Grandmother called. Not my grandmother. The “Grandmother.” The Amazonian that all the spiritually and Burner inclined seem to be related to now. I’m talking about ayahuasca, the proverbial, psychedelic plant-based brew ceremoniously administered by shamans to spiritual hippie-type people. Understood by some as a gateway to the spiritual world, it draws in the curious or those looking for healing. Why would anyone seek to consume this “Vine of the Dead” (another of its aliases) concoction? Because just like we learned from watching Avatar in 3-D, plants know things. Last year I decided I wanted to know things too.

How does one go about getting in touch with Grandma? In my case, it started with hearing about one of my friends receiving an invitation to join a ceremony outside the city. Then another friend went somewhere else. “No, I can’t meet for drinks tonight,” yet another friend would say. “I’m on dieta.” Eventually, I realized that this dieta didn’t mean they were going on a juice cleanse. They were preparing their bodies, minds, and spirits for a “medicine-plant ceremony.” When it got to the point where readying for ayahuasca and spending weekends with shamans became a common and acceptable reason to rejigger a social engagement, I arranged to pay ol’ Grandma a visit. After all, I’m someone who’s been known to try 99% of things at least once.

I decided to go it alone and felt confident in the shamanic guides I had been referred to by several people who had sat in ceremony with them before. I knew their training and experience, which also made me comfortable. Yet as the date neared, my mind spun with questions. Throwing up, or “purging” as it’s more tenderly called, is a common side effect of taking ayahuasca. Could I comfortably puke among total strangers? Would I have a conversation with the universe that I would later excitedly relay to others, who would then think I’d finally gone entirely insane? Would I start carrying crystals in my pocket and looking for signs to point “the way”? Actually, I had already started doing that last one. 

My mind spun with questions. Throwing up, or “purging” as it’s more tenderly called, is a common side effect of taking ayahuasca. Could I comfortably puke among total strangers? Would I start carrying crystals in my pocket and looking for signs to point “the way”? 

In truth, I was most afraid of getting a glimpse of my future and seeing that it did not include the man I’d been in a relationship with for the last six years. Or it would include him, and perhaps that was even worse. No, the worst possible outcome was continuing forward in our state of indecision and uncertainty. That was no longer an option. Arriving at these breaking points or moments of truth generally require a big-ass shovel and the will to start digging. Those spiritual types refer to this as “the work,” and it finds you when you are ready. I can vouch for that. 

As I drove to the ceremonial site, a.k.a. a hippie’s house, for the weekend, I could have passed for a vegan Virgin Mary. For the week prior, I had eliminated a long list of items from my diet – meats, dairy, soy, sugar, salt, alcohol, and caffeine. No biggie. However, there was a surprising “additional restrictions” category that included the bullet “No sexual activities of any kind, including masturbation.” Uh, what? Apart from forgetting for a brief moment one lazy morning while I was alone – and then immediately remembering – I adhered to the five days of no funny business. I wasn’t going to run the risk of these infractions coming up somehow.

I arrived at dusk with my sleeping bag, a backpack full of white clothes to keep with the theme of purity, and my first tube of natural toothpaste (apparently, plants know something about Crest). I was, as they say, ready.

It would be inappropriate and disrespectful to share anything about the other people who sat in this ceremony with me. This wasn’t a shit-your-pants-and-tell kind of a thing. (Most people made it to the bathroom in time. Most.) I will say, the other participants were no different from me. Just regular people with regular problems looking for answers, inspiration, or a connection to something greater than what they’ve experienced before. But once we all came together dressed in white, sat in a circle, and poised ourselves for purging in our personal pails, my brain involuntarily registered images of Heaven’s Gate. I then looked around and asked myself the customary question, what the fuck am I doing here? Although I’m not a religious person, it somehow made sense to say a prayer.

Dear God #1: Please don’t let me be on tomorrow morning’s breaking news.

Luckily, I had not inadvertently stumbled into a cult. Instead, our two shamanic guides and a couple of other assistants thoroughly briefed us on what to expect and how to best approach the following six to seven hours. The main things were to stay as relaxed as possible, to remember to breathe, and to try to keep in mind what we wanted to get out of the experience. Then, together, the less than 20 of us began the ceremony by creating a sacred space with rituals and chants. Settled into our spots, we had formed a circle tight enough for my nearest neighbors to hear me breathe… and all my other bodily functions.

I had been warned. I knew it wasn’t going to taste like a wild-berry smoothie. And no, it did not. With all due respect, the mud pies I made from my backyard when I was five tasted less bitter. 

After setting individual intentions, we each drank the ayahuasca from a small glass. I had been warned. I knew it wasn’t going to taste like a wild-berry smoothie. And no, it did not. With all due respect, the mud pies I made from my backyard when I was five tasted less bitter. I had to will it down my throat and override the natural instinct to violently reject it.

Dear God #2: Please don’t let me be the one to throw up before I’m supposed to.

Once everyone did a shot, we started the silent meditation. That I could do! I was ready for what was to come next. Or so I thought.

The timing is uncertain to me, but I think I started feeling the hallucinogenic effects within 30 to 45 minutes. I could sense my energy shift as soon as one of the shamans broke the silence with an icaro, a healing song sung or whistled in ceremony. Vital to the experience, icaros are used to activate visions while calling in spirits or sending them away.

It was the first time I had ever heard anything like it. The room was dark, but I popped one eye open to check if I could see anything. The small amount of light that remained in the room was vibrating and dancing about. I could see our guide moving in the center of our circle as he sung and shook his chakapa, a rattle made of bundled leaves. As soon as he finished, the other facilitator would fill the room with her stunning voice. All my senses became heightened, and I felt extremely sensitive to what I was hearing and feeling. The thick liquid substance I had ingested began responding to their music and moving through my body as if it were a snake.

Then I felt ill. Like, the-worst-kind-of-flu ill.

Dear God #3: Oh, God, here we go. Please just show me whatever it is you think I need to know.

Literally everything I have suppressed or worked to avoid dealing with throughout my life started showing up in my visions. I saw myself wrestle with the unhealthy strategies, the bouts of self-hatred, the void of forgiveness for others and myself, the anger, the insecurities, the lack of trust, the ego. I was staring at what years of therapy, books, and workshops never fully accessed for me. As if that wasn’t bad enough, I had no place to go but to sift through and examine every piece of it for the next several hours. You can see why they call taking ayahuasca a “journey.”

All night, our shamans guided and watched over us, knowing when to direct their energy to the group or an individual. My mind continually sorted and selected the things I needed to consider. Just when difficult emotions felt like they were about to break me, I’d hear the shaking of the shaman’s rattle directly over me. Or I’d catch the fierce, angelic voice of the other shaman, who seemed to be channeling a divine medicine woman. At precisely the right time, their presence would enter my consciousness, and I’d get a brief and much-welcome reprieve from the longest and most honest look I’ve ever had of myself.

As the ceremony came to a close, all I wanted to do was go to sleep. It was somewhere around 3 a.m., and I was spent. The shamans gently pulled us together and grounded us back to our current time and space with some final chanting and a brief sharing of everyone’s experience. Afterward, some people stayed awake and continued talking with each other. I curled up in the fetal position and pulled my sleeping bag over my head.

Dear God #4: Thank you.

Dear God #5: Oh, and thank you for blessing me with a strong sphincter.

I ended up staying for a second ceremony the next night, even though there was a point during the first when I’d thought, “Fuck this. I feel like ass, and this shit is not fun.” I didn’t think my ego and I could take any more humbling body checks from Granny.

I’ve now done six other ceremonies since the first two, each pushing me further to clean up my mental and emotional trash. Working through that debris has helped me become unstuck in certain areas and gain the clarity necessary to create the life I truly want for myself.

Maybe you’ve read all this and you totally get it. Maybe you think I’m a complete nutter or now one of those spiritual hippie types. Maybe I am.

I’m no longer involved in the romantic partnership I was in when I first took ayahuasca. Like any good relationship advice from a grandma, the message I received was that I would know what to do when the time was right. That moment arrived last May. I took the lessons I was meant to learn from that tumultuous chapter and closed it.

Maybe you’ve read all this and you totally get it. Maybe you think I’m a complete nutter or now one of those spiritual hippie types. Maybe I am. More than likely, I’m just a better rendition of myself with the desire to keep improving. Sometimes I can’t make plans with friends because I’m off to see a shaman. All I know is that Grandmother is a wise and tough old bird.