the knowledge that upon returning home, he would explore a possible future with the another woman. My decision was independent of his choice because I knew it represented my truth. To him, I extended an invitation; he was free to take it or leave it.
As I’m writing this, they’re together, re-establishing their connection, figuring out where they stand and what they could be to each other. The love I feel is still there, as is the insecurity and the clenching feeling in my chest. I see these feelings, I acknowledge them. So what? Whatever. It’s okay for them to be there; it’s a part of being human. If I were to feel nothing, that would be a concern because it would tell a completely different story.
I pray for her, wishing that she finds clarity, peace, her own knowing and truth. I wish her all the best, and I’m grateful for her being in our lives. Her presence initiated a process that led to my deeper understanding and discovery of my truth. And so, I will forever be thankful to her.
I also pray for him, that he can make a choice, a conscious choice, that he can look beyond the stories of his mind and the fear and genuinely choose for himself. Not to please me or her, not out of fear of hurting either of us, but for his own sake. Because that decision, whatever it may be, I will respect.
I am at peace with the situation because I understand that even if she were to step back from this triangle, even if she didn’t exist at all, the decision he needs to make is to be in a relationship with me in a way that’s completely different from what he’s been accustomed to. I invite him to a life where we can wholly be ourselves while being in a relationship, where we share emotional monogamy and commitment to each other and our life together, where we continue to choose each other, regardless of distractions.
Because such distractions, appearing in the form of someone else who is more intriguing, more appealing, or simply entirely different from us, are just as much a challenge as the unpleasant, shameful, or irritating thoughts we encounter. The spiritual practice of non-doing applies to them as well: “Ah, I see you, so what that you are here? Whatever.”
It’s from this practice that complete and blind trust in each other is born. And when such trust exists, everything becomes possible; all the exploration, all the experiences. We can fully be ourselves and grant ourselves all the freedom we need. Because at the end of the day, we know we’re coming back to each other, choosing each other, again and again.
I can’t take all the credit for the insights on thought forms and the practice of equanimity and non-doing. At this point, I want to give credit to the iboga practitioner who shared his wisdom and the process for conducting the ceremony. I am forever grateful for the guidance and the hospitality shown to us. Bassé.
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