What I learned after five days of drinking ayahuasca: Part two

The medicine’s effects were gradual. First came the nausea, which sat with me for what felt like a few hours. I didn’t experience any intense visuals. I did, however, connect with the medicine on a very emotional level. The medicine music only heightened this, as the musicians’ powerful lyrics and rhythmic beats filled the air. I would discover that the music would play a very guiding role in each of my ceremonies.

I went to sit by the fire to try to purge. Catalina accompanied me, providing a soothing presence. I vomited everything up, all of my stress, worries, concerns, pain. It all came up. Vomiting up ayahuasca is different from the kind of vomiting you might get from food poisoning or some other illness. The sounds alone are enough to recognize that (imagine someone screaming and vomiting at the same time). It feels like it comes from somewhere much deeper than just your stomach, and you’re not just getting out whatever food or liquid you consumed in the previous few hours plus some stomach juices. You’re getting out bad things. Emotional struggles. Past traumas. Self-hate. Destructive, limiting beliefs. It’s literally coming out as you vomit.

My purge wasn’t over once I’d finished throwing up. I started to cry uncontrollably, but the tears didn’t stem from sadness. They were cathartic and provided release, eventually turning into tears of joy. Purging on ayahuasca can come in many forms, not just vomiting. It can come out as laughing, yawning, crying, physical movements, or diarrhea. It’s all normal, and it’s all brought on with nothing but love.

After I stopped crying, I went back to my mattress to enjoy the music. I felt awash with unbounded gratitude. I felt connected. I felt so much love I could burst. Gracias, medicina.

Post-ceremony

At around 6 am, things started to wind down. I slept for a couple of hours and woke up to people starting to discuss the night’s events. I got up and went to sit by the fire again where I spoke to Patrick and Catalina about what had happened. Strangely, I started to experience some light visual effects and felt myself slipping back into a mild psychedelic state as we chatted. This had never happened to me before, but I went with it. It lasted around an hour, after which I felt great. We were to drink twice more that day, so we spent the hours leading up to the second ceremony talking, reading, relaxing, and journaling.

We drank again at around 5 pm. This time, the insights were more actionable. My mantras, self-talk, and the messages I got were all in Spanish. It showed me that I have no reason to ever be hesitant to speak Spanish. I got the message that I’m following the right path with my writing, and that I should pursue the ideas that I’ve had in the back of my mind for a while (hence this blogs!). I knew that I had to go forward, always trusting my own intuition. The medicine had taken a while to kick in, but once it did, I again had a very physical experience and a lot of intense nausea. At certain points, I considered drinking more, but I felt so nauseous that I couldn’t bring myself to. Eventually, I purged but continued to feel very uncomfortable and unstable. The music brought relief, but I knew I had to be patient. After a while, the discomfort subsided and I got some sleep before the third ceremony, which was to take place later that night.

The third ceremony felt like a reinforcement of the lessons I’d received in the first two, and more. At this point, as you can imagine, I was exhausted. We took the yagé at around 3 am (just over 24 hours after the first time we drank). The nausea hit again and felt even more relentless. I purged but felt no relief. Every time I felt like it was subsiding, and thought to myself, “I think it’s going now,” it would get worse. I felt like I was in an endless state of chuma and stomach pain. I closed my eyes and went on journeys through the psychedelic realm, but the discomfort kept me from fully surrendering. The medicine was teaching me serious patience, and would continue to do so until midday the following day. I knew I had to get comfortable being uncomfortable. I sat with the pain and opened myself up to whatever the medicine had to teach me.

I felt a deep understanding of how important it is to be true to myself. To not do things because that’s what I perceive other people expect of me, or because I want to be able to say that I’ve done them. This is the only way to live authentically, and ultimately carve out the path that I want for myself. I began to understand what it feels like to feel from the heart, and not only think my emotions in my head. It’s difficult to explain how you just “get” these things during an ayahuasca journey, but they just come to you. Things that I previously believed to be true turned into unquestionable truths. This was not necessarily new information, the medicine just reinforces it in a wholly new way. My mantra for this ceremony was: let go, be open, trust the process. It’s one that I’ll try to carry into my life as part of how I integrate these experiences.

Again, the stomach pain carried on for a few hours after the ceremony. I tried to get up and mingle with the others over breakfast, but I couldn’t stomach eating anything yet so I went to sit by the fire. It became clear that I wasn’t going to purge again, so I went to lie down until it subsided. In the space of three ceremonies, I had managed to completely flip how I thought about this discomfort. While in past ceremonies, I had spent that time willing for it to be over and to feel normal again, I understood now that this is how it has to go. The medicine is always teaching you something, even if it doesn’t feel like it. I had to let the yagé do its work.

We spent the rest of the day lying by the pool, sharing our experiences, and relaxing ahead of the following day’s ceremonies. That night, we shared medicines and each spoke about what we had learned so far. I summed mine up in one statement, which was also the name of the song that the musician had played to open the circle: confianza en el camino (trust in the process).

After the medicine circle came the sound healing, where the musicians used instruments from all around the world to create beautiful sounds and music. Admittedly, I was slipping in and out of sleep at this point, as it was around 2 am. It was beautiful, though, and after it was over we all got up to sleepily dance to a few of the songs. After that, I headed straight to bed and got a good night’s sleep before the final day of ceremonies.

Confianza en el camino

I awoke with a real sense of excitement. After speaking to a few others who had done this retreat before, the general consensus was that the final day’s yagé ceremony felt like a powerful culmination of the whole retreat. While you can never know what to expect, I had a hunch that this would be the case for me too. We had a light breakfast of crackers and fruit and nervously waited for the ceremony to begin.

At around 1 pm, we sat around the altar where the Taita pours the yagé, and he began his ritual of singing icaros over the plastic jugs that hold the brew while shaking his waira over the medicine. He finished and called us up to drink. I was one of the first. I drank, and gathered my blanket, pillow, bucket, toilet roll, and water bottle, and headed over to the poolside cabin with Patrick. We sat there waiting for it to kick in. After around an hour, Patrick got up to drink again. Another 30 minutes passed, and I wasn’t feeling anything yet, so I got up for a second cup. I relocated to my mat, and the music started.

I slowly started to slip into the familiar state. I was sitting crossed-legged with my eyes closed and started rocking back and forth to the music. As it got louder, I started swaying and sit-down dancing to its infectious rhythm. And off I went.

As the effects grew stronger, I reminded myself to focus on my breath. The visions started and I began to go what felt like upwards on a journey until I’d open my eyes and bring myself back once again. The effects slowly got much more intense, so I anchored myself in my breath and my internal mantras:

Let go

Be open

Trust the process

Todo es amor

The colours were like I’ve never seen before, and everything seemed to move with the music. Whenever I’d open my eyes, I’d see pink and orange hues coming from the musicians. When they played louder, the candle flame would get bigger and the atmosphere would thicken. I had some nausea, but nothing compared to the previous three ceremonies. I felt an unbounded connection to the music and thanked the musicians eternally for all of the ways in which they’d helped me through the process. I heard the goings-on of others in the group, some people were laughing, some puking, some babbling, but it was all good. It was all healing. I didn’t let them affect my experience heavily; every time something started to take me off track, I took some deep breaths, reminded myself of my mantras, and brought myself back to my centre. I was travelling through a continuum of colours, bodily feelings, and incredible sounds. Keenan came over to me to check on how I was doing. I managed to mutter “I’m good.” He looked so proud. “You’re killing it, Mags,” he said. “I’m killing it, Keenan,” I replied.

After a while of focusing on my breath, anchoring myself, and focusing on not getting led down paths I had the power to avoid, I began to slip into a more relaxed state. The experience was just as intense, but I felt like I had reached a point where I could focus on what the medicine was showing me rather than calming myself down. Overwhelmingly, the message was inner strength. I have more inner strength than I ever knew. It’s always there, and I’ll always be able to tap into it. Noone can ever take it away, and whatever life may bring, I know I can handle it. It felt like I’d uncovered a source of something that I knew was going to teach me, guide me, and be there for me for the rest of my life. And that was my heart, my eternal source of inner strength.

The experience drew on. Others laughed, screamed, cried, purged. It was all beautiful. It was all love. I slipped into a state of wonderment, calmness, gratitude, and ultimate appreciation for the medicine. Don’t get me wrong, weird stuff was happening (I could hear someone turning a blender on and off for around one-minute intervals – I later discovered that no one else had heard this and no one had been using a blender) – but I had the power to choose how I responded. 

Eventually, after what felt like hours, the intensity of the effects began to subside. I was still very much chumada (tripping) when Catalina came to mobilize us to head down to the Inipi, and for a split second I considered whether I could do it. That thought quickly passed. I called on my inner strength, slowly arose from my mat, put on my bikini in the bathroom while taking a painstaking effort to not look in the mirror, and started to slowly and carefully make my way to the Inipi.

I remembered the patience, the strength, the beauty, the connectedness, the gratitude, and ultimately – the love – that the medicine had shown to me over the prior four days. I was exactly where I was supposed to be, and I’ll go exactly where I’m supposed to go, as long as I have confianza en el camino.

What I learned after five days of drinking ayahuasca: Part one

I could see the light from the flames of the campfire from behind my eyelids. I rocked back and forth, opening them periodically, to try to gather how long it would be until it was time to enter the Inipi – a traditional Native American sweat lodge. I focused on my breath and contemplated whether there was a chance I still needed to purge, scanning for a rogue bucket as I hadn’t brought mine down to the Inipi. There wasn’t. “Oh well, hopefully, I’m done by now,” I thought.

I was sitting cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by the chatter of everyone else trickling in and deconstructing what on earth had just happened in the last six hours. I, however, was in no place to involve myself in these conversations. I tried not to think about how much longer I was going to be in the chuma (trip), and did my best to exert the patience I’d been taught over the previous four days.

After a while, it was my turn to go up and receive the limpieza from Madre Lorena. Madre Lorena is the Inipi shaman, and prior to entering the painstakingly-constructed sweat lodge, she conducted an individual ritualistic cleansing on each person. This, however, required me to stand up. And walk. Next to a fire. “If you can get through the last six hours, you can get up and do this,” I thought to myself. I slowly arose and ungracefully stumbled over to the limpieza spot, where I told Lorena that I was still deep in the chuma. 

She performed the cleansing, and Catalina helped me back to where I had been sitting. After a while, we stood up again to salute the four cardinal points, north, south, east, and west. Madre Lorena sang the traditional songs, and it was time to enter the Inipi. On our hands and knees, in we went, all 35 of us.

Getting to know the medicine

Why on earth was I putting myself through all of this?

This five-day retreat wasn’t the first time I was drinking ayahuasca, or yagé, as it is known in Colombia (for information on what the difference is, check out this article I wrote for Psychable). I first tried ayahuasca in October of 2019. A group of friends and I took part in a single Saturday night ceremony in a spot called Ambiwasi in Santa Elena, around an hour outside of Medellin. The funny thing is that we all actually worked together at the time and it became workplace knowledge, so going back into the office on Monday morning, I was met with a flurry of questions from coworkers about how it went.

“I feel like I dipped my toes in,” was my answer. The journey had certainly been psychedelic, and uncomfortable at times, but by no means was I transcending this reality and puking my guts out. I was crazy nervous to drink for the first time, and I think the medicine knew that, so she treated me gently. Following that, I drank ayahuasca five more times over a period of around a year and half. The last ceremony before the retreat, in February of this year, was the most intense and transformative I’d had yet. I spent what felt like hours (in reality it was probably less than an hour, the medicine can distort your perception of time like that) in childs pose, hurling into my bucket, flooded with your typical DMT-esque shining colours and moving fractals. On top of the physical and hallucinogenic intensity, I received a number of very clear, actionable takeaways from the medicine. I’m not going to say that this was the reason I quit my job one month later, but I can’t deny that there was no relation. The medicine showed me how much I carry stress in my body and how I needed to take actions that would allow me to let it go.

Art: Alex Gray

Fast-forward to April, and I heard about the retreat at La Ceiba, a beautiful ayahuasca healing center in Girardota, around 45 minutes away from Medellin. The center is owned by Keenan Lee and Daniela Villa, a Canadian-Colombian couple who have been hosting plant medicine ceremonies at their home for more than five years. I’d drunk at La Ceiba’s public ceremonies before, but had never built up the courage to commit to a full retreat. Now, I knew the time was right.

After my last experience, I knew I wanted to keep going and deepen my relationship with yagé. Not to mention, I’d been getting to know the medicine through my writing too, and felt it was the perfect time to return to learn more from her. I texted Keenan and he told me there were two spots left. Without a second’s consideration, I responded: “Alright, I’m in.”

Connect, learn, purge

After some protest-related delays on the way out of Medellin (for info on why people have been protesting for months in Colombia, read this article), we arrived at La Ceiba at around 9pm on a Wednesday evening. I was received with a warm hug from Catalina and welcoming, excited smiles from the rest of the participants. I joined them as they chatted casually around the dinner table, and started to get to know my fellow journeyers. Connecting with others on this path has become a hugely important part of my journey, and I had a feeling we were going to get to know each other very well over the coming days.

After a few hours of socialising with others and getting settled in, we gathered around the fire to share some sacred medicines (rapé, mambe, and ambil) and talk about our intentions for the coming ceremonies. As people shared their struggles, goals, and what led them to the retreat, a thick energy of empathy, attentiveness and support from the rest of the group filled the air. Opening up about why you’ve chosen to drink ayahuasca in front of a bunch of people you met two hours prior can be intimidating, but in this setting, it somehow felt like the most natural thing we could have done. I spoke about my writing and how I wanted to get to know the medicine better, on a deeper level. I hoped she’d guide me forward on the path that I’m currently on, and explained how, ultimately, I was there to learn – however that might be.

During the circle, Keenan said something that really stuck with me. It was something along the lines of, “People who don’t feel many strong effects may think that they haven’t gained any insights. But that’s not true, no matter how mild the experience, you are always receiving information.” I had certainly made that mistake with some of my previous ceremonies, comparing my experiences to those of others and feeling almost jealous that I hadn’t been catapulted into a different universe like they had. However, looking back, I learned a great deal from those ceremonies. I realized, and would later understand even more deeply, that that’s exactly how it had to go for me. There is no value in comparing your experience to that of others, as you will always get exactly what you need. So why would you want anything else?

After the circle, I chatted to a few more people before heading to bed. The following day was going to be a big one, and I wanted to feel rested and prepared.

I woke up the next day feeling nervous but excited. We were to undergo a number of different therapies before the first yagé ceremony that night, beginning with the tobacco water purge. Judging by its name, you can probably guess what it entails. We were to drink a total of three litres of hot tobacco water (water which had been boiled with tobacco leaves), with the idea being to drink it so fast that it immediately comes back up again. However, this is much easier said than done, especially given that the jugs of water handed to us are still scolding hot.

La Ceiba Ayahuasca Healing Center, Girardota, Colombia

Litre by litre, I got them down. I made the mistake of not cooling the first litre down enough, hindering my ability to chug the brown liquid as if I was back at uni pre drinks. I drank too slow, and the water stayed put. I cooled the next litre down considerably more, and was able to get that down much quicker. Up it all came, pretty smoothly. I immediately felt a rush of clarity wash over me. Two down, one to go. Despite adopting the same technique for the final litre, I didn’t purge. Uh oh, I knew this wasn’t going to be comfortable. The nausea got gradually worse, and after around an hour, I was given a litre of hot plain water to chug once again. Thankfully it worked, and I was able to get the remainder out and enjoy the post-purge effects. I felt present, centred, and ready for the rest of the day.

Next up was the stinging nettle (ortiga) therapy. First, we had to spend around 20 minutes crouched on a stool in what can only be described as little stone eggs with a pan of steaming hot water, filled with aroma-releasing herbs and plants. After that, we were washed with tea and were told to sit and dry by the fire before the ortiga therapy. This involved being lightly hit with a thorny branch and nettles over our entire bodies. While uncomfortable and slightly painful at parts, I reminded myself of the medicinal values of the ortiga and the purpose behind the therapy.

As the evening approached, we showered and got ready for the ceremony, forgoing dinner to make sure our stomachs were empty when we drank the yagé. Every place I have drunk yagé has worked to a different schedule: while some places will pour the medicine at 9.30 pm, others may do so around midnight, or somewhere in between. Working to Taita Jeronimo’s schedule, we didn’t start the ceremony until around 2.30 am. We each went up to drink, one by one, and headed back to our mats to nervously wait for it to kick in.

To be continued.