20mls May 16th 2K15
Writing about Ayahuasca is as much of a journey as taking Ayahuasca.
There are things which become limited the moment you try to put them into words. The journey itself is personal. Spiritual and uplifting. I have not experienced anything as awakening as Ayahuasca, not even my own journeys into listening and learning from Spirit. Meditation comes close, but Ayahuasca is like an open doorway on the other side of meditation.
I’ve spent many years coming into my own awareness of spirituality. A few years ago I had a number of Psychic energetic healing sessions which radically changed my life – both in the way I see myself and in removing a lot of negative attachments that had been thwarting my attempts at personal and creative progress.
The most important thing a person must ask themselves is why do they want to take Ayahuasca. Ayahuasca is not a drug. It is not to be taken for the thrill of getting high, of escaping to find oneself ‘on-the-nod’ because it doesn’t work like that. It is not recreational, it’s transformational. One has to be open to change to be able to transform. One has to let go, to be immersed and have things consumed in order to fully experience the sacredness of the real.
Since I was a little girl, I’ve heard the whispers on the spirit wind. I’ve spoken with the dead and listened to that voice – the guiding, intuitive supportive voice that comes and goes. It gets more quiet the busier we make ourselves. The more we clutter our lives with inconsequential nothingness. The problem is our societies are filled with these nonsenses. We are the only ones who can decide what is important, and what is irrelevant.
I can’t recall exactly how I came across the information about the ‘spirit-molecule’ DMT. Somehow, in my life journey, in my own interests and readings, the information came to me. I found myself intrigued by it. That this natural substance, already part of our natural biological make up had been used for centuries upon centuries in those ancient cultures the westernised world seems intent on vaporising.
After some more research, watching documentaries, I stumbled across a place that I could legally obtain some pure Shaman grade Ayahuasca. The dollar value is high, but I thought to myself, if I do not I will never know what exactly this thing is, or what it could do to help me.
I’d wanted to be a writer since I was about four years old. I’d taught myself to read and write. I was determined to tell stories to the world that were going to help people. Stories that would ultimately help to make the world a better place. It was my dream. I spent the next 31 years wrestling to make my dream a reality. It’s not so much that you choose to be a writer, you either are or you aren’t. I was having difficulties in making my dream my life’s reality. We get caught up in paying bills, having a job to earn the money to pay the bills. Chasing love and running into our own emotional blocks.
I kept writing, a secret passion, quietly to myself. Not knowing how to change my life path.
I found myself in a situation where I suddenly could find dedicated amounts of time to put pen to paper. At that same time, I became incredibly sick. Ill with a mysterious problem. A problem that took well over 12months to get on top of. Even in getting better, something had manifested which then created a new block. Perhaps it was lack of self-confidence. Lack of belief that my words were good enough to be read and heard. Something kept me back from that place of creativity. I was only able to find it through fleeting moments, bookended with bouts of serious self-critique and despair.
That’s when I sort out an energetic healer. Within a month I felt much better. No longer weighed down by this heavy darkness. As my world restabilised, I began working on a new book. Within a week of starting, my father became incredibly ill, and I then spent the next 7 months looking after him until he passed away.
My journey through the sticky bogs of grief were as much a physical and spiritual duality as I’d ever experienced. I can hear the whispers of the dead. I can hear my father and feel him around, so why was I feeling such a heavy painful sadness. The duality was intense, but I persevered. Only by allowing that physical pain, that hurt and loss to flow freely, was I able to find the bottom of that barrel. The vessel must become empty before it can refill.
I kept working on the book, and the closer I got to finishing it, all those self-critique doubts appeared again. At the same time, Ayayhuasca floated back into my sphere, and I decided to bring it into my world.
While I waited for the Ayahuasca to arrive, I did a lot of self-introspection. I spoke directly to myself about my fears, my sadness, whether there were any regrets. Who did I need to forgive? Having taken the forgiveness journey many years earlier. I felt somehow I was in communication with a Shaman. I don’t know how, but this is how the energy presented to me. As though I was under a protection, or at least, that this was the beginning of the journey with his medicine. He questioned me, and I answered.
By the time the Ayahuasca arrived, I’d been very unwell again. A three-week tumultuous flu that no-one around me caught, followed by a mysterious tummy bug that no-one caught. The night I took Ayahuasca, I hadn’t planned to. It was merely a moment that presented itself, and that whisper on the spirit wind suggested that tonight would be a good night.
Luckily I’m a vegetarian, so I didn’t have to worry about the meat restrictions of the diet. Luckily I often fast through the days, or eat one light meal.
I was only just over the tummy bug. I couldn’t envision going through the Ayahuasca purge. I wanted to see if the great healing liquid could simply make me feel better. Whether it could take away the last lingering feeling of illness and discomfort. I shook the bottle and poured out 20ml into a small measuring cup, the size of a shot glass.
I smelt the tan, almost terracotta coloured liquid. It smelt oddly familiar. I ran through my mind where had I encountered this before? I am into natural therapies, natural medicine, natural healing. Surely somewhere along my own health trials I’d encountered a medicine that smelt just like this.
I took a sip, half anticipating something shocking, isn’t that what everyone else has said? To me, I could taste something that in my mind resembled a fruit. A berry or cumquat. Something small and slightly orange in colour. I found it to be very pleasant, and overwhelmingly familiar. I still can’t place where I’ve encountered this medicine before.
I swallowed the last of the liquid in the small cup. Put the lid back on the bottle and stored it away in my hall cupboard. Filling my drinking water bottle, I decided to lay on the couch for a while, to see what happens. Hopefully I wouldn’t need to be making a dash to the far end of my home to the toilet.
After about 30mins or so, I could feel something. I looked around my lounge room. There is a string of fairy lights still hanging from two Christmas’s past. They are a delicate blue when I turn them on. This night they weren’t on, but the string was moving. It looked almost to be bouncing. I ran my eyes around other parts of the room, to pictures of Buddhist monks and an intricate hand print of a Buddha’s head. They weren’t moving.
Why is the string moving? I asked – someone, myself. I don’t know. I asked anyhow.
The world is constantly moving. The voice replied. You think you are still, laying still, standing still. Nothing can be still on a rock that is spinning. It spins on it’s axis, and it is also moving forwards. Nothing can be still on something that is moving. It’s just now, you can see that instead of only thinking it.
I closed my eyes, and placed my arm across them, to block out the light in the room.
I saw myself on an operating table. I was under anaesthetic. I saw myself as though I was sitting high up, almost on the ceiling. I looked down and saw the surgeon make an incision.
It was the day my son was born. Something that I had always wanted to know about. I was knocked out that day. My son had turned breech a week before I was due. Due to my small frame, they thought it best to have a caesarean, for the safety of all involved, without me going into labour. I had an old spinal injury, and the epidural would not have worked. So a general anaesthetic was prescribed.
I saw my son being born. As I had only felt for the days and weeks later, he was asleep at the time they pulled him from me. They woke him up. He didn’t like the unexpected surprise. He didn’t like being ripped from his mother. There was something to do with a small nick from the knife on my intestine.
This was a very serious operation, the voice whispered. Very serious. It takes a long time to recover from this. The body takes a long time to heal once it has been opened.
I could feel something working its way through my body. I’m no longer in the operating room. I’m back on the couch, feeling something as pure as life wandering through my body. I’d had a lingering pain on my caesarean scar for the past few weeks. I felt the energy go to it, running invisible fingers along it, taking away the pain with each pass.
I decided to go and lay down in bed. Turn off the lights and become immersed.
Laying down, I opened my eyes in the dark room. I saw a figure. I could only describe it as a figure. It was dark, black even. I could see the energetic outline of the head, the shoulders, the neck. I saw the arms that were straddling me at my hips. I looked at the face, and could see the energetic eyes. I call it a him, because that’s how it felt – a male energy.
His head went into my solar plexus. The head looked back up to my face before the whole body, the whole figure disappeared. A spirit doctor, the healer had arrived, and he was going inside to see where the problems were.
Standing in the doorway to my bedroom was a floating black cube. The was cube split horizontally in the middle like the heads of Terrence and Phillip from South Park. A tongue ran around this split in full circles, rotating around the entire circumference of the cube. This is how it spoke. It was constantly talking, floating, orchestrating. The many mouthed tongue. The light emanating from inside the cube was bright, colourful, rainbow – like a deep space disco. I remember decent amounts of pink.
My journey lasted for a little less than an hour, but the ongoing effects remain present.
After the journey, I felt revitalised. Energised. I no longer felt ill. The healing wasn’t complete, but I’d had my first session with the medicine and the doctor. There was more work to do, but it had begun.
The healer found all those areas, the places of trouble, where sickness was stored and building. I did not have a purge.
We spoke about my dreams, my writing, the words I want to put into the world – as my own form of healing. Words are energy. The right words carry a healing weight, and when those words are heard another transformative effect occurs. Whether it’s to the reader, or at those hidden invisible levels. It doesn’t matter. The words will get out, they will be released and heard.
We spoke about my father, and the tears welled up from deep inside. I knew my father was standing there.
What is it you want from your father – the healer asked
It was as simple as that. I wanted a hug.
I wanted to feel his hugs. I wanted to feel his love and encouragement, all those supportive words he’d said to me my whole life. I just wanted them one more time. Even now as write this, I feel that love building up, the tears of love hug my eyes. I feel the pain of love in the back of my throat, like an ache.
During the journey, it comes in waves. I can hear the chanting, the singing. It’s like a music or a song. I hear it inside me, outside me, in my mind, in my toes. It’s audible and inaudible.
I see the tree. The smoke being blown on the tree. The purification of the medicine. It’s a sacred time when the tree provides the materials for the healer to make his medicine. The request and the gift.
Many other things happened in my journey. Seeing amazing patterns and shapes, like intricate energetic webs or blankets that our physical eyes are not attuned to witnessing. I saw something that looked like a grey terry-towling. Somehow this is the fabric of our dimension. This energetic soft terry-towling is the thing we can interact with at our physical energetic level. We can touch and tweak this blanket, asking it for that which we need. Putting forth our request, or energy or intention to it, and it moves with these touches. Our worlds become adjusted by it, by what we whisper in those dark places inside us.
A few days after this first journey, I sat outside on my front steps in the sunlight. I felt like a tree, the roots from the bottom of my feet extending deep into the earth below me. All trees are connected. All trees have neural networks buried where no one can see. There are old trees in my street where I live. I felt connected to them, and to the tree where my medicine came from.
I felt part of the earth, springing forth from it, connected.
(Image taken from google search woodsubliminals.wordpress.com/black-cube/)