It is said that two things are most important to the experience of an altered state of consciousness: set and setting. The set is the state of mind you bring to the experience; your mood, expectations, and intentions. The setting is the environmental aspects of said experience, both physical and social.

In this case my mood was excited, my expectations were few, and my intention was a prayer:

“Lay me open Lord. Fill me with your spirit. Make me a vessel so that I might share your Love and your peace. Prepare me Lord so that in every moment I might realize your presence. Be my strength and my guide so that in all I do I honor you.”

Our setting was a ceremonial Maloka; a roughly circular, open-air structure consisting of a series of beams about 12ft tall which elevated a roof made of bamboo tilted together like a giant teepee. At its apex a small opening framed a cross and allowed clouds of cleansing incense to exit while the light of the moon washed a pale blue hue over a multitude of mats forming concentric circles on the warm, red brick surface below. Offset from the center of the room stood a large carved wooden table filled with the accoutrements of a well experienced Vegetalista; an ancestral shaman who administers medicinal Ayahuasca. Surrounding the table sat approximately 20 healers who, along with the Shaman, would be our guides, our lifelines, and a comforting presence if needed throughout the night.

Preparations, introductions, and discussions lasted until midnight when, after serving the healers, the shaman individually assessed and dosed the remaining men and women with a mixture of the brew from two large dishes into a small halved and polished coconut shell. It was finally our turn, so with intentions shared and a “Salud” to the group we hurriedly gulped the thick gruel and took our places on the mats in waiting. Once all were satisfied, the lights were replaced by candles that sent shadows dancing as the Shaman blessed the ceremony with songs of prayer called icaros that rang out over music played by the traditional Yage band. After about twenty minutes we began to hear the static-like sound of people opening small plastic bags and then purging their physical, energetic, and/or spiritual ailments in the form of uncontrollable vomiting; an effect of the medicine said to be a part of the healing process. As I laid there steadying my breath, the blackness behind my eyelids was systematically taken over by a reticulating matrix of multicolored pixels, and I began to feel pressure building around my head as if it had been wrapped with a soft towel slowly being twisted tight. For a while I remained in stillness, interested and introspective, my internal perceptions drowning out the external noise until an unexpected wrench of my stomach sent me fumbling for a bag of my own.

When I opened my eyes the chaos and unfamiliar cacophony of music, moaning, and vomiting within the hut surged mercilessly back into my awareness. The audible sensation was so intense it seemed to hijack the processing power of my visual cortex, reducing people and objects to undulating sacks of shadows and highlights distorted by a milky haze of burning sage. My surroundings transformed into a disturbing three dimensional Rorscharch crudely painted black and red which glitched and morphed with increasing frequency. Each cycle concentrated the subtle pressure felt earlier forcefully in around my eyes, and sent me face down into my bag to add to the horrific audio track of the room. This was vastly different than anything I had experienced before. It was as though something outside of the reality I knew was attempting to break it apart or break through. I had to remove myself from the scene, so I stumbled to my feet, tromped out of the hut, and folded myself over a nearby fence until my ability to transplant resurfaced. When it did, a wide staircase adjacent to the entrance became my resting place for a further 3 hours, most of which was spent fighting the urge to purge.

Time seemed to take on a relative nature nearing the end of my stay on the stair. Outside of me it rushed by in a blur of frames, and while my mind kept pace, my body moved in slow motion. Sluggishly I stretched down to run my hand over the dirt and after dragging a single line, scooped up the excavated soil and slid back into a hunched position. I sat there in silence, slowly rolling the sand between my fingers and feeling as though I could sense every grain, when a voice ripped through my consciousness stating firmly, “And to dust you shall return.” At that moment it felt like my skin turned to silica and was in jeopardy of falling away; assimilating back into the earth at my feet. I recalled a verse from Romans and said aloud, “A mind governed by flesh is death.” Just then the recognition came into view that the torture faced was a product of my unwillingness to release from an egoic concept of self. I looked down at the line I had drawn, a projected plane from which would have perfectly bisected my body, and it suddenly took on new meaning. I felt as though I was being asked to choose. What would be my decision: right or left, spirit or flesh, life or death? As I quietly contemplated these questions, the lessons set in with renewed emphasis, the sickness finally subsided, and I returned to the hut to rest until the call for a second round rang out at 4 a.m.

When I reached the head of the line the shaman asked if I had purged and if I had received any visions to which I attempted an optimistic, “Sí. Muy Bueno.” Before offering the cup he had filled from both serving dishes as I approached, he paused to look directly into my eyes; then poured it out, filled it again from only one dish, and blew into it with a subtle whistle as he handed it over. The sludge went down smoothly this time so I assumed he had given me a weak dose, but shrugged off the initial disappointment upon reconsidering the brutality of my first bout.

After 40 minutes of anticipating less from this round, I felt an all too familiar clinching sensation in my gut and had to remove myself from the hut to take care of business. I paced back and forth in pure misery for some time until finding a chair and ducking heavily into my own lap. I frustratingly wondered if there was any truth to this process, or if the apparent catharsis was simply a product of coming out of the intense sickness.

As I sat there writhing in my own skin I noticed a pair of tattered leather shoes approach to my side through the triangular space between my left elbow and knee upon which I was resting my head. I later found that they belonged to one of the healers, a Kallawaya, or medicine man.

It is commonly understood that a person’s path on Ayahuasca should not be interrupted or directly influenced unless they specifically ask for help, so he remained close simply extending his presence in silence. When I saw the scenario for what it was, a feeling of gratitude rushed through me and I finally allowed myself to accept the peace that was being offered. It was as though the physical bounds of my body no longer held within my ability to perceive. I could tangibly sense his presence, and felt that I too could extend my own. Was this the beginning of the opening I had asked for in my prayer?

Giving thanks to God I surrendered my grip again and was elevated to a state that I cannot describe as anything but transcendental. My eyes rolled back in my head twitching mildly at first as if in a dream, but then more and more intensely as a wave of comfort washed over me and the conscious awareness of my surroundings faded like ripples settling to stillness on an expansive body of water. Massive spiraling clouds of color, some distant and obscured, others strikingly vivid, filled my vision until I was overtaken by a brilliant white light that seemed to hold at its source the feeling I was experiencing. As I drew closer both the light and the sensation intensified immeasurably until suddenly it exploded apart with concussive force, shattering into countless rainbows of color, and driving my eyes wide open. I was filled with the most intense sense of Love and peace I had ever experienced. I felt saturated and enveloped by it. As I looked around I noticed that the rainbow fragments remained at the edges of elements within my field of view. They emanated from everything; people, plants, even inanimate objects took on a new light, a new life. It was as though I had been blind and now could see for the first time. I was surrounded by absolute, incomprehensible beauty.

A short time later it felt as though the space around my head was expanding, and from a vantage point just above and to the rear of my body I saw it fill with a golden disc which first radiated upward and then in all directions, shimmering like heated vapor refracting a mirage. An open eye materialized at its center, empty of color, but as deep as the oceans. Powerful, and steady; it maintained an unflinching gaze back into my own as I was set into orbit around my chair. The stare was broken as I witnessed a lavender gem with infinite facets grow from the middle of my brain and gradually rise out of the crown of my head. It glowed hyper white and cast flares of color into the environment which pulled my attention inward toward its core. It was as though I could view the gem from all directions; like my frame of reference was as infinite as its facets. As it rose I was lifted simultaneously and seemingly not under my own power, straight up in my chair to a position composed as if sitting on a throne. I heard a voice call out, “Christos,” after which the one from before rolled like thunder, “You are my child.” The statement humbled me. Its resonance shook the very foundations of my concept of self and overwhelmed me with a sense of awe and depth of emotion I can’t describe as tears began to run down my face.

I cycled in and out of that state for hours stippled by brief moments of lucidity when I would attempt to make sense of what I was experiencing, a good portion of which even after examination I do not understand. Nonetheless, Mel and I retired to our mats around 9:00 am and drifted gently to sleep, the medicine setting us back down with the grace of a mother putting her child to bed.

Reflecting back on the night I am filled with appreciation for the community that came together with so much care for each other, and for those of us who were attending for the first time. An air of love and purpose existed there, like that which can be sensed of a family or small, closely knit church body. It is important to note that for this community, and so many others, Ayahuasca is not a drug, it is a spiritual tool. It is not taken to get high; it is an ancient ancestral tradition carried out by old and young members alike, and is practiced out of love for each other and reverence for God. Sometimes referred to as The Vine of Death or Spirit Vine, Ayahuasca is viewed as a means of accessing Spirit which eventually leads to a “death to self,” or a letting go of material desires and self importance. In that respect the purpose of its use reminds me of a verse in Matthew which says, “Do not store for yourselves treasures on earth…for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also,” and in Romans, continued from the one I started while sitting on the stairs, “a mind governed by the spirit of Christ is life and peace.”

Despite the profundity of the experience, I can’t help but feel the need for caution. I can only look back remembering the sense of connection I felt and wonder. Even if it were only a product of my subconscious interpreting and repackaging my prayer of intention, I would say that Ayahuasca can be of true psychological value when used for the right purpose and with the right heart. If then the outcome acts to reinforce one’s personal feeling of connection with God, then arguably it would also embody a degree of Spiritual value. If it is our purpose in this current state of existence to grow as close to God as possible, shouldn’t we allow ourselves to consider methods which are not specifically outlined by the orthodoxy or government we hold closest? If so, can we be certain the mechanisms are in fact enriching our experience of Spirit? How can we ensure that proper discernment is used in the process? These questions weigh heavily on my mind.

My encounter with Ayahuasca was not immediately life altering, but I have taken away a sense of empowerment over certain aspects of my life, some of which for a long time I’ve felt were doing more harm than good. The undeniable truth is that Ayahuasca elicited one of the most incredibly intense and deeply spiritual experiences of my life, and for that I remain respectfully inquisitive and rightly thankful. After returning to Salento I looked up Romans 8 again which I had clearly been led to the previous night. It blew my mind just how closely it related to my perception of the evening. I’ll leave you with this:

Romans 8: 14-17 – “For those who are led by the Spirit of God are the children of God. The Spirit you received does not make you slaves, so that you live in fear again; rather, the Spirit you received brought about your adoption to sonship. And by him we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are children, then we are heirs – heirs of God and co-hiers with Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory.”