The Ayahuasca Diaries: ...That Physical Purge.

The second ceremony of the week was my seventh overall ceremony. Having done five ceremonies earlier in the year, at my last visit, I was familiar with what to expect.

But I was still open to the possibility of what could happen.

Prior to the ceremony, I'd spent a good amount of time walking around the room to find where I wanted to sit for the night. Part of me wanted to sit closer to the screened open wall areas, but still close to the bathroom hallway. Every rocking chair I sat in didn't seem to "feel" right, however. I was adjusting them against the boards of wood underneath, trying to find a nice free-flowing rock... Unencumbered in it's swing back and forth on the curved feet.

Eventually, I found myself back in the seat from the previous night. The woman who had sat next to me had moved to a chair on the other side of the room to be near a window. So I had no one on either side of me.

"This will work," I decided.

I was dreading taking the ayahuasca. The thought of having to swallow the mixture made my stomach wretch and my throat jump. 

The ceremony began with the icaros whistled into the mixture. We went up one-by-one and got our tiny cup. I noticed some people had requested their cups be filled aggressively high. I overheard one gentlemen, from Sweden, tell the Shaman...

"I want an epic dose. Epic."

I shuddered thinking of it. And shuddered again as I watched it be poured.

Don Alberto gave me my requested 1/8 of a cup, after whistling my icaro.  I took it back to my seat and stared at it while I waited for the sign for us all to drink together.

"Salute!"

I threw the brew down my throat. Immediately... I knew it would be making it's way out of my body.

The kerosene lamps were blown out. For a few minutes, only the sound of jungle life entertained us. Then the chacapas started up... Followed by the whistling... And then the Peruvian icaros from Don Alberto.

I rocked in my chair. Focused on breathing deeply in through the nose and exhaling deeply out of the mouth.  I started to see the sounds behind my closed eyes... Geometric swirls that were largely magenta, blue and black.

I focused on the icaro more closely... Realizing that it was gently pulling the anxiety living deep in me up from my stomach. I thought of my ex-husband and saw his energy holding on to me.

I breathed deeply again. And again. And again.

"I know you're gently enticing it out, Papa Tua," I said to myself. I was grateful the medicine was being as gentle as it could be.

The room was quiet. Just the chacapa and Don Alberto's gentle voice.

And then my retching added to the symphony.

I reached down, under my chair, and pulled up the shallow bucket. I held it in my lap. I bent over it and dry-heaved at first... Then it came up.

While my retching was soft... It did gently echo across the room.

I brought the bucket up to directly under my chin. I continued to vomit.

One of the assistants came up to me after a few minutes of vomiting with a new bucket. I held out my hand...

"I'm not done with this one yet."

I continued for another few seconds, then handed them my bucket. I kept the new one in my lap.

And it started again.

I spent another few minutes using the new bucket. Then it too was collected.

I felt peaceful. I was done. It was out. The anxiety was released.

"Whatever is just is," my Self said.

I spent the rest of the ceremony meditating and pushing out love from my body. My physical purge had happened in the first 30 minutes. As we got deeper into the session, it was clear there were some major battles being waged for people.

"Love, love, love... Love, love, love..." sang the American Shaman, over the din of retching and people shuffling to the bathroom to use the toilet or hop in the shower.

"It's just a little ayahusca," he said.

We laughed.

A little ayahuasca goes a long, long, long way.

The symphony died down. And eventually the lamps were lit.  My friend who had come with me on the trip tip-toed her way over to my chair and asked how I was doing.

I looked very peaceful, as usual.

"It was good," I said.  "I finally vomited! Are you proud of me?"

She laughed. She said she was. She had vomited the previous night and this night too. Her experience that evening was enjoyable.

After a little while, we collected ourselves and walked back to our shared room. I had no interest in drinking any water or even brushing my teeth. I wanted to allow the feelings I had released and my thoughts about it to continue to be present. I didn't want to disrupt the peaceful association I had discovered.

I fell asleep listening to the sound of jungle life (frogs... monkeys... insects... the sound of a poacher's rifle) outside my room.

Nothing was going to disturb me.