Pedro

Setembro de 2018

“You are a courageous man” – someone told me as we said goodbye after my first Ayahuasca retreat. I thanked him, but only driving back did I reflect on the meaning of his words. First, I felt I should have answered: “No, I was just desperate. There was no other way for me”. Then I realized he was partially right, in the sense that I had to fight the desire to simply leave the place after the first night, which was agonizing… I was naturally afraid of the second and final night. And in the end I learned I had very good reasons for it. Just not the ones I expected.

There were to be two nights ceremonies on the retreat, and in both we would drink some Ayahuasca, the thick “magic potion” from the jungles of Peru, containing the psychedelic compound DMT. The “maestra” Lila (the shaman of service) came from Peru and there were two experienced facilitators. On the first ceremony, everyone in the group of about 25 stated their intention for the weekend. I spoke about the beginning of the search for a new voice, as my previous one had run its time, and it was no longer useful. The new voice would need to come more from my body and my heart. I mentioned my two boys. I said I had not loved well in my life. And that my mind had been too strong for too long and needed to quiet down and leave space.

Lila came and spent at least 20 minutes bringing the spirits of the amazon into the bottle filled with the brownish green drink, by whistling into the open bottle. When all the preparation was done, one by one we approached her and were given a small coffee cup filled with our serving. It was very thick and tasted like a mix of tobacco, dirt, and Nutella! Unfortunately, the sweat part was barely perceptible which made the drinking experience not enjoyable at all. Once back sitting on my mat and my blanket, I rinsed my mouth with water, waited for everyone to drink, after which all the lights were turned off. We all waited in silence. Many had done this before but there were also quite a few who, like me, had not. I had no clue what to expect…

I felt nothing for maybe 45 minutes, after which Lila started to sing. Her voice was almost unnatural, and the repetitive song (called an Icarus) was totally new to me. Sometimes it sounded like a bird recorded in the forest on an amplifier. It was clear that this was something learned for many years with her ancestors. I listened more but I don’t remember very clearly after that… My mind became heavy and shortly thereafter I vomited just a little. It is called a purge and it’s an integral part of the process in the Shipibo tradition, as a “cleansing” procedure. Everyone gets a bucket in the beginning, although there are always a few people that never purge during the night. I learned later that I should have purged a lot more, and a lot early.

It was about 22h30 (?) and from then on, the only thing I can remember is feeling increasingly sick and deeply nauseated. I curled on my mat and for hours resisted what is certainly one of the worse states a person can experience. I had felt it once before in my life – after food poison in Ethiopia – and I remember it being up there with kidney stones in physical discomfort. It was just awful sick agony, without relief. At some point, Lila came to do the individual singing for me (which is also part of process) and I stood on top of my knees in front of her – as we were instructed to do – but barely managed to hold my trunk up, as I was shaking in weakness. It lasted for 15 painful minutes until she blew my head and hands with a “cleaning” alcohol-base flowery potion, directly from her mouth.

In my mind, the nausea was now clearly associated with the drink and just the thought of drinking it – or seeing others take it (many were going for second rounds) – was unbearable. At this point I was absolutely sure that I could never drink such a thing again in my life, certainly not the following night. Which meant I had a problem. I would not finish the retreat, and wouldn’t really know what an Ayahuasca experience was all about. Certainly, being sick for hours is not what makes so many people come back again and again. In fact, the leaders had said that the drink of the first night was weak and meant to get things started and “open up” the body; the next night would be the full dose, meant to induce whatever work or experience was needed, leading to realignment and healing. Which by now I was sure I was going to miss.

It must have been 4:00 when I suddenly felt a quick impulse to vomit. I did. This time I purged approximate to the equivalent I had drunk, and maybe some more. It was hard, and it felt like coming from the intestines all the way out. Several times, with all the sweating and tearing up and shaking deep “purging” causes. But well worth it. I immediately felt better and could finally rest a little. I could not really sleep as my brain appeared busy and restless. But feeling OK in my stomach and intestinal track was a blessing. A little bit later there was music and some dancing (I could not even move from my mat but I enjoyed the music) and shortly thereafter I left the common area for my room. I felt like I was awake for the rest of the night, but I must have slept a little.

I woke up physically tired but the nausea was gone, as was the physical disgust about the drink. I could now imagine having it again, if I had to, perhaps feeling positive a s result of the mood-enhancing proporties of ayahuasca – after all, some DMT might have reached my brain, it was just that the physical agony was much stronger than any psychological journey I might have had.

But now I was even more scared about the prospect of another night like the previous one. I shared my story and apparently it was uncommon. In fact, I was the only one that experienced it. Maybe I should have been stricter with the recommended “diet” before the weekend. But I decided to go just a few days before and I also was suspicious about all the restrictions, which didn’t make sense to me. Anyway, I got some reinforcement throughout the day and I started considering staying for the second night. But I was afraid. Even scared. I felt I was entering new territory and didn’t feel at all prepared for it. I had obviously forgotten the saying that “nothing can prepare you for Ayahuasca”! At some point, the facilitators asked if everyone was ready to go up and then joked that there were going to be some “steep curves” on the path that night… I didn’t laugh much.

The word out is that “Mother Aya” brings you not what you want but always what you need, which wasn’t a comforting thought. So if there was a moment of bravery this weekend, this was it. I was scared and nervous but I was going up to the main room. I was going in, inside myself. Hopefully I would not go under.

By 22:00 or so we were finally getting our drinks. Swallowing was much harder this time and I had to make an effort to keep everything in, walking back to the mat. And I rinsed a lot more this time, until I could no longer feel the awful taste in my mouth. Everyone served, lights out, deep silence and we waited… It seemed longer this time before Lila started to sing. Maybe 1h where I wasn’t feeling anything. Until I did. Again, the memory of these first effects is difficult to access. Heavy headedness, an increasing tremor or vibration in the body, and the mind going fast is all I can remember. And the beginning of the sickness again! However, this time it didn’t take very long before I needed to vomit. I did, something I would repeat several times during the night, although nothing was coming out after a while. It was just the impulse followed by a dry deep cough into the bucket. The early vomiting kept the sickness under control this time, which seemed to be the perfect setting for what was coming.

The real trip was clearly beginning as I found myself feeling a type of pain I had never felt before in my life. All I can think of to describe it is existential grief and a deep inner aching that was getting stronger every minute, affecting my entire body. I was moving a lot in the dark and my body finding all sorts of strange positions to deal with the suffering. Then I started making yearning noises that must have sounded like an animal crying inside of me. I had never produced such a sound in my adult life… From now on words cannot really explain what followed as I found myself on the floor crawling and crying, feeling increasingly alone, and lost, and desperate… until thoughts of my own death emerged.

And they persisted, which felt horrific. I was apparently dying alone and in the dark. Like a soldier who has been shot and knows he will die soon, I was now crawling on the ground extending my arm up, looking for another’s hand so I wouldn’t go alone.

At some point I thought of my sons and I called first for Luís and then for Daniel to please come and save daddy. But I could just see them peacefully and beautifully asleep… I cried for them and left them in their sleep.

A small part of my brain still knew I was on some kind of trip, but the entire experience still felt terrifying. My body shook and contorted and I continued to crawl desperately for a helping hand, now moving slightly away from my mat. I kept crying and my body twisting and convulsing. Sometimes I would try to raise my head from the floor to see if someone would help. But everyone’s was away or not looking at me, including the facilitators, that never came. I must have crawled back as I finally found the knee of my friend who was sitting next to me, then her warm hand that I could barely hold. I felt safer and was consciously not holding hard, letting her know I didn’t need much, just her presence and the smallest physical contact. I crawled closer, and found myself in a foetal position on a blanket close to her. That was a little relief but it intensified the crying as I now had someone watching over me.

After this, my experience changed at some point to my mother’s bedside at my birth. She was asleep (under anaesthesia) and I was calling for her to wake up and be with me. The crying had subsided a bit before but increased again as I started to cry softly: “sozinho não… sozinho não… sozinho não!” (“not alone, not alone…!”) feeling the deepest sadness. I remembered that I wanted her to caress me, to hold me. Then I could see my adult mother and thought that I wanted to come to her house and just lay on her lap. That lasted a while and I cried and convulsed for minutes. My holder then let go of me, and I found myself alone again. I remember I then started asking “Why this great pain? I don’t understand why do I have this pain? Why, why…?!”

At that point, crying non-stop and laying on the floor, I found myself talking to my parents but also to other people in my life, including at work: “This is real, this is a true pain… I am not faking it… how could I fake this?!”. As I said this, I was now caressing my own head with my hands, and validate this key realization: my pain was real. And I could feel it and take care of it (me). It was real. It existed. It’s hard to explain the internal importance of what this meant. It meant I could cry and be sad because I was now completely sure I had a good reason to. No one could doubt it.

This was the last thing I remember thinking. After this there was music and some dancing, and later I went back to my room, as exhausted as ever.

(…)

What I learned from this weekend:

That I carried a very long and deep sense of loneliness and abandonment. Maybe from the moment I was born…? (I later found out this was not the case). Which at some point I must have buried as needed to survive. But that they are was still active and powerful and working inside of me.

I learned that the pain of that process is real. It is “valid”. I could feel it coming all over my body and in my tears, something which I could never fake. There was no more doubt in my mind. It existed.

I obviously survived, but not without injuries. As I “learned” how not to feel the loneliness anymore, I must also have buried (some of) the capacity to feel other feelings, negative and positive.

I also learned that my closed ones could ultimately be trusted. I felt a need to watch out constantly (or move away from) everyone that came to know me well, as they would find out that I was not worthy of their affection – how could I be if I was somehow “left alone” so young?

Throughout my life, when someone said “I love you, you know?”, I often felt like asking “but why? You have to explain…”, as if I wasn’t able to believe in it. Loving and truly trusting and respecting myself had never been easy. It came for brief periods and suddenty it would go away, as if I was scared…

Consequently, if I should not be loved, it is only natural that I came to mistrust those who appear to love or even like me. I realized that I had had this thought many times before in my life – I projected on them the same mistrust that (deep down) I felt towards myself.

So ultimately, I tended not to trust, and often refuse, fear, reject or push away that which I needed the most: Connection. Affection. Love.

Loneliness calls for more loneliness. And this ultimately leads to death, as I learned that weekend. Death of the heart, where the joy of being alive inhabits.

Since I had never before seen – indeed, experienced – all of this so clearly and vividly, I hoped that this might represent a turning point and a stronger beginning on a different path…

I didn’t want to feel I was dying alone, ever again. “Sozinho, não!”. Fortunately, I didn’t need to anymore.

(…)

I later talked to my therapist and together we pieced out what period and events in my life could have caused the trauma underlying the sadness that came out during the experience. I was about 7-8 years old. It wasn’s abuse or any physical trauma. It was inadvertent neglect, leading to feelings of emotional abandonment of the highest order, and caused by circumstances of my young parents’ life while divorcing.

A few days later, and on two separate occasions, I went over what I had found with one of my parents, who knew what had happened during that period. We realized that the situation had lasted for about 7 months, a long time in a child’s life. They provided more details about that time. We cried together for the 7-8 year old child both times. My parent mostly feeling guilt whereas I was feeling relief in the form of sadness, although by now it was mostly being experienced as joy.

I believe that the deep-rooted pain, and also the fears (and many symtoms) associated with it left my mind, and my body, from then on. I had become a different person – more whole, calmer, more positive, a little more secure. I never again felt and acted out of the fear of being alone and abandoned, at least not to the same extent. I had gained freedom from that particular trauma and its consequences, which lasted for about 4 decades. 

My therapist was a crucial part of my integration process. We must had talked many times before about the events of that early period of my life, but without realizing its true importance. What was missing was the feeling associated with it (deeply buried), now uncovered with the lived experience of that pain. And thus its meaning.

Having my parent alive, to process the situation with, was a blessing.

Some challenges remain – perhaps thankfully so – but my life changed substantially after that experience. I am 54 years old at the time of this writing.