To The Cup

I wasn’t scared of throwing up this time around. The matter of 24 hours can feel like years. Lessons often learned in a lifetime I had begun to understand since the last time I was here. In this sacred maloca.

Last time when I left, I regretted everything that I signed up for. Who pays thousands of dollars to take ayahuasca, cry over past trauma, and throw up on a bucket on the floor? My first time, 24 hours ago, I had no idea what to expect. And though I still do not know, I have a better understanding. I need to let go of control.

Being here again on the mattress, everyone having their own, mine next to the wall for me to sit up, I was more ready. Pillow at the head of the mattress. Bucket and toilet paper at the foot of it. The white copal smoke camouflaging the scenery, only a little bit. It sends me right back to yesterday. A day that feels like it was worlds away.

Last night, there was no asking for help. There was no letting go. The four questions we were to ask ourselves were gray and ash in my mind. They did not matter. I was furious. Anger on the surface. Abandonment and a lack of love the foundation.

I wanted healing from depression, anxiety, and ailments in my body. I did not need to feel the pain of losing my father. Or visions of every lover I gave myself to that only used and discarded me. I curled up in a ball and wailed just as I had the day my father died.

My first time, I did walk into this with the right intentions. The second time, though a tinge of anxiousness coated my skin, I knew what I had to do. I wasn’t running from anything. Time to face the truth.

Much like the first time, I loved the way the shamans chanted and sang over the music. It found what was laying dormant in each cell of my body and woke it up. I swayed in my bed as I did before. Once their melodic voices lowered, my heart started to pick up. Don’t deceive me, I said to it. We were there to do some deep healing.

It was. They called for the first cup to be served. And for the second time, I went to take Ayahuasca again. Don’t think. Just drink. No more than an ounce or two, I took the shot glass full and tilted my head back. The taste of the vine and plant were just as bitter. Thick and gritty it coated my teeth and tongue. Once it went down my throat I walked quickly back to my mattress.

We couldn’t drink water, but I was able to swish it around in my mouth to get that grit out of it. I hated the way the medicine slowly moved in my body, and I could feel it spread to every corner of my being. How could such a small amount of liquid move through me so vastly.

I could feel the irritation of the night before starting. Sitting up in my bed trying to meditate was not helping. Think of the four questions.

How does that make you feel?

Do you feel that way in your regular life?

When was the first time you remember feeling that way?

Who has that made you?

I felt out of control. I feel that way every single day of my life. I can’t pinpoint the first time, but ever since I was a kid and had no choice but to do as I was told. Having no control over my father’s death. Having no control over how others loved me. It had me me a grown woman who was a hurt child that now had a problem with protectionism, a people pleaser, and greatly self-sabotaging myself.

I was on my knees rocking back and forth over the edge of the bed. I could tell much time had passed. I could feel the medicine wanting to come back up. I was fighting it. I did not want to taste that bitterness again. But we decided, this second time around, we would not be scared. I hovered on the bucket while the rest of my body, me on hands and knees, stayed on the mattress. It would be soon.

My mind kept asking why. Why does it affect me so fast? No one else in the maloca seemed to be bothered. Why do I have to throw up? Why am I doing this to myself? No, self! We are here for answers!

We won’t do what we did the first night. Give up on the journey and fight. I did not want to fight. Let go. As soon as I let go, I felt the forceful rush of the medicine come from deep inside of me and fill the bucket. How does it make so much?

My body began to convulse, and it released repeatedly into the bucket. Before I knew it, the team of shamans and helpers were over me fanning. My back arched up like a cat and I continued to release so much pain inside of me. The medicine had found something hidden. We were told to look at it and ask what it is. I finally was able to open my eyes after an eternity of purging, I asked my vomit, “What are you?”

The answer came quick and violently; these are all the men you have had sex with. It is time to clean you up.

No sooner than the last word finished, I looked to my left and sacred geometry burst in my vision everywhere. I know I said I would not run. That had to be mentally, as soon as I saw my eyes flooded with visions, my body moved backwards away from the team still trying to bring me comfort. They held me steady, and I asked over and over again, “What is this? Oh, my goodness, what IS THIS?”

I could feel the tears rolling down my cheeks, but I could only focus on the images invaded my senses. I could hear the shaman tell me, “Sister, find your breath. Find your breath.”

This second time did not have shit on the first.

I’m not sure of the magic that runs in the veins of that shaman and the people that helped him, but the fear of what I was experiencing, the truth in the colors, grids, and sounds; they found a way to calm my body. As he spoke, I still was going through my journey, his words seemed to wrap around me and calm my spirit. The shaking I had doing, it was gone.

Soon, they saw I was frantic anymore though I still asked what was going on, they left me to my mattress. Not without a wonderful helper that was there if I needed her.

I laid down and let the images take control. I watched many things that I could never explain with words. I heard and witnessed things that can’t be put into sounds. The first time, I struggled on my mattress and didn’t ask anyone for help. That night was one of the worst things I ever experienced. That second time though…hmph. I smile even as I write this.

The second time, I needed to go to the restroom. I knew it had been hours and I had to take care of some business. Yet, I could not walk on my own. All my life, I learned how to be professionally independent in every aspect. I would rather suffer than to ask for help. That is indeed what I did the first time. The second time, in that dark maloca that the helpers can move through so easily, I raised my hand. The lady that was assigned to me came over.

Something so simple but so scary I said, “I need help.”

That moment broke so many walls from my past, in that current moment, and for my future. She helped me to the restroom and back. The rest of the night is one of the most life changing experiences anyone could ever imagine. And I had that. I didn’t run away after the first time. I went back to the medicine looking for the truth.

You know what the truth gave me that second time? We all need each other. Sometimes, just three words can start a breakthrough.