Come to the light

I was whispering to the German guy, “Come to the light. Come and join us in the light,” but he was oblivious. He was still embroiled in a wrestling match with his demons, moaning and groaning on the mat next to mine. I understood. I had been there many times. I had been there an hour before, in fact. But now I was basking in the afterglow of a job well done. I had once again been brave and allowed the thick bitter liquid of ayahuasca to pass between my lips and lain back to let her have her way with me.

Almost always, after the hard stuff, for me, anyway, comes the sweet white light and the feeling of profound peace at the end of the journey. There I feel the love that Madre Ayahuasca has had for me all along. I just can't perceive it most of the time. She cleans us out until we can feel her.

I remember the dread I felt the first time I entered an ayahuasca ceremony. I was terrified of psychedelics. I had never tried anything but pot, and even that was too strong for me. But I wanted healing, and my partner Bill had told me how much his many ceremonies had done for him. 

There was a woman, one of the assistants, who saw my terror and said to me as we went in, “Just remember: Mother Ayahuasca loves you so much that she wants to show you a few things.” I held onto her words like a lifeline as my first drink took hold. 

I didn't want to resist. I wanted to let go and let the healing happen, but the medicine came on strong, with frightening visions, pulling me under, seducing my conscious mind, and my fear kept popping me out of the trance. I was fighting the medicine even though I wanted more than anything to surrender.

I resisted until I couldn't resist anymore, and then I was gone — on a nightmarish rollercoaster ride through scenes from my childhood, showing me how I’d been shaped into the obedient girl I’d become. I was shown grotesque pastel-coloured cartoons, all while puking my guts out, and then . . . hours later . . . the resistance was finally gone. I'd passed through the eye of the needle, I suppose. I had been scoured out, put through the wringer — shown a few things, all right— and now, I could feel it. The love. The belonging. What the sages through the ages have been trying to tell us: We are all one. 

We are all inside, together, all the humans, all the animals, everything we can conceive of and more. There is no outside. There is only in. And we were here all along.

I had that same feeling yesterday when I committed to publishing my writing after a lifetime of resistance. I woke up feeling like I was IN. I had been on the outside, banging on the screen door, and all the goddesses were inside. They opened the door and said, “Finally! Welcome. We were waiting for you. Actually, you’ve been here with us the whole time, but you didn't know it. Now you know.”

Another post about belonging. It seems to be a theme of mine.

Thanks to Benn McGuinness on Unsplash for the photo.