Solo Con Amor, Part I

Maestra stands about five feet tall. She’s the matriarch of a small Shipibo village in the Peruvian Amazon. Deeply loved and respected, her energy pervades the corner of the jungle her people care for. Her dark brown skin is weathered. She walks briskly, upright. Her smile glistens, accentuated with golden teeth fillings. Her shrill laugh echoes throughout the land.

It was the morning of June 3rd, the day of the fifth ayahuasca ceremony of my dieta. I awoke feeling strong. The trees seemed to float in a light mist rising from the forest floor.

I washed my face and brushed my teeth, and then returned to the square thatched roof tambo that was my home. I set out the heavy bronze Kuan Yin statue I brought along and began morning chanting and meditation. I remembered Maestra’s gait as I walked to maloca for ceremony. It was there, under her guidance, that I touched the darkest place in my being the week before and felt no fear, a place that had previously elicited absolute terror upon mere contemplation.

I sat at Maestra’s feet and received my medicine — a healthy pour of a 22 year-old ayahuasca. I felt my heart rate increase. “Safe here, safe now…” I began to instinctively hear my solid Self comfort the little boy inside, something I’d discovered on a monthlong silent meditation retreat last year.

I returned to my cushion in the maloca, still reciting the mantra, and after a few minutes, the heartbeat slowed. Everything was pitch black. Empty. Desolate. Still. Ominous.

As Maestra’s icaros began, I noticed some physical tension arise in the front of my torso. I sat with it. Gradually, it softened. Her song was strong, upbeat, joyful. I felt the vibrations in her body, her arms lifting. Despite the nausea and fatigue present, my body began to emulate the movements of hers. The large, flawless quartz crystal hanging around her neck shone brightly. Sparkles appeared in my field of view. Gradually, they brightened into stars. Until, eyes still closed, the light was blinding.

Suddenly, the icaro shifted. The previously white sparks started changing colors — red, blue, green, yellow, purple…fireworks gave birth to wonderful patterns.

For the first time I understood what the Shipibo mean when they refer to “la lucha” in life, “the fight.” It’s a continuous, constant choice to choose light, love. I had been so scared of the dark, it’s all I was focusing on. But what I was really scared of, was the light. Once I realized this and that it was safe, I started opening my eyes, focusing on, cultivating light. And then there was no place in my being for darkness left to hide…

I host an annual Fall medicine retreat at this center. I offer (cultural) translation; individual plus group support, coaching, and exercises during and outside of ceremony; as well as daily guided yoga and meditation.

If you’re new to this world and curious, not interested in coming on this retreat (which is completely fine), please don’t just go drink Ayahuasca / with anyone. There can be serious consequences.