Note: I’ve never made this essay public until now. This was an attempt to narrate an experience that is impossible to express in words. My journey continues as, like everyone, I am a process, not a fixed unipolar being. We are all made of parts. In 2015, I only began to understand a few things. In 2024, I inch along, knowing less and less.
December 11, 2015
United flight to Denver, then destinations unknown. So much bubbling up in the past few days. “Home, is where I want to be, pick me up and turn me round…” Been listening to this song all week on Spotify in its many incarnations. The Talking Heads version of course, Iron and Wine, The Lumineers and Kishi Bashi, featuring a string section. Can’t get enough of it. So much bubbling up. Pain I haven’t felt fully. Throat blocked. Feelings overwhelming. Nauseous. I know this is how the medicine works and yet I also know I’m relating to something much deeper this time. Not sure what exactly. I’m incoherent, cognition deprived. All I’m doing is noticing the discomfort. It’s very strong. Yet I’m committing to it. Feeling my way through the dark.
I’m on my way to Colorado to participate in my twelfth Ayahuasca ceremony.
I’m tired. Weary of all this… Suffering. Seems like years now. Maybe even a lifetime. Windows of awareness intentionally shut when I feel it too much. Feel what? This current of energy flowing underneath all the layers of the wall I’ve been building my whole life. The scary stuff most of us avoid 99 percent of the time. And every time I choose to buy a plane ticket, it’s more or less the same. What am I freaking out about, exactly? What is in this panic? Fear? Of feeling? I thought I was good with feeling. Guess not. I need to keep working with this. Every day. This is the work. It’s so hard. Terrible. Joan Scheckel, my writing teacher, is so right. Why do we do this? Numbness is so much easier. And Richard… I remember when he asked me how I was doing deep into my second ceremony. “Terrible, just terrible”, I said. “Good”, he said. Well, I’m on this path and maybe there’s no going back now. There’s comfort in that.
The journey. Saving the only life I can. Thank you Mary Oliver. Heading into the mountains to shed more layers. A lifetime of layers to shed, really. Layers upon layers upon layers. What am I working with here? Anger, short fuses, weariness, rejection after rejection, resignation, bitterness, disappointment. Hope turned to cynicism, defeatism. Feeling Sisyphean. Punished. Unworthy. Everything too much to bear. Looking for a smile, an embrace. Eye contact with someone who loves me. Gratitude, forgiveness, acceptance, warmth, loving kindness. Openness. An opening. I want to rediscover all this as I’ve let it slip away under the layers of resignation. Feeling the heaviness, the weight bearing down on me. Looking for a peace offering within myself.
The intention forming is to simply drop in and do the work. Simple, right? The hardest thing in the world. Meet the resistance head on, acknowledge it and move through the mountain. The rewards, I’m told, are worth it. Here we go. Time to feel. The journey is a series of feelings moving us through change. I decided to write up a five point emotional journey based on my recent writing exercises with Joan Scheckel in her workshop aptly titled: Journey. The five point journey is a structure, a technique in storytelling that not only provides intention or purpose but always points back to that intention. What Joan calls nugget, or the central meaning of the story. And it’s always something that is felt, and something you can do through action. I find my work with Joan to be oddly in synchronicity with my work with plant medicine.
Here’s what I mapped out for myself for the two Ayahuasca ceremonies:
Friday night. Part one. Journey from resignation to engagement:
1) Feel the resignation
2) Feel the pain that surrounds the resignation and is holding it hostage
3) Feel the resistance to feeling the pain
4) Move through it, move through the mountain without giving up
5) Surrender to the journey and open to it.
Saturday night. Part two. Journey from engagement to living fully with ALL the feelings:
1) Listen, engage with my voice, brace myself
2) Engage with her voice, listen to the medicine, inquire
3) Consider the teaching, embrace the hardship of it
4) Feel the feelings, live with the feelings, breathe
5) Accept the kick to the head, become fully alive to the feelings that arise.
Cue the music. Iron and Wine version.
THIS MUST BE THE PLACE (Naïve Melody)
Home is where I want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb, born with a weak heart
Guess I must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground, head in the sky
It’s okay, I know nothing’s wrong, nothing
I got plenty of time
You got light in your eyes
And you’re standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money, always for love
Cover up and say goodnight, say goodnight
Home, is where I want to be
But I guess I’m already there
I come home, she lifted up her wings
I guess that this must be the place
I can’t tell one from the other
I find you, or you find me?
There was a time before we were born
If someone asks, this is where I’ll be, where I’ll be
We drift in and out
Sing in to your mouth
Out of all those kinds of people
You have a face with a view
I’m just an animal looking for a home
And share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops,
Love me till I’m dead
Eyes that light up
Eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head.
(moan)
December 13, 2015
Well. I survived the weekend. Just barely. The five point journeys I created en route were fairly on point as will become evident later. I suppose I was harmonizing somewhat with the medicine in the anticipation period leading up to Friday night’s ceremony.
To recap, I arrived in Denver with great calmness on Friday morning. My friend Angela met me at the gate, which was a nice surprise. We rented a Jeep Cherokee and headed towards Boulder. The weather was overcast in the 50’s. First stop, Target, so Angela could buy a blanket. I stayed in the car and waited for her. Then on to Pearl Street to meet Libba and Sandi for our “last supper”. There’s always a cut off time for eating solid food prior to a ceremony. Young Richard, who I’ll call Richard D, as opposed to old Richard, our fearless leader, was with them when they arrived. We ate yummy healthy food and caught up, then headed to Elizabeth’s where Sandi and Libba were staying to gather our things and selves for the drive up the mountain. I felt pretty good although some fear was beginning to emerge.
What a sweet ceremony that night! Libba, Sandi, Angela, Jenna, Kelly and a woman named Christina who was grieving from the recent death of her partner. There was a newcomer as well, a young man who held his own with poise. A gentle, sweet, tender circle. Moving into a vulnerable place was not difficult. When setting intention, I named the fear and discomfort I was feeling which seemed to help put things at ease. And we drank.
The medicine came on gently and the intoxication was steady but not overwhelming. Sweet visions of animals and dragons, with the usual red and black hieroglyphics I see on most journeys, and I was holding space nicely. Soon I began to notice my throat and asked, “these images are beautiful and everything but what’s with this lump in my throat?” Making an inquiry had rarely occurred to me in the past mostly because I was simply attempting to be present with the medicine and that had been enough for me to take on. The inquiry was a good one and the connection to my son Bodhi came up almost immediately. The medicine showed me ways I had been relating to him both in the past and currently, attempting to connect the dots between my parenting and his resistance to feeling. And she showed me the conflict he was having, specifically his difficulty in being heard. I was working with this for a while until I heard a voice say, “his voice and your voice are the same”. At the time, this message felt profound. The medicine pointed out that Bodhi and I were connected by an inability to feel things fully, and there was something standing in the way of our being heard. The lump in my throat was a blockage, a dam where everything gets caught. My voice was blocked. Bodhi’s voice was blocked too. His voice and my voice ARE the same! It blew me away at the time and as if on cue, Richard approached and asked, “would you like a healing?” I sure did! I requested a healing for Bodhi. In ceremony, the shaman performs healings on willing participants at various times throughout the night. Richard’s healings, I would assume, are traditional in that he uses Amazonian tobacco, called mapacho, and agua de florida while ritualistically chanting and singing in what feels like a one on one exorcism releasing energies associated with blocking what needs to be healed. This particular healing was cathartic for me. I cried, releasing some of the guilt and responsibility I felt as well as experiencing some forgiveness for myself. It was my purge for the night. I don’t think anyone purged in the form of shit or vomit. The circle was so still, so generous, so peaceful. It was such a lovely energy. Even so, I felt I had worked hard toward occupying a vulnerable open space. I didn’t feel any struggle and stayed present for the most part, checking out a couple of times, but gently, no knockout punches.
After about three hours, I became fully lucid. The rest of the evening was physically uncomfortable but I held space the best I could for the next hour and half or so. I slept fairly soundly and had sweet medicine dreams, some pretty sexy.
Woke up to a blanket of fresh powder on the ground and went for a walk with Angela down to see the horses. When we turned around we met Sandi on the road and walked back together and had breakfast. Then, one of the most beautiful sharing circles I’ve experienced. Particularly moving was Christina’s share about her feelings of grief for her dead partner who was very much present in the room with us. I was fully available and open during my share. Maybe for the first time ever. It felt good. I was grateful to everyone in the room and to the medicine for a positive healing experience.
The ceremony that loomed ahead turned out to be a whole different story. Fuck. What the fuck. Be careful what you ask for.
Saturday before the ceremony was a slowly building hurricane even though I wasn’t exactly conscious of it. We laid around talking and resting until about noon when Libba and I drove down the mountain in the Jeep to pick up Richard D, this gentle soul and veteran of hundreds of journeys. It was nice to spend some alone time with Libba on the ride down. We hadn’t connected one on one in a long time. To me she’s a shaman in training and I always feel safe turning to her for support. I was beginning to feel something big on the horizon and I’m pretty sure she was aware of this too. Richard D was full of his usual positive energy and what I remember most about the ride back up the mountain was how he talked about seeing Dickens “A Christmas Carol” the night before. We arrived back and I began to dissolve into my head, retreating, resisting. Not a great sign of things to come but I was pretty involved in the fear at that point, and not much in present awareness.
We all ate lunch but I didn’t eat much. I drank some tea. Sandi was literally freaking out about her daughter and sister joining the circle that night. They were arriving around five. She was holding so much anxiety, guilt, responsibility and control. It was palpable. I played it cool and supported her. Libba and Richard D were holed up together on the couch, her head in his lap. His eyes closed. Richard S was keeping the fire going, putzing around with the preparations he’s done hundreds of times before. I don’t remember what Angela was doing, likely finding a moment to herself to prepare. And I certainly didn’t know what the fuck I was doing.
At about four, Sandi and I went for a walk. She was crying, falling apart a bit. I comforted her the best I could. She was beating herself up pretty well and I simply wanted her to know she always does the best she can and that she’s a good person, with good intentions. We saw headlights coming up the drive and we immediately knew it was the rest of our fellow travelers arriving early for the ceremony. Sandi’s daughter and sister were in the car as were three other women, Tara a first timer, Kelly a veteran and one of the most gentle, kind and loving women I’ve ever met, and a German woman named Birgit, who was clearly attempting to sweep her fears under the carpet with a broad smile and wide eyes. Sandi told her daughter she wasn’t going to sit next to her that night which created more tension and guilt. Sandi was looking to cut the umbilical cord but also create her own space to do her work. As they drove off for the cabin, Sandi broke down again but I told her she had done the best thing she could for both of them even though it was so painful to let go. Sandi knew this, of course, but we all get so stuck in the drama of the moment that we lose ourselves so easily. Something I’ve personally never done, of course.
Back at the house, the energy was chaotic. So different from the night before. There was anxiety, fear and a maybe even a little panic present as folks greeted each other. Plenty of resistance from the new-comers, in the form of bypassing and feeling unsettled. I don’t think I was able to detach from it and, in retrospect, this was a big part of my journey. I knew from the moment I sat down in the circle that it was going to be a significant night. Richard poured me less medicine than the night before but the measure was almost irrelevant because I was about to go on the ride of my life. Flanked by Kelly to my right and Angela to my left, I fumbled through my intention, barely able to get the words out. Fear and resistance front and center.
The medicine came on strong. Very strong. Richard and I have an understanding as I have passed out two or three times before in previous ceremonies. I need to alert him when it may be happening again. And as soon as I realized what was coming, I whispered his name. Things quickly became overwhelming and my internal breaker blew. Too much. I went out, slid out of my chair onto the floor. I was too fully involved in the feelings exploding like a volcano to notice my physical body. I was in a scary scary place. Alone in the dark. The fear was intense. I vaguely remember calling for my wife Marcela but she wasn’t there. No one was there. And I screamed. A guttural scream from deep inside, screaming for my life, screaming bloody murder. Pure terror coming from a place of feeling utterly alone and helpless. Before I went out, the medicine was so strong, I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know how to handle the fear either so the breaker blew and I fell out of my chair onto the floor and screamed like a helpless child, feeling the rawness of what it is to be alone without anyone there to help me. As I came to I could hear myself screaming, as did everyone else. Later, Kelly told me I was out for maybe 45 seconds. When I opened my eyes, Libba was holding me by the shoulders, looking into my eyes. Richard was next her on my left but it was Libba who was doing the work. Kelly was in her chair above me and to my right. She was reaching out to me as I had grabbed her leg on my way down to the floor. Libba later showed me the look on my face, mouth open, eyes wide with fear. I exclaimed, “I don’t know what’s going on.” It took me a moment to get even mildly re-oriented and then I asked to be taken to the bathroom. I wanted to remove myself from the circle mostly because I intuitively felt the need to hold space for the others who had experienced my trauma first hand. And they were all going through that transition period with waves of nausea hitting them, the medicine coming on strong for them as well. The veterans were hit hard too as I found out later. It’s a wonder that Libba was able to be there for me at that moment.
Richard S (RS) and Libba walked me to the bathroom. I really didn’t know what to do. I was disoriented and overwhelmed. All I knew was that I needed to leave the circle until a better idea came to me. I sat on the pot for a bit with RS standing by. Libba returned to the circle as I’m sure she was experiencing her own tidal waves at that point (and probably wasn’t interested in seeing me drop trow either). Trying to pee or poop was only a temporary ruse as there was nothing going on there. I asked RS if I could splash some water on my face and he said, “you can do whatever you want.” That was comforting although there was little that I felt I could do at that point. The water was a brief respite. What next? I suppose a moment passed long enough at the sink to impel RS to ask if I wanted to sit down. Then I got an idea that provided some relief in its logic. “Can I lie down on your bed?” I noticed a very brief hesitation before he said, “yes”. He led me to his bedroom, turned back the sheets and I laid down on what later I discovered was his Biomat although I don’t think it was switched to the “on” position. Everything else was switched on however and the whole world began to vibrate with great intensity.
With the help of RS I caught my breath. It always starts there. Learning to breathe again and stay present with the maelstrom happening inside me. He stayed with me for a while and may have spoken to me. It took all my strength to simply lie there and be with what was happening. Soon, my breath evened out which was a huge victory. Later, I truly felt the presence of RS as both a father and mother. He gave me unconditional love all night long and even though I was experiencing such intense fear, I knew he would be there. But at the moment he had nine other fellow travelers to attend to and as he expressed the next day, “it was like the trauma ward in the emergency room last night.”
As I lay there, the struggle continued. I was in and out of consciousness. I was doing my best to stay with the awesome strength of the medicine as well as coping with persistent waves of nausea. It was all I could do. RS would check in with me periodically, offering comforting words and perhaps some profound words of wisdom, I don’t know. What I became aware of was a series of sonic tremors vibrating through my body and all around me. The whole world was vibrating! There was a rhythm to them, almost like music. They were part of me and not part of me all at once. The incredible power of the tremors were unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. Like earthquakes coming from the very core of something greater than myself. I wasn’t scared but I was feeling a profound sense of shock and awe. The electricity in my ears and on my skin was palpable. I remember looking through the window of the bedroom expecting to see where this power was emanating from but outside there was only darkness.
Soon I started noticing what was going on in the other room. The music, although distant, was becoming audible, as was the sound of several people purging. I connected myself to it through my senses, keeping ahold of it like a safety line even though I was still checking out every so often when the feelings became too much to bear. Then I heard RS begin his healings. The exhales of mapacho smoke, the aroma of agua de florida, and the singing. It began to anchor me. I could feel the others in the circle and I didn’t feel so alone anymore. Still, I wasn’t sure what else to do but to stay with my breath. The visuals were strong but I didn’t want them and opened my eyes often and looked out the window to avoid the swirling kaleidoscopic colors and shapes. I wanted so much to know what was going on but couldn’t muster the energy to inquire. It was around this time that RS asked me to meditate on what was happening in my body – to simply feel what was going on, not to push anything away, to simply inquire. This was good timing and for the first time, I attempted what he was suggesting.
I tried shifting focus to my body. Not easy to do. The sonic tremors distracted me. Almost like some kind of cosmic koan or test. I’m not sure if there’s a way to describe the intensity of these tremors with words. They were huge currents of energy, jolts of pure electricity that didn’t feel outside my body or inside either but part of the infrastructure of existence as a whole. Not otherworldly but some kind of universal chi. I was awestruck by simply bearing witness to it and feeling like I was a part of something so much larger than I had ever experienced. So maybe this is what I needed to be meditating on, maybe this was an important part of the journey. Yet, in that moment, there was no way to be conscious of this. It was just too intense.
I first realized I was holding space, holding my own, when RS came in and asked me how I was doing. “Surviving”, I responded. He came back with one of his classic dry, witty comments. Don’t remember what he said, something about how surviving “was enough for now” but it got me to crack my first smile of the night, which was huge. I felt relief at this as did RS I’m sure. He told me I was going to be alright. That I was always alright. And he went back to the circle. The tremors died down at this point. I was conscious of surviving which to me at that moment seemed like a big deal. I lay there and continued to hold space although I felt like I was floating a little off the bed. And all of a sudden I was ice cold. In perhaps my first physical activity since lying down, I pulled the blankets over my body, not an easy task. The nausea returned to my consciousness and I felt like if I purged, things might get easier. But it wasn’t intense like that. It was just this constant discomfort. I lay there with this, still stone cold, when all of a sudden I heard a beautiful chorus of voices fill the room with these sweet words, “We are your friends and we love you.”
It was then that I decided to return to the circle and, on cue, RS appeared at the side of the bed. Before he could say anything I turned to him and told him I was ready to rejoin the others. All I really wanted was to lie there and wait for the medicine to wear off but I knew there was work to do and the others were calling out to me on the inner. I told RS he’d have to take my arm, which he did, and we did the slow march back to my chair. This was not an easy choice but a necessary one. I sat down, holding my bucket. Kelly to my right, Angela to my left. The energy in the room was wild, palpable. I was still very cold and was grateful for the warmth of the fire. I wanted to lie down in front of it but instead, I assumed the position, sitting straight up in my chair, head up, heart open, feet planted on the floor. And I was still nauseous and wanted to puke or shit so badly but knew I couldn’t. I sat for a few moments, attempting to adjust to this new sitting position and new energy, when RS approached and asked if I’d like a healing. I still had no fucking idea what was going on, nothing coherent anyway, and so I said, “not right now”. My job, at that moment, was to re-acclimate to the circle as well as simply work with sitting in this extreme state of being. Simple, but so difficult.
As RS was doing the rounds, conducting healings for others, I focused on my breath and the icaros, tuning into the energy of the circle the best I could. During his healing with Richard D, I was able to turn to inquiry once again. What was I screaming about? What was that pain and terror? It came to me almost instantly, “mom, why did you do that…” Once again I found myself alone and helpless, wanting my mother desperately. Those feelings came up like thunder from deep in my body. Abject fear. I wept for that little boy. Sobbed for the first time that night. I didn’t know what exactly had happened to me and it didn’t matter. I knew the stories but they didn’t even enter into the equation. The feelings surrounding the events were there and in my body, not just in my head. I was really feeling what that fear was about. I wept for the child who was in such pain. The little boy who was still in me. Who needed love and nurturing. I worked with this, allowing all of it in, and what emerged were all the times I had felt this throughout my life up to Marcela leaving me and the so-called “psychotic break” I experienced around that time four years ago. The feelings were the same, coming from the same core place. It was all connected. The psychotic break and events prior so clearly mirrored the feelings that arose when I had passed out earlier I wondered why I didn’t pass out each time it happened before. The fear and pain was just as intense then as it had been last night. I also began to wonder what I was going to do with this pain as it felt overwhelming and unfixable, inflexible and un-healable. Yet here I was accessing it, the pure feelings themselves. I realized too that this trauma was likely pre-cognitive which is why I had never been able to fully embody it in the conscious way that I was doing then, sitting in that circle, intoxicated with an ancient teaching medicine and surrounded by a group of trustworthy fellow travelers.
RS was finishing up another healing so I called him over. I was ready for mine. We didn’t need to go through the usual roll call of questions, “would you like a healing”, etc. It was clear to him and me what I needed. I whispered that I was dealing with something deep in my core, something between me and my mom. Dear Andy, you have no idea what you’ve done. Tim and Gary too. You could only do what you could do but there was damage done. So RS, my present moment father and mother, conducted a healing, more like an exorcism, as I sobbed through it reaching down into my body and feeling it all. And I noticed something. My throat felt different. The blockage had subsided a bit. I connected this to the screaming. I needed to scream. Spontaneous primal scream therapy! What a healing. Jesus. So nurturing. Just what I needed. I didn’t want it to end but RS left me to process, to keep working, but nothing got any easier. The nausea persisted and the medicine was still strong. Frustrated, I tried to make myself puke but no luck. I wanted it to be over but forced myself to keep going, keep breathing, keep noticing.
My great discovery of the night was how to use simple inquiry with the medicine. So even though I was uncomfortable, frustrated, feeling overwhelmed, beaten up and traumatized, I realized I still had the wherewithal to inquire. What came up next was the period of the night I call connecting the dots. The medicine showed me, in a life flashing before my eyes montage of images, how my core trauma has affected all my choices, all my relationships, my marriage, and most importantly, how I treated myself throughout the past 48 years. My entire life. This was profound. Mindfucking. Possibly the opening I had been looking for, like discovering a vein of pure gold deep in the mine. Earlier, the medicine had cracked open the mountain and now she was inviting me in to spelunk and investigate. Fuck! What the fuck! This was certainly revelatory but the revelation actually came much later. At that point in the night, right then, I felt so bad, so awfully bad, and the pain was inescapable. It felt so deep that I was certain I was broken forever and there was no way out of it. I became mired in that notion for a while. And the nausea became unbearable as a companion to the pain, not due to its strength but because of its persistence. I welcomed the physical pain from my back and broken leg in to outduel the pain and nausea. That provided some respite. It was here I noticed I had been perfectly still for a long time because if I moved an inch, the medicine would double in intensity. I was in a pickle and it was a little like a chess match of moving the pain around. I began to wonder if this was what it would be like on my death bed until, thank you Mamacita, the Kundalini shakes kicked in!
The phenomenon of shaking is normal in ceremony. It feels like it’s emanating from the base of the spine, providing energy in the form of release and flow. What a respite this was for me! It felt good when everything else felt so shitty. It was the only time that night I felt relatively okay. Yet I wondered if this was distracting me from the work. Well, I didn’t care because I needed it and it came right on cue. I noticed too that RS had finished with the healings and started fiddling with his iPod, changing the music from traditional icaros to inspirational gringo music. It was a relief, yes, but to be sure, I was not feeling “good”. I was still intoxicated and feeling the weight of all I had been through, and still was going through. The shaking and the music were comforting but I did not feel “okay”, far from it. If anything, I was in shock. The last song he played was the MaMuse song, “Constellations”. I cracked a smile at this. I hadn’t heard it in a long time. It resonated deeply.
Well here we go
Around again
And back we’ve come
Still here I am
This is non-random
Tandem orbit
We’re forever kin
I’m right here with you
Oh holy holy
And blessed be
I am your friend
You are to me
A most precious stellar partner
Dancing love’s geometry
With me again and again and again and again
Everywhere you go
I’m right here with you
Everywhere you go
I’m right here with you
In case you needed to know
If I was here
I’m right here with you
We’re like the stars in the sky
We are made of light
And just like you and I
They are closely tied
We’re of the same constellation
That’s how we make it through the night
I’m right here with you.
We made a vow
Kept it right from the start
To help extract the poison
From our medicine hearts
I just want to thank you
For doing your part
I promise you that
I’ll always to mine
So in all our motion
We’ve made a web
Our patterns are woven
We’re common threads
There is nothing you could do
To shake me loose
I’ve got you
I’ve got you
I’m not leaving
So go climb your mountain
And know your name
The call you answer
Springs from the same flame I do
And as you take your leap
Just know that fall or fly into the deep
I’m right here with you
Everywhere you go
I’m right here with you
Everywhere you go
I’m right here with you
Case you needed to know
If I was here
I’m right here with you
We’re like the stars in the sky
We are made of light
And just like you and I
They are closely tied
We’re of the same constellation
That’s how we make it through the night
I’m right here with you.
When the music ended, it was time to clear the chairs and lay down our bedding. After collecting my belongings from underneath my chair, I walked around listless for a bit. Kelly carried my chair away after a brief but futile protest from me. Who was I kidding, I was barely functioning at that point. I found my bedding and stood holding it in the kitchen as I watched everyone else arrange their beds. I fell into place at the lower right hand corner of the maze next to Suzanne, Sandi’s sister. At one point late into the ceremony I witnessed her arguing with RS in the kitchen. She couldn’t settle into her journey as I later found out and had requested two additional doses of the medicine. Still intoxicated and flimsy on my feet, I wasn’t ready to lie down just yet. I lingered in the kitchen and spoke to RS briefly. He suggested I be gentle with myself as the thoughts were going to come rapid fire and I would want to attempt to work everything out. He told me there was nothing to fix because I was not broken. How did he know? Well of course he did. He then prescribed the “inside smile exercise”, which sounded funny and when I tried it, I giggled at its absurdity. Okay, I guess that was the point, and it worked. Ah, the sweet simplicity of life.
I went to the bathroom and tried to shit because the nausea was still present. No luck. I sat on the pot for a while to gather myself. Then ran some more cold water on my face. When I came out, the place was dark. Everyone was settled on their mats. RS had doused the lights and was emerging from the kitchen en route to his bedroom when we met in the hallway. He was carrying a candle, which he held up to his face when he spoke. He reminded me of the Ghost of Christmas Past or Jacob Marley. This made me smile and I thought of Richard D who had seen a production of “A Christmas Carol” the night before. RS spoke to me, probably more words of comfort or advice, but I’m not sure what he said. All I could think and feel was just how truly bonded we were after this crazy crazy night. And as his lips moved I recalled how at some time during the night he had told me he loved me. This hit me hard and the tears came again. Softly this time. I was so grateful.
As RS slipped into his bedroom and closed the door, I slowly and deliberately found my spot on the floor and laid down. Yeah, it was going to continue to be a rough night. I lay there, dry mouthed, attempting to breathe through my nose but it was pretty stuffed up. Folks were tossing and turning more than I’ve experienced before. The next morning, I discovered it was a rough night for mostly everyone. The medicine works that way. It’s a communal experience and the same way it was gentle and quiet on Friday night, Saturday night was like a trauma ward. Sure enough, as I lay there, the litany of thoughts came on full blast. I attempted meditation with no luck. So I just let the thoughts come and finally drifted out for a while. I’d wake up and drift out, tossing and turning, and noticed that others were doing the same. After what felt like forever, I looked up and saw that it was only 3:45am. I got up and drank water. I peeked out the window and saw it was clear night with lots of stars. I went to the hallway to find my coat. It was dark but I took what I thought was my coat off its hook and put it on. It didn’t feel right so I felt around further but couldn’t find my coat. I discovered in the morning that the coat I had put on originally was mine but I thought it was someone else’s. Maybe it was. Maybe it belonged to the former me. I went outside without a coat and without my boots. The thermometer read 12 degrees. The stars were bright and the sky was completely clear, magical to behold but I didn’t stay out there long. It was too fucking cold.
I couldn’t sleep. I tried to lie down, got up and drank more water. Then I sat in a chair and stared out the window for a while until I got sleepy again. I settled back on my mat and nodded off for a short time until Tara came stumbling through the maze and kicked me in the neck. This barely fazed me and I guided her along, simply steering clear of her when she came back from the bathroom. Suzanne was restless and coughing which kept me awake but the thoughts were subsiding and the medicine was finally wearing off. And my nasal passages were cleared enough by now to allow me to breathe through my nose so somehow I got a couple of hours of continuous sleep despite the ongoing chaos.
Must have been around 7am when RS came into the kitchen and folks started to rise. Libba made tea. I felt horrible and had no idea what this new day would bring. I laid there for a while listening. At one point I lifted my head and discovered Sandi across the room smiling at me from her mat. I couldn’t quite muster a smile in return but I was happy to see her loving face. Then I rose and walked to the kitchen. Libba and RS saw me and described the look on my face, saying it was similar to the one I had right after I woke up screaming. I was completely shell-shocked. Shaken to my core. RS talked to me about trauma and how I should consider Rapid Resolution Therapy and at first I thought he said Rapid Restitution Therapy. Ha! He liked that. Either word worked for me.
I wondered around and began engaging with folks. Libba handed me a hot cup of chai. I poured a generous amount of half and half in it. Tasted good. Connecting with the others grounded me. We began to tell our stories. My narrative of the night started to take shape as I told it. The feelings remained the most important aspect of my journey. Feeling the feelings, as I had intended to do. The events and details of what happened seemed secondary and unimportant. My relationship to the little boy who was so wounded was clearly the key into the healing process. Later, Libba confessed she had received a message for me during her journey. It had come up twice for her. A long time ago, maybe twenty five years before in another lifetime, I allegedly had told her how I had witnessed my mom getting raped in Belize when I was seven. This story came back to Libba that night and the message she was given by the medicine was to encourage me to pray for that wounded little boy. Seven year old Josh. Here’s the thing, she was completely unaware of what I had gone through in my journey! That’s how connected this work is. This astounded me. When she told me this I was floored because what I also realized was none of the specific traumatic events of my life had come up for me during the night, only the feelings around them. I also realized that the stories themselves, the stories I’ve been telling with an air of wit and seduction throughout my life, were, at this point, almost meaningless. I had told them in the past in order to shock, to amuse, to garner sympathy. But I had never, until now, felt the feelings beneath them. And it was so painful. This changed everything for me. I had no idea where to go next.
In the sharing circle that morning, I explained how I was, for the first time perhaps, able to pay attention to my body, to the feelings that have resided there since the time when the original trauma was experienced. RS had prompted me to look at this while I was lying in his bed, and I realized too that it was part of the intention I set at the beginning of the night. Fear, resistance and feeling unsettled in my body. Things were making sense and clarity was taking shape as we all told our stories, as we made our breakfast together, as we shared our feelings in the circle. The sharing circle, as always, was mind-blowingly heartfelt, open, vulnerable and so incredibly rich. I began my share with Dickens, “‘Twas the best of times, ‘twas the worst of times…”, which got a laugh but my delivery was somber, not intended to amuse. My shares in the last two journeys were honest and about as vulnerable as I’ve been in my life. I don’t remember the details of what I said, and it doesn’t really matter. What matters most is, I was speaking my truth. One thing I do remember saying is how I didn’t know what to do with all this. And I still don’t. All I know is what happened that night was gigantic. It cracked me wide open and ignited something in me that has the potential to lead me out of ancient, rigid patterns of behavior. To simply notice how that feels and to name it is profound healing. I moved through the mountain and I’m afraid there’s no going back.
“There’s a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in”, says Leonard Cohen. “The wound is the place where the light enters you”, says Rumi. This is what happened. And here I am. And here you are. Hi.