Lessons from Ayahuasca
I heard about ayahuasca several years ago, after I started the first outpatient ketamine clinic in Iowa to treat refractory mental health conditions. Once I started reading about the therapeutic uses of psychedelics, I couldn’t stop. I knew I wanted to eventually have an ayahuasca experience when I had the time to travel to Central or South America to do so. If you aren’t familiar with ayahuasca, information can be found here.
Working with ketamine in a clinical setting, I saw firsthand what miracles it could perform for individuals with refractory depression and PTSD. At the time, most of my patients weren’t aware that I, too, suffered from sometimes debilitating complex-PTSD. And while ketamine seemed to be something that may be able to help me if I had the time to travel for the treatments (given it would have been illegal for me to administer them to myself since ketamine is a controlled substance), ayahuasca was something that appeared would go so much deeper into the core of what I felt was missing within me.
Nearly anyone who has experienced trauma, especially prolonged, abusive trauma, may try to describe a feeling of something missing within them — a fragmentation of self and the feeling that they are not “whole.” This was, and still is, how I feel…that there was a part of me taken and that missing piece leaves me feeling less of a person, absent from life, and generally unworthy. And, while I did spend years in therapy, even undergoing EMDR (a treatment for trauma) with very good results, that emptiness was the reason I pursued ayahuasca.
Preparation
When I scheduled the retreat, I was given a diet to follow and a guidebook to help me prepare for the experience. I read everything I could find about its ability to help with trauma, especially trauma that is decades old. I started journaling almost immediately to document my thoughts, apprehensions, and just anything that came to mind as I prepared for the trip.
A common thing I read was not to have expectations about the journey — that ayahuasca will give you what you need, not necessarily what you want. The advice in general was to set intentions for the journey. So, when I’d catch myself thinking how it would be to have this or that issue completely solved, I journaled and tried to reframe my thinking. Eventually, the only thing I truly wanted was to be shown truth.
I journaled my intentions after thinking about them for weeks:
- Be open to what I’m shown
- Have faith that my journey has purpose, even if it doesn’t make sense at the time.
- Be brave and face all that is shown to me.
- Let it play out. (I have multiple chances to learn from the medicine.)
- Be grateful for the chance to learn from ayahuasca.
That’s it — those were my intentions. Now, I was hopeful for a few things given what I’d read about others’ experiences, but I kept telling myself there were no guarantees of anything.
- I hoped to see my mother, who died when I was 16. (Many refer to the medicine as “mother ayahuasca” and describe a maternal presence with consuming.)
- I hoped to learn how to relate to my siblings, with whom I’m not close.
- I hoped to see my father, who died when I was 25.
- I hoped to see my true potential.
- I hoped to feel unconditional love.
- I hoped to be shown my true self — complete with all those missing parts finally intact.
- I hoped to learn how to stay consistent with my creativity.
However, these were truly no stronger than a “fingers crossed” as I didn’t want to be disappointed with the experience. I genuinely focused on my intentions to simply be open to all that is given to me.
The First Ceremony
When I entered the area where the first ceremony (the drinking of ayahuasca) was to be held, I immediately became emotional. I was just so ready — to heal my broken parts, to feel whole, to receive the “10 years of therapy in one night” that I’d read so much about. Trying to remain open to every possible thing that could take place inside my head and heart, I drank the medicine with an eagerness I can’t describe. The smell and taste were foul, with a burned chalkiness that isn’t easily forgotten.
Once consumed, silence was expected and I sat with my back against the wall, lying on my surprisingly comfortable cot, legs outstretched. I tried to journal, but it was a bit too dark to write. About five minutes after drinking, a warm sensation took residence in my stomach and spread throughout my body. At once, I was worried I’d dressed too warmly, but the sensation gradually went away. With my sleep mask over my eyes, I just tried to relax and wait for the medicine to take effect.
After what was probably 30–40 minutes, I began to hear more and more participants stirring and, soon after, I began to hear others purging. During an ayahuasca journey, purging can happen via several ways, but the most common are vomiting, laughing, crying, and yawning. The first purges I heard were vomiting. I never knew humans could vomit so much or so abundantly. Someone to my left kept retching and, each time, it sounded like a river hitting the inside of his bucket.
Under normal circumstances, this would usually lead to me gagging and vomiting as well, but I was already under the influence of the medicine and the sounds didn’t bother me. They were but part of the experience as a whole. Soon after, more purging was taking place and I could hear people whimpering, crying, and even calling out. At times, it sounded like the entire room was vomiting.
It was suddenly apparent to me that I was hearing every single thing in the room. With my newfound supersonic hearing, even the slightest whisper was incredibly loud. I heard a women from across the room speaking softly to herself, I heard the ceremony volunteers escorting people outside to the bathroom and asking other participants if they were okay. None of it was troubling, it was all just so loud.
I began to get tired, so I laid down on my mat with my eye mask and ear plugs in place. Eventually, the ear plugs were scrapped as they didn’t help. I then tossed back and forth from my right side to my left side. I tried to sleep, but my hearing amplified everything to such a level that I couldn’t. I tried to focus on my own thoughts and intentions, but behind my eyes existed nothing but a blackness. I had no visions, no memories cropped up. Nausea had made its way into my core, but it wasn’t overwhelming.
After what seemed like hours, I heard an announcement that we could have a second helping of the medicine if we thought we weren’t feeling it. While I wasn’t having purging, visions, or any of the other things the folks around me seemed to be experiencing, I was unsure if a second helping was for me as I was concerned the medicine was still building within me and a second drink may be too much. So, I continued to lay on my mat, listening to the sounds around me. The vomiting, crying, laughing, and sometimes screams continued but began to dwindle as the time passed.
At one point, I did feel the need to purge and sat up. Reaching for my bucket, I vomited three times, but it felt purely physical in nature — certainly not an emotional purge. I felt immediate relief after vomiting and was able to lay back down to resume waiting for the medicine to take effect.
The hours passed and still no visions. Aside from the nausea and the incredible hearing, it was fairly anticlimactic. I noticed the people around me — still, now cocooned in blankets, seemingly sleeping. Their experiences were concluded. Perhaps I didn’t drink enough, but that was okay because I had two more ceremonies to drink the medicine and this was just a primer.
I continued to try to sleep but couldn’t. At one point, I got up and put my shoes on. A volunteer came right up to me to ask where I was going and I explained to her that I felt fine, but needed to use the restroom. She walked with me to the facilities and then I returned to my mat. A bit later, I became very cold and didn’t want to disturb others by getting into my luggage to retrieve my fuzzy pajama pants. So, again, I stood and put on my shoes. However, at this point, everyone seemed to be sleeping and no one came to see what I was doing. After finding a staff person to help me, I was directed to a room where I could get a couple extra blankets. I saw a clock that read 5:46 am. Once I was back on my mat and was finally warm, I fell asleep.
The Next Day
Sleeping for only a couple hours, I woke up around 8:30 am. Knowing the second ceremony was to take place around 11am, I made myself get up and take a shower. My head was fuzzy and my balance was a bit off. The nausea lingered.
Overhearing other participants sharing details about their evenings, I largely remained quiet while I waited for the shower. They’d obviously recovered from last night’s medicine a lot better than I had. Reflecting on the previous night, I knew that I’d remained fairly lucid throughout the evening with my judgement largely intact. At this point, I simply felt hungover.
I wasn’t disappointed about the lack of ayahuasca visions during my first journey. I truly was open to receiving anything and everything the medicine offered me — even if that was a big, fat nothing.
The only thing I desired was sleep and I hoped the second ceremony would provide either some powerful insights that rejuvenated me, or some peaceful rest.
The Second Ceremony
The daytime ceremony took place outdoors, under what started out as an overcast sky. The ceremony area was surrounded by large, beautiful trees with endless branches that all seemed to be connected to one another by either branches or roots — and I thought to myself: this what it would be like to live in the Avatar world of Pandora. However, as scenic as the surroundings were, the foliage didn’t allow for much breeze and the air was humid and sticky.
I’d strategically chosen a mat at the periphery of the area. Since it was daytime, I didn’t want to be in full view of everyone if I began purging or having a strong reaction. The thought of spectators wasn’t appealing.
Just beyond my mat, the clearing stopped and tangles of bushes, trees, and brush began. I sat and watched the tiny lizards that seemed to be everywhere. None came close to me, but a few stopped to look directly at me, their curiosity halting whatever task they’d been completing.
To determine the dosage for this experience, a woman asked me about the night before and I explained to her that I remained quite lucid and had no visions at all. She increased the amount I’d be drinking by about 1/2 tbsp. I’d brought a travel-sized bottle of Listerine to use after drinking the medicine as I think the residual taste of it in my mouth the night before contributed to the persistent nausea.
Just as the previous evening, I became very warm soon after drinking, but quickly became even more tired and decided to lay down. My mind still clear, I rested on my left side facing the trees and brush so I could watch the lizards running about. My hearing had, once again, become incredibly sharp.
About thirty minutes after the ceremony started, the man beside me became loud and distressed. He began to shout, cry, and sob. He was laying on his stomach and started hitting his feet against the ground like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I could feel every thump as it resonated through the earth. He then began vomiting and I tried to cover my ears with my pillow as it was incredibly loud — his gagging and retching.
I tried to focus on other sounds — the insects, the birds. But, my hearing distorted it all. The airplanes passing above sounded like dive bombers. My fatigue worsened, but it was too loud to sleep. Beside me, the man kept making noise — every breath came with a moan with random speaking inserted here and there: Fuck You. Oh my God. Wow. Wow. Wow. Over and over. It was incessent.
I hated him. I hated the staff for not protecting my experience from the obtrusive disturbance. After asking for earplugs (no help at all), I kept trying to sleep on my left side so I didn’t have to look at him.
Everything was so fucking loud. In addition to the noise, I was keenly aware of every bug that crawled on me, requiring me to move to remove it or scratch my arms and legs. Just when I’d feel that maybe I could doze off, I’d be aroused by vomiting, moans, curses, airplanes above, or a bug on my skin.
Thump. Thump. — Tantrum time again.
I hated him more.
I didn’t care about his pain or what effect the medicine was having on him.
I suddenly felt like my toes were on fire. Opening my eyes, I saw that most of my body was now in direct sunlight. Dead ants stuck to my sweaty skin. I’m not sure how much time had passed, but I looked towards the others and thought I saw several people leaving the area, seemingly finished with their ceremony. But, the nausea was back and this prevented me from standing to leave, regardless of how badly I wanted to be back on my mat in the air conditioning. But, I needed to get out of the sun and far away from the distressed man next to me.
Remaining on my left side, facing the trees, I began to cry thinking the whole endeavor has been a failure. I’d had no visions. I had only gained nausea and sleep deprivation. However, I couldn’t bring myself to get up and get out of the sun.
There was a volunteer sitting by me that had two large umbrellas at his feet — just lying on the ground. There were big umbrellas, like you’d find over an outdoor table at a restaurant.
Why is he not noticing that my toes are burning? How could he not see that I was lying in the sun? HE SHOULD NOTICE.
I came here to be taken care of and I’m on my own again.
Not even mother ayahuasca cares about me.
I was never meant to have a mother.
I was not meant to feel a mother’s love.
Covered in sweat, my lips dry and cracking, I couldn’t handle the sun anymore. I got up and collected my things and went to head back to my mat. It was so hot and still so loud.
A pretty woman who looked like Rachel McAdams stopped me and asked where I was going. I explained that I was only going to my bed because I thought I’d seen people leave earlier and I couldn’t lay in the sunlight any longer. She told me that the ceremony wasn’t quite over and she found me a different mat that was mostly shaded and said I could not leave the ceremony area until it’s officially over. I was confused as I thought it was over, but I understood the rules and knew it was for safety. So, I laid down on the new mat and she brought me some cold cloths for my face and stomach. Once the cloths lost their crisp coolness, I used one to wipe the dead ants off my skin.
With a towel over my eyes and forehead, I began to cry from embarrassment that I’d tried to leave early — but, just a few minutes later, the gong sounded that the ceremony was over. Rachel McAdams came back over and told me I was free to go if I wasn’t feeling the effects of the medicine any longer.
She doesn’t realize how long it took me to get off the first mat. I’ll have to calm down and let my head clear and the nausea ease again before attempting to stand.
My eyes closed, I continued to see the black nothingness that I’d seen the entire time the previous night. However, I began to see cracks in the dark abyss. Like lightening bolts, the cracks appeared and I could see some light coming through, but then they’d disappear and the vast darkness persisted uninterrupted.
Somehow, I knew that my pain was trying to find its way through the shadows and break free. The darkness was trying to crumble and I was desperately trying to let it.
This trip was stupid.
This idea was stupid.
I’m stupid.
I chose to leave my family for this.
I picked me over my family.
I’m selfish.
I want to be home.
Nobody here cares about me.
I want to be with people who love me.
At this point, I began sobbing. Trying to be as quiet as I could, I turned so I was on my side facing the least amount of people. The thought of being as loud as Tantrum Guy, and disrupting someone else’s experience, kept me needing to be as quiet a possible.
So, I did my best to be silent. But, soon, I felt my shoulders shaking and my belly fat jiggling with my sobs. My entire body was involved, but I continued to hold in my cries. Every so often, I was able to take a deep breath and could stop myself from crying. But, eventually, it would start again and I couldn’t control it.
Remaining on my left side, facing away from the row of volunteer staff, I tried to cover up the fact that I was crying. I did not want pity. I did not want an audience. My first mat had been towards the periphery of the area, whereas this mat was more central. I had nowhere to hide.
I was sweating, sobbing, and using the now-warm towels to hide my face and blow my nose.
Sorrow, guilt, and shame. Those are the only things I felt. I wanted to be home because this was a waste of time.
I will never be whole, nothing will ever help me.
None of my questions have been answered.
I never saw my parents or discovered what is best for me and my siblings.
I never found out what I’m supposed to do with all my experiences.
Mother ayahuasca never came to me in any form to tell me I was loved or show me how much potential I have.
This was a complete failure — I am a failure.
My stomach was starting to hurt from the sobs.
Then, a soft female voice was speaking to me. I felt her hands on my face and shoulder — her touch so soft it felt like velvet energy as opposed to physical contact. Bringing me fresh cold cloths, she asked me if I was okay.
In that moment, my heart encountered a sorrow — deep and raw.
If I had a mother that loved me, this is what it would feel like.
At the same time, I was even more ashamed that someone was seeing me in such a state and I covered my face with my hands while unable to stop crying.
Then she was gone.
That angelic, motherly love was just gone.
I wanted to hear her voice and I wanted her to touch my shoulder forever.
After an unknown amount of time, I was asked if I wanted to go to integration group. Looking around, I was one of the only people left in the area. Sobs came again as I understood the steps I’d been hearing around me were from volunteers cleaning things up.
I am in the way. I am always in the way.
People are trying to go about their day and I’m lying on the ground crying.
Managing to collect myself, a volunteer walked me to where my group was meeting. My head was so fuzzy and I still longed for sleep. The group had already started and I sat down at the end of the bench. But, I was so hot and nauseated — sweat poured down my back and neck. Thinking I was going to get sick, I unsteadily made my way to the bathroom.
But, I didn’t vomit. Leaving the bathroom, I went by the pond and found a bench and laid down. I thought I may be able to get some sleep, as it was so peaceful.
I layed on the bench for an unknown amount of time and maybe even dozed off when the angelic, motherly woman found me. The sun had come out again and I was fully exposed. She suggested I lay down on the benches, but I explained to her that my integration group was over there and I did not want to disrupt them.
She then found me a hammock to use and brought me some ice water. My head remained fuzzy, the nausea remained, and I was so tired. My hearing was still incredible. Unaware of the time, I laid in the hammock for what seemed like 3–4 hours. Sweating and thirsty, I was too tired to reach my water.
Around me, people were talking and laughing, but I couldn’t tell if they were other ceremony participants or volunteers. I heard a language I didn’t recognize in my haze and later heard a woman asked a group of people about their speaking Russian. I could see my integration group under the tent and heard them laugh occasionally.
I still couldn’t reach my water, but in all honesty, I didn’t try. All I wanted was to sleep.
A golf cart came and went several times with a staff member hauling supplies to different parts of the property. With each retreat of the cart, I was jolted by an obnoxiously loud BEEEEEEEP.
All around me — laughing, talking, birds, airplanes, beeps.
Finally, someone announced that a meeting was about to start by the fire pit. Soon, people started to make their way towards that area. They continued to socialize.
How are they so sober?
How are they upright?
How are they having coherent conversations?
I figured I’d better attend the meeting, so I managed my way out of the hammock and reached for my glass of water. The ice had long melted and I noticed a few small black gnats floating on top. Thirsty, I drank it anyway. My lips were dry and my bottom lip had a painful crack in the center. Before going to the meeting, I stopped and retrieved my lip balm. I saw people gathering by the fire pit and lining up for the sage cleansing that takes place just prior to the ceremony.
The smell of the sage intensified my nausea and dizziness, but not nearly to the degree as when I passed a volunteer carrying a tray of ayahuasca. The stench of the medicine was too much and I had to brace myself and focus on breathing to avoid getting sick.
The day had passed and it was only an hour or so until the third ceremony. I knew I couldn’t drink it again so soon. I was still recovering from the ceremony eight hours prior and wasn’t entirely sure I’d completely recovered from the night before.
The facilitator asked if anyone would not be drinking that night and I raised my hand and then left the meeting area as quickly as I could — the sage was getting to me. Making it to my mat, I was thankful to be away from the smoke and smells. I was waiting for the sage cleansing to be over when a thought hit me: I’m about to gag just smelling the sage and the ayahuasca. How the hell am I supposed to lie here all night and listen to all the purging and smell all the smells?
I had nowhere to go for a quiet night’s sleep.
I decided to leave.
My Departure
I gathered my things and packed my suitcase. I left the building and sat in a chair just outside. The couple that had been beside me on the mats the night before stopped to ask how I was and I explained why I was leaving — that I was still nauseated from the medicine I’d drank earlier and couldn’t imagine drinking again so soon. They voiced understanding and wish me luck.
I sat in the chair until a volunteer stopped to see if I needed help. It was the same woman who had blessed the medicine and gave me my dose earlier in the day. She had long hair and warm eyes. I asked her who I needed to speak to in order to leave. She told me to sit tight — that she’d find someone to help.
While I waited, there was a lot of hustle while the staff and volunteers got ready for the night’s ceremony. I noticed the facility’s co-founder right by where I sat with my luggage and I wanted to speak with her. I wanted to tell her that the facility she’d help build was remarkable. She seemed so kind and genuine during the initial ceremony, I wanted to experience her kindness first hand.
I’m not sure how she didn’t see me, and if she did — was she not curious about the dazed woman sitting there with her suitcase? But, she did not come my way.
She’s likely way too busy for me.
She’d probably seen and heard it all before and I was just another person who bailed out early. She has no reason to notice me and I certainly don’t deserve a conversation with her.
After a while, a paramedic appeared to make certain I was well enough to leave. He listened to my reasons for leaving before the ceremony and asked what my plans were. I’d already booked a room at a hotel just a few miles away and told him I’d request an Uber as soon as he says I can leave. I was medically cleared to go.
I lugged my things towards the exit, but there was a prayer going on in the area, so I waited until that was over to avoid being disrespectful. Once the prayer concluded, people dispersed and I continued making my way out.
Along the way, I passed the elderly gentleman with the limp who had talked to me the night before. Just prior to the first ceremony, he’d hugged me and told me his wife’s name was also Linda. He said by the time the retreat was over, I’d know that I am a warrier. He also encouraged me that very morning to attend the yoga activity just prior to that day’s ceremony, which I did.
Now, however, as I stood on the sidewalk with my bright green suitcase, he didn’t even look at me as he walked by.
This was hurtful.
I’m only worth his time and attention if I’m “all in.”
I decided that was fair and went to the street to wait for my ride.
Afterwards
Once at the hotel, I ordered some food and drank a lot of water. I called my husband and updated him on everything that had happened and where I was.
Then, I SLEPT.
The next morning, I woke with an almost clear head and one of my first thoughts was: I want to attend today’s integration group. Checking the website, I made sure of the time and got showered and ready to go. I also put all my unused travel toiletries in a bag to donate as I couldn’t take them with me on the plane.
I didn’t call to ask if I could still attend — I couldn’t imagine they’d say no.
But, as luck would have it, I had three Uber drivers cancel my ride and I arrived to the facility ten minutes after the groups had already started.
The front door was open a crack and I went inside. A woman sat at the desk and there were a few other staff and volunteers in the waiting area talking amongst themselves. One was the gal who helped me to the bathroom the first night. I also recognized one of the men sitting there and could place him at the time, but now I can’t remember if he was the medic who spoke to me before I left or if was the man who’d been driving the golf cart when I was in the hammock.
I clarified for the woman at the desk who I was and that I’d left the previous night and told her I was picking up my car and wanted to donate my unused toiletries. Handing her the bag, she said thanks and that she’d put them in the volunteer room.
Perhaps none of them recognized me with my eyes bright, face washed, and clothes clean, but none of them acknowleged me.
I didn’t ask if I could join the group. I walked out, got my rental car, and left.
In my research of this particular facility, I’d read hundreds of reviews and felt 100% comfortable going there for my ayahuasca retreat. Most of the reviews had described feeling loved and cared for while at the retreat.
I felt neither.
But, I am not certain that is the fault of the facility.
Maybe my expectations were too much — maybe I shouldn’t have gone by myself and assumed the staff would be versed at recognizing when someone is uncomfortable opening up and being vulnerable. I went to the retreat with the understanding that someone would recognize my need for love and attention, even though I hid my face when I cried and said I was okay.
I expected to be forced to be vulnerable and not be allowed to keep hiding.
What did they see when they saw me? Either someone who was so put together that she didn’t need help…..OR….someone that was a lost cause and not worth their time?
I was genuinely surprised that no one spoke up when I dropped off the toiletries and I was genuinely hurt when the kind man, whose wife’s name is the same as mine, no longer felt I deserved acknowledging.
Not realizing that the medicine was still influencing my thoughts, I told myself that those people thought of me as a quitter, as someone who couldn’t handle facing her demons.
They saw me as a coward.
Processing
While my experience drinking the medicine wasn’t what I imagined it would be, in the days since I’ve been home, so many discoveries have come to mind.
First, my needs were not recognized — yet, I did not voice them. I’ve been able to clearly see that I have a pattern of expecting others to see my needs and, even when I don’t ask for (or maybe even decline) help, I become resentful of those people for not doing what they can to help. Essentially, I martyr myself unnecessarily and then make myself a victim.
I’m the exact kind of person I can’t stand.
Whether this is what was going on at the retreat, or whether I truly should have been better cared for while under the influence, I can’t say. All my perspectives were beneath the blanket of ayahuasca, so it’s possible some perceptions are far from reality.
The important thing is how clearly the behavior pattern emerged for me to see and how I’ve been able to identify specific times in my life when it’s caused me undue pain and stress.
Second, I’d not previously realized the impact growing up without a mother has had on me.
While I’ve talked about the abuse, and I can sometimes talk about the loss of my siblings, I’ve rarely discussed losing my mother when I was sixteen years old. Sure, there is the obvious pain, but the truth is….I didn’t know her.
She was a tormented soul that battled demons long before she became ill. While I know she loved me, I also know she did not have the emotional capacity to be my mother — to meet my needs as a child. This only became worse after she was sick.
A mother dying, leaving four kids behind, will always be sad. But, the truth is — I was without a mother long before that.
So, I believe the message here is that I don’t miss my mother…rather, I missed out on having a mother. Whatever toll that has taken on me still needs to be explored, but one thing I do know is that this has had an impact on nearly every relationship I’ve had with other women.
I’ve realized that I look at other women and imagine them all to be maternal. I expect them to see and recognize my hurt and need for compassion and love. It doesn’t matter if the woman is my own age or older — around other women, I am a little girl who needs a mother. I look to them to be nice to me, to have a certain kindness.
This is likely one reason I’ve had such severe issues with social anxiety. I have an incredibly difficult time talking with other women as the fear or rejection and not being accepted is paralyzing.
Any woman’s rejection of me is a maternal rejection — a repulsion to who I am, my core self. It tells me I’m not lovable, not worthy. Around women, I’m often awkward and seeking approval. I honestly don’t know how to have a healthy relationship with another female.
While I know this discovery is extremely important, I’m still unsure of the solution.
Third, I have a real issue with being vulnerable and letting myself ask for help. This, plus my paranoia of being perceived as weak and stupid, leads to my taking on too many things just to prove I can. As a result, I frequently burn out, withdraw, and then become resentful of the tasks I’ve taken on or the people I’ve vowed to help.
Obviously, I was hoping ayahuasca would provide me with insight as well as answers. Maybe the insight is enough?
Would I do it again?
In hindsight, I wish I would have not participated in the ceremonies so close together. While there was no way to know that the medicine would hit me hours later than the typical experience, I obviously needed more recovery time. Had I done only the nighttime ceremonies and given myself an entire day to recover, I think the adventure would have been entirely different.
It’s been a week since my journey and the smell and taste of the medicine is no longer at the forefront of my memory. It took several days for my head and nausea to completely clear, but I’m finally feeling at my baseline from a physical standpoint.
If given the chance, I would indeed drink ayahuasca again. I’ve learned a lot from this trial run and look forward to the opportunity to build upon those discoveries. Experience not only teaches us what works, but also what doesn’t work.
That being said, there are some things I’d do differently to prepare for another retreat, such as seeking out a facility that offers smaller ceremonies with less stimulation. Having the opportunity to have a more personalized experience would be ideal, given the medicine takes quite a long time to take effect and has a prolonged influence on me. And, probably most important, I’d make certain I had some place private to rest. While the retreat did offer private lodging, those were sold out and I didn’t realize during my planning that this was something that would have such an impact upon my experience. Had I known, I would have waited to schedule until those accommodations were available.
But, for now, another ayahuasca voyage isn’t in the cards any time soon from a timing standpoint. Still, I need my healing to continue, so it’s my responsibility to explore all these thoughts further by finding a therapist who works with psychedelic experiences. That search is underway.
