You'll Laugh. You'll Cry. You'll Hurl.

Who knew that the tagline of the greatest movie ever made would predict the intense experience of ayahuasca? 

As I prepared to travel here, a few people inquired about the famed plant medicine, as it’s endemic to this region. I wasn’t sure, aware of the seriousness/sacredness of the process. Also: you poop and puke! My hostel-friend Marianna hilariously & horrifically recounted the experience she had at her retreat, where a large man named Eric shat and scampered and screamed as much-smaller aides chased him with a syringe of anti-psychotic meds.

Apparently he didn’t follow the strict ayahuasca prep diet: no red meat, alcohol, cannabis, caffeine, tobacco, fermented foods, fried foods, refined sugar, or excessive spice for at least a week prior. Go vegan if you can. Mama Aya will clean you out, and Eric (an American, are we surprised?) learned that hard. 

I didn’t want to repeat the "shetty" experience Scottish Marianna deemed "disgustang," so prior to my own retreat, I dined as bland as a baby (speaking of, really wish I could find baby food down here), even though I still wasn’t sure I’d partake. Better safe than Eric. 

I needed to ensure that I felt both comfortable and called before I made the leap, and when I arrived at Ayahuasca Manta, tucked in the sun-streamed mountains of the Sacred Valley, I was surrounded by serene spaces and true stewards of the medicine. Paqo and Timo took time to learn my story and navigated all of us–musically, mentally, and sometimes physically–through the challenging process. And oh what a process! 

Night 1 

Feeling ready, I hesitantly took my place. The whole experience lasts about 4-5 hours, all behind one’s eyelids upon a comfy mat. Blankets are provided, as body temperature can swing drastically as it takes effect. I received my tea at the altar, drank deeply, returned to my mat, and waited. 

First, my limbs tingled as the plant vined its way down my veins. Then I felt a deep drowsiness and chill that made me burrow into my blankie and rest my head. I breathed through waves of nausea like Paqo taught us, but my sphincter wasn’t always strong enough– I had to spew. 

This was to be done in a prone position with the provided bucket, which, my friends, was mortifying. I hate puking in front of people, or showing any vulnerability whatsoever, so at this point I was pretty much having the worst time ever. 

I thought I might enter the experience mentally after that, but even after taking a second dose midway, I only felt sleepy, sneezy, dopey, and cold. Snow White receiving no light. I experienced some mild hallucinations, but as if through a hazy window, and the spaces I inhabited appeared to be pleasant waiting rooms with no doors. I was at the gate, but the gatekeeper wasn’t letting me in. Had I failed in some way? Was I worthy of this journey? 

Night 2 

I guess it’s normal to experience the first dose as mild or minimal, especially if you’ve got body or brain blockages to clear out. Paqo counseled me to try again the next night, after fasting this time. I spent the day with intention, journaling, reading, and painting in preparation. Intent is also important in the process; if you approach her like a recreational acid trip, Mama Aya will punish you. I’d heard those tales, too, of flippant users getting lost in the dark abyss. But I was hopeful she’d welcome me in, this time. 

I carried some grounding talismans with me into the ceremony space– a wild rose, a feather that reminded me of mom & dad, peppermint oil, and the readings I had done that day: poetry from friends Arden & Lee.  

The brew hit me hard and fast this time, so much so that, guess what– I puked! Oh joy! And not the polite, suppressed purges of last night; I could feel deep retches coming. So I stood up and wobbled to the bathroom outside the ceremony space, almost toppling over if not for Timo appearing like a guiding spirit by my side, gently holding me up through the starlit night toward sweet privacy. 

I returned to my mat, fully emptied, ego thoroughly broken. She’ll do that. But then I was ready to receive: behind my eyes, I was strapped in the rollercoaster, swooping down into root-like tunnels filled with glimmering grids, twirling tessellations, and ever-shifting shapes of nature. Every image was in bioluminescent 4D, like being inside the Tree of Souls from Avatar.

A whirring sound like hummingbirds’ wings nudged me through the root system until I reached an opulent room, an illuminated underground palace mostly taken up by what looked like an Incan mask, made of tiny swiftly-spinning gold pieces that shone so bright I couldn’t look directly at its face. Each time I drew near, I received a message: forgive those who’ve wronged you. Then, live generously. Then, protect your light, but be a conduit for love. 

This felt familiar– was I at Sunday school? Wasn't that second one a tshirt for a Lutheran financial firm? My relationship with organized religion is at this point a tenuous, grudging truce, but I’ve always been a big fan of Christ’s teachings. If not a believer, I’m a follower of his soft-hearted Socialist ideals like caring for the poor, agape, gratitude, generosity, and radical forgiveness. Teachings that ayahuasca transmitted to me not as platitudes but bone-deep truths. 

These messages (“downloads,” as my new friend and ceremony-mate Celia called them) were like a hand unclenching, releasing me from regrets & ruminations I’d been mired in, especially since the dissolution of my marriage this spring. This was the healing I came for, or so I thought. 

Mama Aya had more in store. 

“The medicine knows what you need,” as Paqo said, and I needed healing of another sort: grief. I lost a dear friend this September, and I thought I had processed her passing through the ceremony of funeral. While that did provide closure, I clearly had work yet to do. Julie appeared by my side. I wept, both in the palace and on my mat, through a wide smile that she returned to me. “You’re here!” 

We sat together, arms linked, taking in the swirling cinema before us in wonder. Even as she endured her incessant earthly pain, Julie always loved beauty, color, light, and all things sparkling. She herself was glowing, now made of everything she adored. As I confessed every way I’d failed her as a friend, and how much I missed her, she took my hand and gently said “you’ll be fine,” in the way she always used to. My weeping turned to body-wracking sobs, the kind I hadn’t let myself feel since receiving the news she was gone. But in that palace, she was there with me. Not gone. Not gone.

I sat with Julie for small eternities, until it was time to go. Paqo’s wood flute signaled the end of the ceremony and drew me back to the surface. 

Days later, I still find myself crying thinking about the experience, tears of both sorrow and joy. I'm free of whatever was blocking me from truly grieving. I learned to forgive myself and others. I got to visit my friend. And for that, I'll be eternally grateful.