Tripping on Ayahuasca — Part One

It is easy to see how an individual honeybee functions as part of its larger community. Each bee plays a role in the survival of its hive, collecting nectar or defending the hive from aggression. It also plays a role in the functioning of the flowering plant world by helping out with pollination services. When something is both complete on its own (whole) as well as being a member (part) of a larger whole, we call it a holon.

Humans, like honeybees, are holons. We have individual identities. At the same, we time function as parts of larger wholes. We are parts of romantic relationships, parts of a family as well as of a community. We belong to a nation, to a race, to life on earth, and so on, out to the final whole, which is the universe.

I chose to ingest ayahuasca in hopes of restoring some of my holonic identity.

Increasingly modern “civilization” puts more emphasis on our roles as individuals, diminishing our vital identities as parts of larger wholes. All too often, I lose sight of my role as part of a whole. When taken to its extreme, this one-sided tendency becomes pathological — egocentrism, narcissism trending in the worst cases, towards socio-pathology. Notice recent examples coming out of Washington, D.C.

I have chosen to take an indigenous/spiritual approach because “setting” plays an important part in the impact of plant medicines. Working with a shaman in the Amazonian rain forest of Peru, I partook in seven days of ceremony and ritual, aided by tea from the ayahuasca vine.

For many people drinking ayahuasca tea and participating in traditional ceremonies has a powerful healing effect, but not before revealing ugly, often frightening truths. I was more than a little nervous about what ayahuasca would reveal to me. That fear came, no doubt, from my ego wanting to maintain managerial control. My strategy for pushing through the darkness was to ask my shadow: “what are you here to teach me?”

Before beginning my first ceremony, the shaman asked that I write out my intentions for doing the ceremony. My list was long:

· To learn to give, and to receive, unconditional love;

· To see God (the One) in all things (the many) and at all times (the Eternal Present Moment);

· To get beyond the nightmare of separation;

· To see through the illusion of limitation;

· To dissolve my encrusted ego;

· To get beyond my reactivity when triggered;

· To feel grateful, even for that which hurts;

· To be generous, even when afraid of scarcity;

· To be fully in love with life;

· To accept what is;

· To forgive myself and others, even those I perceived to be my enemies;

· To have compassion for those who suffer and for those who cause suffering;

· To laugh in the face of tragedy;

· To be humble when acclaimed and strong when humiliated;

· To have the wisdom to know “this too shall pass”;

· To return to my family more myself than ever.

Before beginning the first of five ceremonies, my fellow travelers and I had to agree to a set of rules: non-violence; no judgment of self or others; no sex during or for three days after the ceremony process ended; no drugs or alcohol; off the Amazonian hiking trails before 4:30 pm; quiet except for purging; respect the crystal altar; fasting — no food after the 12:30 lunch until the next morning at breakfast (8AM); no water during the ceremony period from 6:30 until 10PM)

Around 6:30 in the evening our three Shamans entered the ceremony hall, and within minutes, the ayahuasca ceremony had begun. With very dim lighting, our shamans cleansed the space, themselves and the tea. Then, one by one, they administered an “introductory” dose to each of the nearly 30 participants. We each had communion individually with one of the Shamans.

Shortly after returning to my seat, an Italian man to my left, threw up into his personal purge bucket. As a veteran with ayahuasca, he had been given a full dose, not the introductory one. It was more than he could keep down. Once everyone had taken his or her communion tea, the ceremony hall went dark. No lights. Within minutes, a Venezuelan man to my right yelled out: “Ayuda!” (help!) He was very vocal, almost shouting, in a space that was supposed to be quiet. One of the shamans assured us that this was normal. If we found the sounds distracting, we were to move to the altar space, and sit directly in front of Peruvian shaman Don Alberto. Listening to his Icaro (the chant song, accompanied by percussion) was key to a successful journey. I moved immediately. This music would be my guide, my Google maps, for the entire ceremony. I never returned to my original seat.

For what seemed a short time (in fact it was three hours), I listened to the Icaros, while in the background I heard my colleagues, one by one, throw up, have convulsions, and be exorcized of past traumas. It occurred to me that an ayahuasca ceremony resembles a sweat lodge in which the hot rocks are the tea itself, and each participant’s belly becomes the pit. I sat, meditating on my breath and the Icaros, experiencing very few symptoms or insights. The one revelation worthy of note had to do with my intentions. Were I to choose to go forward with this experiment (and at the time I couldn’t imagine doing this four more times!), my next intention would be one line:

• Come from my heart, not from my head!

I felt sick to my stomach but resisted the temptation to purge. “Was this to be the sum total of my ayahuasca experience?” I wondered. Suddenly, a single lantern was lit. One of the shamans announced in a booming voice: “Congratulations. Your introduction to ayahuasca ceremony is now over.” Wow, those three hours went by fast. While others seemed to have experienced dramatic revelations, I had been passed by. Perhaps I needed a bigger dose. Or perhaps, being a “healthy normal” I didn’t have that much healing to do. Whatever the case, I rose to my now shaky legs, heading back to my bungalow. Before exiting the ceremony hall, I stopped to speak with a young woman who had been seated next to me at the start. She appeared shell-shocked and I wanted to make sure she was OK. As I spoke, my sentences appeared incoherent, suggesting that, perhaps, I was still slightly under the influence. “No problem!” I thought. I would just go home and sleep it off. Our shamans assured us that we would all be normal by breakfast.

Sleep has always been my “reset” button. When depressed in college — sleep. When confused — take a nap. When emotionally triggered — flip the “ reset”. In 20 minutes, all gone. Eight solid hours of restorative sleep would make me as good as new.

With some difficulty, I did manage to fall asleep — if briefly. At mid-night I was awakened by my body rocking back and forth, accompanied by a grunting sound every 5 seconds or so. Something odd was happening. Was Mother Ayahuasca trying to wake me up? In my mind, I traveled back in time to witness my parents in the act of my conception, and then all the way back to the birth of the Universe 13+ billion years ago. Then, going forward 8 billion years, I saw the birth of Mother Earth. I felt gratitude for those events that had played important roles in my being alive at this moment. It dawned on me that my ceremony had not ended at 10, but was instead, just beginning.

First exercise: my mind penciled out a short-list of names of people close to me that I had hurt during the past half century. I longed to ask for their forgiveness, and to forgive myself. As I tried to shape the scene, I began to feel really nauseous. Racing to the bathroom, I found no purge bucket. I tore off the top of the wastebasket, just as my body shook with convulsions. I let out a terrible groan, then came a second wave of convulsions. After four of those episodes I ejected what felt like a small lizard, symbolic of an addiction that I had been carrying since youth. Once purged, my body relaxed, and I thought: “I should get back to my forgiveness scene, or better yet, go to sleep.” But the quiet voice of Mother Ayahuasca pointed out that I had fled the hall before my ceremony had ended. I was instructed to return to the hall to complete my ceremony. Only then would I be allowed to sleep. Damn! That was clear, and made some sense. I put on a t-shirt, grabbed my headlamp, and headed back to the hall.

To my surprise, the hall was now a dormitory of fellow travelers who had chosen to spend the night in the hall rather than return to their bungalows. At first it appeared that there were no mattresses available and that I would have to remain standing, or seated in a chair until my ceremony ended. Then I realized that the very first mattress, the one right in front of me, was available — just waiting for me! I lay down to get comfortable, but once again, the quiet voice instructed me: “Not so fast, Buster. You still have a lot of work to do.” No kidding! Starting at midnight I did six or seven hours of yoga, meditation, joy exercises, sit ups and push ups, not to mention hours of personal therapy. My self-described “healthy normal” diagnosis proved premature.

One important additional breakthrough came in the form of a dog. My best friend through early childhood had been an Irish setter named Casey. He was a beautiful animal and noble. He was my first master on the topic of unconditional love. But in his moment of need, I was too immature to reciprocate. He died of a broken heart on my watch. I thanked Casey for his gifts, and asked that he forgive me for my unkindness.

As day began to break, I acknowledged that I had not finished my work, but felt that I had done enough for my first day. Mother Ayahuasca agreed, and generously allowed me to sleep for an hour. On to day two! https://medium.com/@alan.wright1953/ayahuasca-the-second-and-third-ceremonies-a8d7d14e8701