The Vine of Souls: Unrelenting Teacher
Yesterday I drank ayahuasca for the first time. It was done through the Santo Daime, a Brazillian branch of the Catholic church built around the use of the ancient sacramental brew. It is said that the ayahuasca experience can begin days or weeks before the actual ingestion - building up in powerful coincidences, symbols, or spiritual interactions which prepare the person.
The day before the ceremony, I felt overwhelming deja vu...over 10 times. This was unusual for me. I typically associate the feeling of deja vu with some intense event or internal state, the sudden remembrance of pre-cognitive dream of either the moment of the event or state, itself, or the portion of time leading up to it. For this to occur over 10 times, both before, during, and after the trip, seems to imply some part of me had known and been preparing for the experience for some time.
I was told to wear all white, pants and shirt. This is the traditional uniform of the Brazillian sect. I showed up half an hour late, after getting lost on the way there. Yet, as I entered, I was told I was right in time -- that they were standing to begin distributing a dose of sacrament just as I had arrived. I was not sure if they had already taken one dose already or not, but assumed they had because one of the men seemed kind of stumbly. The men lined up on one side of the kitchen doorway, the women lined up on the other side, a man I recognized as the organizer and guide of the ceremony, a bald middle aged man with a calm smile, stood in the doorway serving the women first. Finishing serving the 6 women, he turned to us 4 men and began pouring our small glasses with the thick brownish medicine. It smelled kind of sweet. I shot it down with one chug - it was bitter and woodsy-tasting.
We returned to the main room. There was a small round table in the center, seating the 4 main members in special uniform. Around them was the larger circle, divided in half with women on one side and men on the other. I was handed stapled booklet full, double sided, with hymns; each page divided with Portugese on the right and its English translation on the left. At the center table were two women, one young one old and both dark-skinned. I assumed were South American. The pretty young girl began to sing a high solitary note in Portugese and after a few repetitions, everyone stood and joined in. There was an older lady who started a bongo sort of drum and the girls in the center had little shakers to keep the rhythm. I looked at the hymnal and made mouthy sorts of motions and sounds, but was mostly just pretending. I could already feel the ayahuasca beginning to take hold.
After 3 songs, I was relieved to sit down. I saw two girls on the opposite side of the room lay down on the floor - they were obviously beginning to feel the building inner energy. Even though none of the men were following suite, the chair was hard steel and I decided to make the the women and lay down too. A man in a helper sort of role brought me a blanket and, even though I politely refused it, he left it by me anyways. I was thankful and put it around my arms. Closing my eyes and listening to the others breathing, I began to become very aware of different energies in the room - I became slowly sensitive to the fluid movement of subtle emotional influence between those around me. Opening my eyes, I would notice a strange radiant layer around the man sitting slightly to my right, in front of where I laid. I remember telling myself "No, he's not a spirit - he is alive. How can that be?"
The associative capacities of my cognition began to expand further, and I became aware of my thoughts beginning to take on an analytical, investigative quality as they extended into a more subconscious level. I began to see very subtle forms as the energetic sensation grew in my chest, spreading out through the muscles of my arms and legs. I began to think of inspiring futures, of having my synthesizer and playing the sound of this pure throbbing energy I was feeling for these people. I knew it was right, and that they would be able to feel fully my inner experience, and I theirs, when I integrated my spiritual life with the ceremony. The thought filled me with such transplendant joy that I could not contain it. I writhed in smiling radiance on the floor, smiling as I tried to contain my quivering excitement at future I saw expressed before me. Yet, I needed to go further, deeper. I was not feeling all that was wanting to be showed to me. I felt as if I had a mission to fulfill, and that the dose had not been strong enough to drive me towards ayahuasca's goal.
I stood up, stumbling slightly, and walked halfway towards the kitchen. The room was solemn, quiet, meditative. The guild was immediately receptive, the whole room watching as he stood and walked towards me gingerly. I pulled my head close to his and said "Can I have more, please?"
"No, no. We will go again soon." he said, but then angled his eyebrows in doubt and said "Hmm..."
So many mixed signals. We both returned to our places, me on the floor. I became overwhelmed with unsure feelings. Had they taken the dose before I arrived? Is that why he was unsure, the second thought, considering the dose I had not received? Did the others think the new guy was getting greedy? The fat glutton wants more. Oh no! But...
A long deep exhale brought powerful light in from above. I continued to think of the energy I could suddenly feel. I returned to the dim visions of patterns and colors within me.
The guide stood and gave me first a hand motion pointing towards the kitchen as he stepped over me, but then a hand motion of waving me back down as I jumped to join him. I was confused and could not hear what he had mumbled other than the word "Now." Did he want me to follow? Had he reconsidered my request? People started singing again and the lights came back up. I realized everyone was getting another dose. I stumbled towards the kitchen.
"How much more do you want than last time?" he said as waited, first in line.
"How much more do I want than last time?" I repeated, trying to arrange the meanings into something more resembling what he had intended in speaking.
I thought to blurt out "Double." but repressed that as being my naive excitement, too extreme.
"...maybe half as much more?"
He poured the shot, saying "This one is much stronger, so it looks like less."
It was more bitter. The after taste was thick but not wholly unpleasant - a little sweet. I went to the bathroom afterwards and saw myself in the mirror. I was out of control, bloated fat with undiscipline. I heard them begin the singing out there, and across to the closet room to get my notebook. I knew this one would be big, and wanted to be able to capture it when it came.
The fact is that I came to the ceremony with a problem - I have been unable to write! I have been unable to do the writing required in my PhD program. It piles up, and yet the process is painful to me. The conference approaches, 3 weeks left, and I still have not started writing anything for it. This was addressed in the coat room.
I reached into my jacket pocket and got the small pad of paper I had brought to record the experience. I checked the same pocket, feeling for the pen I had put in there with it. There was nothing there. I checked all the other pockets, and the pen I had brought was not in them. I could not write. I crumpled up the whole coat, feeling for the pen, and felt it! Somehow it had entered the lining of my coat. This had never happened in the years I have owned the coat, yet here was an obvious representation of my problem: I need to write, but I cannot get the writing out. The pen is stuck within and, while I can feel the potential to write, it is not able to get out from my "inner lining." I went crazy, trying run it back up into the pocket. Useless. I then thought to tear through the inner lining and damage the insides - anything to just be able to get it out. The fabric was too thick. I couldn't do it. I almost quit and walked towards the door, but came back. I need to write! This problem represented more than just this little coat and this tiny room - this was a lesson, a sign given representing a major problem in my life and the answer was also being given for me to figure out, right now on this smaller scale.
I stood up tall and thought "Why do I need MY pen? Why must I always rely solely on myself? These people can help me. I can write with the help of others."
I searched the man's desk and found a solitary pen, arranged so neatly, obviously his favorite. I took it and let the symbolism sink in. I don't need to do all of this alone, I must learn to write from other people's inspiration, using THEIR pride and joy. I must learn to cite other people's ideas and use to construct my own. I need to look outside myself and learn to cooperate and shard and, in doing so, flow over these personal blockages which keep me from expressing myself.
I walked out with a calm broad smile, my hands behind my back, carrying the pad, pen, and a blanket from the closet. I felt gracious to have the circle expecting me, even as they sang. I began to sing in long open-mouthed tones. This dose was much stronger. I could feel it within minutes.
I began to see the tones and pitches form into high cathedrals of patterns, symbols and colors for all the emotions held in them. The worlds were beneath the words, the meanings were ancient and carried me far from the singers, themselves, to a distant inner landscape. A woman later told me that at this time, she watched my eyes roll back white with ecstasy, vibrating in the dream-like vision; waking REM.
There was a flood of radiant layered visions, like steps around the sunrise of a peacock feather's eye. I could see Egypt, its customs and fizzling symbols surfacing in the colors of each lilting-inward note. This song came down from so far above me, from so far above the singers. I saw the hazy lights of Christmas eve night and the spirits watching behind them. I could smell pine, charged with excitement and magic of that approaching gift.
I clutched my heart with both hands, unable to contain the beauty. The tension of trying strained the highest edge of known joy till I felt my heart would surely burst. Joy and pain become one flooding sensation, overwhelming and merging the discrete senses as one singular perception of the divine. I finally spread my arms open to the sky and wept with rapture. Uncontainable, that sound of excited stepped breaths, that sound heard identically in both the grips of uncontrollable laughter and the grips of uncontrollable sobbing. The sound before the release, the surrender to emotion. The sound of trying to catch ones breath - I had lost control to the torrent of bliss, annihilated by joy, the tears of bursting inner smile poured out for all I could love, for all that I could give, for all that I could feel, I felt with savage unrelenting revelation.
The day before the ceremony, I felt overwhelming deja vu...over 10 times. This was unusual for me. I typically associate the feeling of deja vu with some intense event or internal state, the sudden remembrance of pre-cognitive dream of either the moment of the event or state, itself, or the portion of time leading up to it. For this to occur over 10 times, both before, during, and after the trip, seems to imply some part of me had known and been preparing for the experience for some time.
I was told to wear all white, pants and shirt. This is the traditional uniform of the Brazillian sect. I showed up half an hour late, after getting lost on the way there. Yet, as I entered, I was told I was right in time -- that they were standing to begin distributing a dose of sacrament just as I had arrived. I was not sure if they had already taken one dose already or not, but assumed they had because one of the men seemed kind of stumbly. The men lined up on one side of the kitchen doorway, the women lined up on the other side, a man I recognized as the organizer and guide of the ceremony, a bald middle aged man with a calm smile, stood in the doorway serving the women first. Finishing serving the 6 women, he turned to us 4 men and began pouring our small glasses with the thick brownish medicine. It smelled kind of sweet. I shot it down with one chug - it was bitter and woodsy-tasting.
We returned to the main room. There was a small round table in the center, seating the 4 main members in special uniform. Around them was the larger circle, divided in half with women on one side and men on the other. I was handed stapled booklet full, double sided, with hymns; each page divided with Portugese on the right and its English translation on the left. At the center table were two women, one young one old and both dark-skinned. I assumed were South American. The pretty young girl began to sing a high solitary note in Portugese and after a few repetitions, everyone stood and joined in. There was an older lady who started a bongo sort of drum and the girls in the center had little shakers to keep the rhythm. I looked at the hymnal and made mouthy sorts of motions and sounds, but was mostly just pretending. I could already feel the ayahuasca beginning to take hold.
After 3 songs, I was relieved to sit down. I saw two girls on the opposite side of the room lay down on the floor - they were obviously beginning to feel the building inner energy. Even though none of the men were following suite, the chair was hard steel and I decided to make the the women and lay down too. A man in a helper sort of role brought me a blanket and, even though I politely refused it, he left it by me anyways. I was thankful and put it around my arms. Closing my eyes and listening to the others breathing, I began to become very aware of different energies in the room - I became slowly sensitive to the fluid movement of subtle emotional influence between those around me. Opening my eyes, I would notice a strange radiant layer around the man sitting slightly to my right, in front of where I laid. I remember telling myself "No, he's not a spirit - he is alive. How can that be?"
The associative capacities of my cognition began to expand further, and I became aware of my thoughts beginning to take on an analytical, investigative quality as they extended into a more subconscious level. I began to see very subtle forms as the energetic sensation grew in my chest, spreading out through the muscles of my arms and legs. I began to think of inspiring futures, of having my synthesizer and playing the sound of this pure throbbing energy I was feeling for these people. I knew it was right, and that they would be able to feel fully my inner experience, and I theirs, when I integrated my spiritual life with the ceremony. The thought filled me with such transplendant joy that I could not contain it. I writhed in smiling radiance on the floor, smiling as I tried to contain my quivering excitement at future I saw expressed before me. Yet, I needed to go further, deeper. I was not feeling all that was wanting to be showed to me. I felt as if I had a mission to fulfill, and that the dose had not been strong enough to drive me towards ayahuasca's goal.
I stood up, stumbling slightly, and walked halfway towards the kitchen. The room was solemn, quiet, meditative. The guild was immediately receptive, the whole room watching as he stood and walked towards me gingerly. I pulled my head close to his and said "Can I have more, please?"
"No, no. We will go again soon." he said, but then angled his eyebrows in doubt and said "Hmm..."
So many mixed signals. We both returned to our places, me on the floor. I became overwhelmed with unsure feelings. Had they taken the dose before I arrived? Is that why he was unsure, the second thought, considering the dose I had not received? Did the others think the new guy was getting greedy? The fat glutton wants more. Oh no! But...
A long deep exhale brought powerful light in from above. I continued to think of the energy I could suddenly feel. I returned to the dim visions of patterns and colors within me.
The guide stood and gave me first a hand motion pointing towards the kitchen as he stepped over me, but then a hand motion of waving me back down as I jumped to join him. I was confused and could not hear what he had mumbled other than the word "Now." Did he want me to follow? Had he reconsidered my request? People started singing again and the lights came back up. I realized everyone was getting another dose. I stumbled towards the kitchen.
"How much more do you want than last time?" he said as waited, first in line.
"How much more do I want than last time?" I repeated, trying to arrange the meanings into something more resembling what he had intended in speaking.
I thought to blurt out "Double." but repressed that as being my naive excitement, too extreme.
"...maybe half as much more?"
He poured the shot, saying "This one is much stronger, so it looks like less."
It was more bitter. The after taste was thick but not wholly unpleasant - a little sweet. I went to the bathroom afterwards and saw myself in the mirror. I was out of control, bloated fat with undiscipline. I heard them begin the singing out there, and across to the closet room to get my notebook. I knew this one would be big, and wanted to be able to capture it when it came.
The fact is that I came to the ceremony with a problem - I have been unable to write! I have been unable to do the writing required in my PhD program. It piles up, and yet the process is painful to me. The conference approaches, 3 weeks left, and I still have not started writing anything for it. This was addressed in the coat room.
I reached into my jacket pocket and got the small pad of paper I had brought to record the experience. I checked the same pocket, feeling for the pen I had put in there with it. There was nothing there. I checked all the other pockets, and the pen I had brought was not in them. I could not write. I crumpled up the whole coat, feeling for the pen, and felt it! Somehow it had entered the lining of my coat. This had never happened in the years I have owned the coat, yet here was an obvious representation of my problem: I need to write, but I cannot get the writing out. The pen is stuck within and, while I can feel the potential to write, it is not able to get out from my "inner lining." I went crazy, trying run it back up into the pocket. Useless. I then thought to tear through the inner lining and damage the insides - anything to just be able to get it out. The fabric was too thick. I couldn't do it. I almost quit and walked towards the door, but came back. I need to write! This problem represented more than just this little coat and this tiny room - this was a lesson, a sign given representing a major problem in my life and the answer was also being given for me to figure out, right now on this smaller scale.
I stood up tall and thought "Why do I need MY pen? Why must I always rely solely on myself? These people can help me. I can write with the help of others."
I searched the man's desk and found a solitary pen, arranged so neatly, obviously his favorite. I took it and let the symbolism sink in. I don't need to do all of this alone, I must learn to write from other people's inspiration, using THEIR pride and joy. I must learn to cite other people's ideas and use to construct my own. I need to look outside myself and learn to cooperate and shard and, in doing so, flow over these personal blockages which keep me from expressing myself.
I walked out with a calm broad smile, my hands behind my back, carrying the pad, pen, and a blanket from the closet. I felt gracious to have the circle expecting me, even as they sang. I began to sing in long open-mouthed tones. This dose was much stronger. I could feel it within minutes.
I began to see the tones and pitches form into high cathedrals of patterns, symbols and colors for all the emotions held in them. The worlds were beneath the words, the meanings were ancient and carried me far from the singers, themselves, to a distant inner landscape. A woman later told me that at this time, she watched my eyes roll back white with ecstasy, vibrating in the dream-like vision; waking REM.
There was a flood of radiant layered visions, like steps around the sunrise of a peacock feather's eye. I could see Egypt, its customs and fizzling symbols surfacing in the colors of each lilting-inward note. This song came down from so far above me, from so far above the singers. I saw the hazy lights of Christmas eve night and the spirits watching behind them. I could smell pine, charged with excitement and magic of that approaching gift.
I clutched my heart with both hands, unable to contain the beauty. The tension of trying strained the highest edge of known joy till I felt my heart would surely burst. Joy and pain become one flooding sensation, overwhelming and merging the discrete senses as one singular perception of the divine. I finally spread my arms open to the sky and wept with rapture. Uncontainable, that sound of excited stepped breaths, that sound heard identically in both the grips of uncontrollable laughter and the grips of uncontrollable sobbing. The sound before the release, the surrender to emotion. The sound of trying to catch ones breath - I had lost control to the torrent of bliss, annihilated by joy, the tears of bursting inner smile poured out for all I could love, for all that I could give, for all that I could feel, I felt with savage unrelenting revelation.