Night Five: The Journey Beyond The Medicine.

"There's not much hot water," my roommate told me every other morning, or so it seemed.

I knew that to be false, though. I'd had no problem getting scalding hot water in the shower. The trick was to turn only the hot water on, and leave the cold water off until you absolutely felt you needed it.

I had walked back from the ceremony house, and it was just before 7am. I'd slept off and on throughout the night, tucked under a blanket on a double-layered mat. I'd felt rather cozy melting into those layers. When I wasn't able to sleep, I'd open up my Kindle to attempt to read through a few more pages of Graham Hancock's "Magicians of the Gods." I'd been inching my way through the pages, my mind blown with every swipe to a new page, for about a month. I was still only 12 percent of the way through it.

I took out my fingernail brush - something I'd learned on my Seven and Seven Tour not to travel without - and scrubbed beneath my fingertips. I felt the need for a good scrubbing, but didn't have a loofah sponge with me or even a wash cloth. I took the bar soap provided and proceeded to use the small plastic nail brush all over my skin... From the neck down.

I was peeling off layers.

The same thought from the previous night pervasively ran through every inch of my energy: You don't need any more ayahuasca.

At first, I had a tough time accepting this. It would be the final ceremony of the tour. I was already down to barely a tablespoon of aya in my cup. And I'd had productive and gorgeous conversations with my psyche every night.

What harm could taking one more small dose do?

No harm, my Self said. "But you are able to get into the space without it. I promise. Why don't you just try?"

I wrestled with the idea of not drinking the whole day. I wondered if it was really just the bitter taste of the plant concoction that was pushing my mind to tell me not to drink. I could definitely manage to choke down the few drops I would get served. But my Self had an interesting perspective... Did I need it? Shouldn't I use this final night to prove that I could journey without it?

"You are medicine," I heard a voice say. Not my own. It was tucked away in the back of my mind. It was the voice of Jason, my trusted confidant and mentor who'd become one of my favorite people in the world in recent months.

Jason, who had experience with the same plant medicine, would remind me that I (and we all, actually) are medicine.

"He's right," my Self said. "You've worked hard this week. And before this week. Your journey with ayahuasca is good for now. It stays with you. You'll come back if you need it. But for now, you need to try this without the active medicine in you."

I decided to trust the voice.

I went into ceremony that evening, and I did not drink. I watched nearly everyone else take their dose, the lights go out, and the icaros start up in their usual fashion.

I wrapped myself in my blanket, closed my eyes, and began to journey. It was even faster than any other night, despite not having any medicine in me. This is because I recognized what the conversation and the journey was with all of my senses. I knew what it looked like visually. I could hear it. I could feel it. I could taste it.

My left-side headache from the previous day began to shift a little more. It was releasing from the area and had become a dull, barely noticeable ache. I felt myself melting into a more feminine space, realizing it was something I'd actually begun to work on in my last tour. I'd spent a bit of time each evening having a conversation with a little girl named "Cosmo" in my mind on that tour.

Cosmo came back in my mind-space on the final evening of this tour. But I didn't speak to her. I just felt her. She made me feel maternal. She received all of my maternal instincts just being near me.

As to whether or not her energy really exists... I believe it does. But I was only able to visit her in that medicine space. And I knew that beyond the medicine space that I could focus on her and channel my maternal instincts out into the space around me. A purging of built-up femininity and maternal care that I have to give.

The icaros began to die down. And soon, Malcolm was standing in front of me to give me my ventayada - a "sealing" that is given to each person the final night of the week. He sang the icaro, using the words "shimmer shining bright star"... And waved the chakapa over me continuously.  He used perfumes to move the energy over my head, neck, chest, hands and feet. And then I was sealed.

I did not need the aya to journey.

I could connect to the pieces and see the logic of everything around me without it.