the ayahuasca adventure

about an hour later, I was called down for a meal of noodles, rice and potatoes. this was, I assumed, to starch me up for the ayahuasca that was to keep as much down – or absorbed – as possible. having not eaten all day, I scarfed it down and went back upstairs to wait for 40 more minutes or so until it was time. this was when I started to seriously freak out – thinking about what Burroughs had written Ginsberg, and visa-versa – time travel, telepathy and, most disturbing to me – extreme introspection.  now, you have to realize that I’ve lived a somewhat abnormal life – with more drugs and sex than I care to admit, along with a large group of people who partake in those things… I say that to explain that I’ve fallen out with many, and sometimes said falling out has gotten nasty, things said, hurtful things… and some of them that possibly had some truth behind them. basically, I didn’t know if I did really want to go down that rabbit hole to things that might be wrong with me… and that scared me. that scared me and I was also worried that if I had a bad trip, the language barrier between myself and the shaman wouldn’t help much… I mean, asking if Jesus is really on one’s thumb is hard enough in your native language, you know? I was also worried about pooping myself, as I only brought one pair of clothes. for the next half an hour, I forced myself to think about good things, the good people in my life, the adventures I’ve been lucky enough to have, my amazing family… things like this.

around midnight he called out for me and I damn near shat myself right then, even before taking the yage. I went downstairs to the sacred room, where he was waiting, holding a sword. I was made to kneel down, cross myself, and he basically knighted me. he told me to sit down and wrapped me up in a large poncho, turned off the lights and lit a few candles. he said a few prayers, spat on me again with some strange perfume, and chanted some more. now, realize my Spanish is crap, but I could hear him constantly referring to San Pedro – quite a few times, actually… which, for you non-users, is mescaline. which kind of pissed me off, as I wanted ayahuasca. this also worried me, seeing how a mescaline trip can last for 10 hours… and as much as I love a good adventure, I don’t want to do anything for 10 hours. but it was too late now, and, as he crossed the room with a pot full of the cut-up cactus. he gave me a big cup full and I drank it down and he did the same… that’s when I switched on the microphone:

hour 1 – it starts with a prayer. then we drink the horrific liquid down. I turn down his offering of a second glassful…

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I knew it was about time for everything to kick in and I prepared myself. I mentally practiced how to tear off the poncho once I needed to poo or throw up, I also reminded myself to simply stay on that mountain, and keep driving up the mountain. I also really hoped to never have had a coach who touched me inappropriately or something like that… but again, it was all too late, and I rested my head against the adobe wall for everything to get weird…

now, you need to trust me when I tell you what happened next is 100% God’s honest truth, okay? I mean it… this is exactly what happened…

about 30 minutes after consuming the plant, something bad happened.

something very bad.

it made me angry, then happy. annoyed, but amused.

[again, truth here]

it was nothing.

as in absolutely nothing.

as in absolutely nothing happened at all whatsoever in any way, shape or form. 

I sat there for two hours waiting on visions, colors, sounds, anything… and nothing happened. the shaman was in the corner drunk on the rice wine he had in front of him, crossing over to me once every 40 minutes to say a prayer over me, spit on me, or force me to drink tobacco juice [which, by the way, was the nastiest thing I’ve ever done] … but nothing happened.

nothing.

nothing at all.

hour 2 – more prayers and his beads. walking around me again and again. it should have kicked in by now. it had not. in between prayers, he and I drink rice wine.

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hour 3 – he begins inhaling pure tobacco, and praying over me. when he coughs, it’s on me. intentionally. by now, he’s too drunk to remember my name anymore. even though he’s asked me more than a dozen times. more sneezing, again – all over me. 

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hour 4 – we’re outside now. he has his flute and his bells. the sound you hear after the whistle is him spitting perfume on me. 

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now, you’d think I’d be pissed off, but all I could do was sit there in the darkness and laugh. for the next hour or so, I did that – smile, laugh, giggle at whatever hadn’t happened. if it wasn’t meant to go down, then I was glad it wasn’t forced. he then told me I was to go upstairs and sleep, and would wake me up in the morning.

4 hours later he did, and we grabbed two of his donkeys and made our way up to a sacred lake, the Laguna Negro. I’ll let the videos speak for themselves to what happened there.

… and thus was the end of my adventure with yage. I’d have plenty of other chances over the next few months to partake, but took this as a sign that it wasn’t the right time. it would have been nice to have written Adam all about it, but I hope he’ll still be open to writing nonetheless.

but if it ain’t your time, sister, then don’t force it. I’m no hippy, but I know enough to listen to the signs – especially when it comes to sacred plants.

sacred plants that cost me $149.

[I knocked a dollar off for the meal he provided.]