Roots and all

A few days ago I woke up with the crusty remains of black vomit splattered across my white dress..

It was ‘spiritual vomit’; you could say I was officially christened by the divine mother.

I should have bottled the remaining amount really now I think about it- I could have anointed objects around my house to make them more ‘spiritual’, like my vacuum cleaner or clothes horse.

Dear people, I am no longer a plant medicine novice for I have purged out of every orifice the mighty dark mother, Ayahuasca.

Tick. Gold Star. Done. Dusted.

Next step… walking on water.

Sitting amongst a group of white walkers (people all dressed in white) we approached the Shaman for our first cup of black root nectar and then like a stalker outside your window behind a garbage bin- we waited. Feeling the anticipation of a virgin on prom night, I sat on my cushion with slight trepidation and a naive assumption that this plant, like all plants was a benign species.

Like a Sunflower or Bottle Nose Dolphin

Or Tibetan Prayer Flag.

To say I held myself gracefully as the medicine swept through my cells like wildfire… to suggest that I was able to remain centred and silent as requested by the Shaman is a grave error dear friends. A misguided blunder. A stray delusion.

I basically lost my shit

5 mins into my Ayahuasca journey-

MIND- “What the fuck is this? I am never doing this again. This is the only time I will EVER do plant medicine. How long does this take to wear off? What is the point of all of this? Why is there a naked Native American Indian standing in the corner holding a neon fractal light?”

BODY- “I feel so uncomfortable sitting up straight. I know the Shaman said we were meant to be upright but I feel like spreading myself around the space a little.. rolling on the floor feels good.. arms and legs splayed out.. ahhh.. …nah that isn’t it…. maybe I will stand up and dance a little… it feels ok to be upside down with my legs in the air… what if I rest my feet on the window pane and drag my toes down the glass… moaning helps.. yes moaning… “

It became apparent within the first stage of my journey with the mighty root that I am not a ‘contained person’ able to hold difficulty with the grace and lightness of a grasshopper. I was a sinking ship. A braying donkey with neurosis. I was an insect that lands in your drink and proceeds to drown loudly. Now times all that by one hundred.

My inner cries for ‘someone to get me out of here” were replaced with the stark realisation that I was on my own, complete with my active defiance, fierce resistance, neurotic mind and wilful body. Fucking great.. I was stuck. With myself. Alone. Just with myself. A suitcase of crazy. Just me. FUCK.

Now I could go on about the parody of my hell ride but instead I am going to fast forward to what she did teach me, when I was able to stop identifying with all of the above and accept that I had only one choice and that was to choose how to respond and that was to ignore ‘me’.

SEGUE WAY TO THE VULNERABLE SECTION OF THE STORY

After realising that I could not longer hold on to the thrashing, resisting ‘me’ I broke into the desperate longing of my heart and the rivers of tears that held with in each drop my false sense of power and security poured forth like an underground spring.

I cried.

On my knees I cried tears of humility. I was shown the countless times when I had not been able to embrace the blessings of my life. Where I had failed to hold gratitude for the love that was pouring forth from people, lands and the very rain that cascaded down outside our room. I cried tears that begged forgiveness for my self consumed selfishness. I cried tears for the times when I was in the way of deep appreciation, when my complaints tempered the purity of the grace that surrounds me.

I was shown the energy web of life that links us all and that when I focus solely on ‘me’ and ‘my experience’ I am draining the field, taking from the web. I was told that if I turned my gaze to the web I could offer back to the whole, lifting and supporting the field.

So I did.

I opened my eyes, hoisted my wilful body out of it’s upside down asana and opened my heart to the 30 other souls in the circle. I could feel every single person in our medicine web as ripples of energy and emotions of the group passed through my heart. I felt the inner whimpering of suffering, the groans of stoicism and the silent roar of determination. I poured my love into the web and began to purge. Each time I vomited I felt the outpouring of energy, emotions and patterns lodged in the collective experience, I felt myself expelling for the group. Filling my bucket with all of us and in that black murky outpouring I could no longer feel ‘me’.

Now don’t get me wrong, although I am most definitely more spiritual now** parts of ‘me’ have slowly but surely began to resume residency at The Winter Jade Icely Inn. What has changed is my identification with them, which has lessened somewhat. I can feel the inner structures of my ‘self’ swaying in the wind and also the anticipation of the monsoon season when high winds will no doubt come to demolish them completely.

When that time comes my only advice for those around me is to get some heavy duty ear plugs.

** not ashamed of being really really spiritual.