Mama Ayahuasca

Mama Ayahuasca shows me why I have so many stories.  They're not all happy or sad or funny or even interesting stories, but I have a lot of them.  She explains to me that I am not defined by them.  That I have no control over the bad things that I've seen or been through and to just let these demons go to cast their shadows elsewhere.

She transmits to me what it feels like to be loved in the most pure sense and also to know that I am capable of sharing that feeling with others.  She shows me where to find that love when I feel like I don't have enough of my own to give. 

It's like having a conversation with myself, but faster and not in my own voice.  As soon as I think of something to ask, the response is right there.  The space between question and answer is tightened so closely that sometimes I'm not sure which happened first.  These words aren't like they are in our world.  They have mass and shape, they're tangible things.  And this is how I speak to Mama Ayahuasca.

I feel truly alone under the medicine.  It's just me and Her.  Except I am her, at least for the time being, and it is hard to wrap my brain around that.  I try and absorb as much of this world as I can.  Remember this, I tell myself, you're gonna want to explain this on paper and work this out later.  And then these words take over my brain, ingredients in this psychadelic soup that's moving through my body from my stomach to my head.  It's all I can see.

Except I can't see.  I'm blindfolded and still in my sleeping bag.  There are no visuals for me, at least there haven't been yet.  I ask Ayahuasca why I don't experience the beautiful fractals and lights that so many other people had described in their ceremonies.  And she tells me why.

Everything is connected.

She pulls the ocean from my guts and throws me onto dry land where I discover that the gut blob of depression, anxiety, and shame is gone.  I have to learn to live again without it.  (I'm still learning.  It is a process.)  I have this empty void where the blob used to be and suddenly I feel very delicate.  I am so happy and full of gratitude, but I worry that the gut blob will suddenly reappear at any second, that this was all just wishful thinking.

So Aya calls me back three weeks later, this time for Insight.  She showed me in my first ceremony what my purpose on Earth is.  Now she shows me my work.  The hard part.  The things I must suffer through in order to fulfill my potential.  She pulls a writhing black ball of  centipedes and spiders from my chest and clears a direct path to my heart, and from there she proceeds to break it.  I want to think about something else, and She gently pulls my chin back to face the things that I will have to accept about my life.   She tells me to look to Sagan.  To look at the stars.  I woke up from this ceremony not delicate at all.  I feel stronger and more grounded. 



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There are so many stories, so many things in my everyday life now, that I need to write out and process.  Some of them, they are so bizarre, I couldn't make them up if I wanted to.  I am finally down to working just one job, and I apologize if it seems like  I've been blowing you off or avoiding you.  It's not the case.  I've been trying to find balance, and I am really hoping that I've created a little bit for now.   I am returning to Ceremony next month, and I am already nervous and excited.