IN THEIR OWN WORDS

My primary intention was to quit smoking and drinking. In the month leading up to the retreat, my alcohol consumption remained heavy, particularly while exploring the country. We were advised to abstain from alcohol, meat, dairy, acidic foods, sugar, coffee, and more for a week before the retreat. I made an effort but couldn't completely adhere to these guidelines. I managed to eat only fruits, vegetables, and rice for four days prior, and the day before the retreat, I abstained from alcohol entirely. However, the day before that, I had consumed two beers, and three the day before that, ending with a heavy drinking session.

Before the retreat, there was a video call with the participants and the coordinator who explained what to expect, how to prepare, and answered all our questions.

Day One: I embarked on a 3-hour journey to the retreat with my friend. During the drive, we engaged in deep conversations about our intentions and our respective pasts. Both of us were attending the retreat with therapeutic goals, aiming to confront our past traumas. We arrived at the retreat at around 4 pm as instructed and met the other participants. Everyone appeared slightly nervous and apprehensive, but we quickly formed a sense of camaraderie.

We were advised not to eat anything after 2 pm since the medicine tends to induce vomiting. I was mentally prepared for this eventuality. Each of us had a one-on-one session with the coordinator in the evening to discuss our intentions and have a 1-1 for all remaining questions.

The shaman had journeyed from Colombia to lead the retreat. Corinne served as the coordinator and as our translator, fluently navigating Spanish, English, and French. She explained the process and ceremony that lay ahead of us. The first night was dedicated to cleansing, purifying the body, blood, spirit, and mind using a tobacco-based brew. This served to calm our minds and bodies, preparing us for the transformative effects of the medicine. It was emphasized that this was not a recreational drug but a powerful medicine. It had the ability to identify and address the areas in need of healing by accessing different parts of the brain and opening or repairing neurological pathways.

The group gathered in a circle, seated on mattresses, adorned in comfortable clothing and blankets as instructed. The ambiance was carefully set with a lit fireplace, dim lighting, and candles placed around the shaman's seat, table, and fireplace mantle. The shaman, dressed in traditional attire with blue and white cloth headbands and bracelets, began the ceremony. His movements produced captivating sounds, particularly the resonant chime of his necklace.

The shaman's table held four large pots of the tobacco brew. After some preparation, he smoked a substantial amount, which I believed to be tobacco. Another kind of smoke was introduced into the room, the scent of which was unfamiliar to me but pleasant. It was burned in a pot and passed over the shaman's utensils, serving as a cleansing ritual.

The ceremony commenced with the group standing and holding hands while the shaman recited a prayer. Though I can't recall all the words, they revolved around healing, positive energy, and understanding ourselves. Each of us received our first round of the tobacco brew, with a maximum limit of eight jugs, filled halfway. As we sat in front of our buckets, we began to drink. The taste was dreadful, a challenge to consume. Some participants started purging almost immediately. It took me about five minutes to finish the first jug, and I anticipated the inevitable vomiting.

It was a peculiar environment for newcomers, sitting in a circle, vomiting alongside strangers, but we persevered, gradually realizing the necessity of this purification process.

The shaman inspected the amount purged by all 14 participants and expressed satisfaction. The effects of the tobacco were consistent with the descriptions provided earlier - a calm mind, reduced mental chatter, and relaxation of the body, albeit accompanied by slight nausea. We transitioned to the ceremony around midnight.

We were forewarned that we might vomit again or need to use the restroom. One by one, we approached the shaman's table and received his blessing for the small wooden bowl filled with the brew. His blessing was composed of a series of sounds rather than words. This refrain brought a smile to my friend, and we whispered it to each other with amusement.

We have now all ingested our initial dose and have fallen silent, as instructed, recognizing that this journey is an introspective voyage. Seated or reclining, minutes pass, and some among us begin to purge. The exact timeline eludes me, but I am one of the last to release. I recline, waiting to discern any sensations.

My gaze is fixed on the ceiling, a varnished wood grain with black stains over the knots in the wood. These stains gradually metamorphose into creatures—resembling beetles and smaller ones akin to ants. They commence their movement in orderly lines, traversing the ceiling's expanse before reversing course. This is absolutely captivating and persists despite my attempts to avert my gaze, spanning what feels like a duration of 20 to 30 minutes.

Throughout the night, the shaman introduces a spectrum of auditory experiences, including music, guitar playing, chanting, and even the use of his bone necklace as a musical instrument. These sounds significantly influence our emotions. He shakes his waira, creating additional auditory sensations, occasionally introducing other fragrances into the room as part of a cleansing ritual.

My vision is momentarily interrupted as something grabs my attention. I turn to my friend, and we share knowing smiles, recognizing that we have both just undergone a profoundly powerful experience. The time arrives for another dose, and we proceed with the second cup. The process is the same, with each participant receiving a blessing from the shaman, culminating in his signature.

Time loses its grip on me as I sit in quiet reflection after the second cup. Suddenly, pain surges through my stomach—a searing discomfort that I struggle with. Unlike most others who seem to be experiencing enjoyment, I am writhing in agony. It hurts intensely, and I realize I must make a hasty exit to the restroom.

My abrupt departure is accompanied by an unmistakable, albeit embarrassing, auditory display, as the toilet's proximity to the main room leaves little room for privacy. I am fully aware of the disturbance my actions might cause, but I have little choice. In the hours that follow, numerous participants experience a second bout of purging, while some also visit the restroom.

It becomes evident that the brew is rapidly passing through my body. Over the course of this phase, I visit the toilet around five to six times, enduring the most severe diarrhea of my life. I feel unwell, devoid of any psychedelic experiences. I make a decision to remove myself from the group, a course of action explicitly discouraged. I retreat to the bedroom, where Corrine makes two separate attempts to coax me back into the group. I resist, explaining the shock of my body's reaction and my apprehensions regarding disrupting the collective experience. She elucidates that this rigorous cleansing of the body is necessary to eliminate the toxic build-up within, but I remain obstinate.

Sleep proves elusive. I toss and turn in pain, interrupted by the compulsion to rush to the toilet every half hour. I am the sole individual experiencing this reaction, leading me to ponder why. The unwelcome revelation dawns upon me: it is the consequence of two decades of mistreatment and self-punishment inflicted on my body through excessive drinking and smoking. I do not take kindly to this self-awareness but accept the unvarnished truth.

On the second day, roughly around 9 am, I have purged everything and attempt to rejuvenate myself with a shower. Returning to the group, I share the harrowing details of my ordeal, a narrative infused with despair and loathing for the experience. I have an insatiable hunger but still contend with residual discomfort and a foul mood, conversing little with my companions. Eating alleviates my condition somewhat, yet the pain persists, and sleep continues to elude me.

We reconvene as a group after breakfast, sharing our individual journeys during the first ceremony. Some recount profound experiences, while others choose to remain silent during this session.

Lunch arrives around 3 pm, offering a simple vegetarian meal. My condition markedly improves following this meal. I make an attempt to sleep, but rest continues to evade me. Frustrated, I abandon my pursuit and embark on a walk, feeling peculiar but relatively well. As I traverse the forested landscape, I contemplate my sensations. A realization begins to take root: the rigorous purging was necessary to cleanse my body of the toxins that had accumulated over years of self-abuse. The urgency of addressing my self-destructive habits becomes my paramount focus. I comprehend the significance of the cleansing process and my body's visceral response to it.

The ceremony commences earlier, and despite my weariness, I am cautiously optimistic.

My friend reveals her intention to participate in a healing session. I contemplate joining her. The ritual unfolds; Candles flicker, firelight dances, and smoke wafts in the air as we form a circle. We clasp hands and engage in a communal prayer before each participant receives the first cup of the brew, accompanied by a blessing from the shaman. The effects are swift this time. Most individuals, myself included, purge within twenty minutes, shedding any residual discomfort.

With the shaman providing enchanting music, I redirect my attention inward, acutely aware of my body's sensations. This night, my heightened sensitivity allows me to feel the way my stomach should naturally feel. Years of alcohol abuse have left me in chronic pain, a realization that now takes precedence. I comprehend that the time has come to abandon my self-destructive habits and embrace a healthier path.

My friend is the first to request a second dose, a decision to which the shaman consents. We collectively partake in our second cups, and this time, I remain unperturbed by the need to purge. The brew navigates through my system as I focus on the transformative process it promises.

The intensity of the journey intensifies my state of consciousness. My mind becomes profoundly attuned to the energy within and around me. I perceive a higher plane of awareness, capable of discerning every shift in energy, both internal and external. I find myself wielding this newfound power to manipulate energy flows through purposeful hand gestures, as if conjuring magic.

I delve deep into my psyche, reflecting upon my reasons for being here. I am determined to unearth the roots of my addiction and self-punishment. What drives me to harm myself? Why do I persist in inflicting pain upon my own being? I oscillate between states of heightened consciousness, deep breathing exercises, and immersive engagement with the transformative music, at times discreetly observing others and their experiences.

The collective healing phase begins, accompanied by ethereal melodies. My thoughts converge on this fundamental question, and I am quickly thrust into a vortex of memories. In a whirlwind of seconds, I am assailed by memories—negative episodes, images of people, and traumatic scenarios spanning my life. These recollections unleash a torrent of emotions: sadness, anger, regret, disillusionment, confusion, and fear. I open my eyes, gasping for breath, grappling with the overwhelming cascade of sensations.

I delve deeper into my psyche, seeking the root cause of my punitive tendencies. An unexpected memory surfaces from my childhood—a vivid recollection of a mother strangling her helpless child, a boy of around eight years old. I am an onlooker to this horrific scene, transfixed and overwhelmed. My voice escapes my lips in an exclamation, "Why?" I watch as the boy, the child who endured this brutality, is revealed as none other than myself.

A powerful voice, strangely my own yet with an almost divine resonance, responds to my inquiry. It informs me that the child bore no wrongdoing, that what he required was guidance and words, not punishment. My stomach spasms in response, convulsing as if something has been forcibly extracted from within. I gasp, my eyes snap open, and I lay stunned, processing the revelation.

I gradually piece together the significance of this traumatic memory. It marks the inception of my self-destructive tendencies—the belief that I am deserving of punishment. I have clung to this harmful self-image throughout my life, but the profound clarity of this moment begins to release its grip.

I understand that I have identified the root cause of my PTSD and alcohol dependency. For years, I have perpetuated self-punishment as I internalized the narrative of a traumatized child. However, the medicine has presented me with a broader perspective, revealing that the pain inflicted upon me was a result of my guardian's own struggles and not a reflection of my inherent "badness."

As the session draws to a close, I visualize the traumatic memory coated in layers of abstract art, shrouding the pain with an aesthetic ambiguity. I find myself laughing, lightness returning to my spirit.

Upon awakening, I find myself brimming with vitality, a sense of contentment coursing through me. Though fatigue still lingers, an overwhelming happiness pervades. I take the opportunity to share my personal journey with a couple of fellow participants and, in return, lend an ear to their narratives. Our group dynamic thrives, marked by a spirit of sharing and support.

As mid-morning unfolds, the general consensus leans towards embracing a bit more sleep. After a few hours, the group rises, exuding a remarkable collective vitality. Each individual's experience during the ceremony has been profoundly unique, contributing to the sense of wonder and interconnectedness.

Our group convenes for lunch, graced by the presence of the team. They express a keen interest in hearing about each participant's personal journey with the medicine. Interestingly, only four out of the twelve individuals choose to delve into their past experiences, driven by a quest for understanding and healing. The remaining participants share tales of transcendence to higher realms, encounters with mystical beings, and states of ecstatic rapture.

For my part, I seize the opportunity to share my own narrative, the very reason that brought me to this transformative journey. As I recount my journey and the conclusion I've reached, I sense the shaman's satisfaction with my progress. It fills me with a profound sense of contentment to witness the diverse ways in which this experience has impacted the others.

Although my friend expresses her happiness, she has yet to reach the depth of healing she sought. My heart aches for her, hoping that she will eventually find the answers she needs to attain inner peace.

The tea, imparts some sage words of wisdom, and we, in turn, express our gratitude for the enchanting experience they've facilitated. As late afternoon descends, we begin the process of packing our belongings, while the team diligently restores the ceremonial space to its original state. Embracing one another in warm hugs and heartfelt farewells, the group disbands, and we depart.

A tinge of melancholy accompanies our departure, as the bonds forged during this transformative experience have transformed us into a close-knit family. During our journey home, my friend and I engage in sharing our insights and reflections. Remarkably, we uncover instances when we experienced synchronized emotions and feelings, almost as if we communicated without words.

The impact of the medicine on my psychological well-being is undeniable; it wields transformative power when the right questions are asked. Through a harmonious interplay between the mind and the magic potion, answers are unveiled, illuminating the path to personal growth and healing. This experience reaffirms my belief in the incredible capacity of humanity for growth, transformation, and interconnectedness.