Previously: I expressed the ineffable nature of God and the universe. Except not really that at all.
To think that I was frustrated that it took me three months to get to the end of the second day… yeesh. Hi there! It’s been two and a half years since we were all here! I’m sitting here trying to remember what in the hell I was referring to at the end of the last post. I don’t think I mention a high school book report or Philip K Dick within this post, though I’m sure I will get to them soon. Anyway, let’s see how this goes…
We had learned something important before that second ceremony, which was that once the ceremony itself was over it was best to stand up and start interacting and moving around. It helped to bring the mareación to a close. So as the lights were relit we both stood with the others. It didn’t end the sensation of being drugged or nauseous, but it helped to make me feel more connected to reality once the songs were over. Around us were people doing yoga stretches and chatting about their experiences. I stood and talked a little but mostly listened. Eventually, we left to head back to our beds.
Outside it was still night, but the sky… good god, the sky. We were in the middle of a spiral arm of the Milky Way. I mean, you could SEE it. Just once in your life I highly recommend going somewhere in the middle of absolute nowhere, while on some kind of drug that makes you incredibly light sensitive, and seeing the sky at night. We stood and felt small but holy.
The next day was probably one of the best days I’ve ever had in my life. I just felt alive. And so very good. At breakfast Malcolm walked around and checked in with people to see if they had any questions or concerns. Honestly, I felt so good that I had a creeping doubt lingering in my head: was I doing this wrong? I had expected to bring my own self-persecution into the experience, I had heard so much from the others about “work” and “dealing with dark stuff” and so far it had just felt… effortless. All I’d felt was love. Malcolm reassured me… there is no wrong way. The medicine shows you what it shows you.
After breakfast we went to the lake, where I hadn’t wanted to get in the day before. I jumped in, without a thought about it. It was fed by some sort of underground thing, I forget now, but so you’d pass through weird temperature differences in the water, freezing cold and then suddenly some warm, perfect temperature spot. The sky was a perfect blue, with huge white clouds, and it was reflecting off the water and I just stared at it. In the water the world was all sepia-toned, it reminded me of the photos from this set of encyclopedias we had as kids. I thought about suicide and depression, and I felt saved. I felt saved. I thought about other people who hadn’t been. Bill Hicks, a comedian I love, and who was a huge fan of psychedelics, and who died of cancer, likely caused by the abuse he’d subjected his body to in the years prior. David Foster Wallace, a writer I’d only recently discovered, who had suffered from severe depression and had become meds resistant like me. He’d discovered it by going off his meds at some point, then trying to go back on them, and they no longer worked. He struggled with it for years, and in the end he killed himself. And I thought, I wish they’d found this place. I really did feel saved.
After the swim I went and spent some time in the ceremony hut. There were hammocks in there for the daytime, and I sat in one and listened to my iPod. It was the first time I’d played anything since we got there and the first music I’d listened to in a long time just for the sake of listening to music. I listened to an old Peter Gabriel-era Genesis record called Selling England by the Pound and slowly swayed in the hammock.
It’s funny, I was in the middle of the fucking Amazon, and it was as humid as it normally is here in the summer, but after the first ceremony I don’t have any memory of ever noticing the heat. There was a really great breeze occasionally blowing through the screens. The music was the best thing I had ever heard (and I’d heard it a million times before, you understand). It was all perfect. When I was at the lake beforehand I remember saying to Sarah, “This place gives you exactly what you need, when you need it.” The first time that had occurred to me had been during the ceremony… I would try to steer things, I’d see a color I really loved, or I’d want to get back to the “waiting room,” but I would never get them when I thought about how I wanted them. But as soon as I’d get distracted and think of something else, they’d appear. It was like being constantly reminded, you can have it all, but only when you need it. And YOU aren’t the judge of when you need it. That entire day was a whole day of here is what you need. Simple, nothing at all, really, and perfect. I don’t think I have ever been happier than I was during that day.
But that was also when I learned that the night before hadn’t been such a great experience for others. As I was laying in the hammock, Friendly Guy (let’s just call him that) came in with Malcolm. And they sat and talked about the night before. I clearly had headphones on, I guess, and had my eyes closed for the most part, so I guess they weren’t concerned about me listening. And I didn’t, until the album ended. The conversation was about how out of control the whole night had seemed to the guy, and how he didn’t want to participate in the next one, or be in the room. I knew about the girl who was laying behind me, who’d gone through such hell. And I knew that the noises coming from the bathroom had seemed kind of over the top at times. But it’s also difficult because, obviously, when you’re deep into the experience your senses are really not reliable in so many ways. I knew these things but had also been separate from them. Friendly Guy didn’t feel like Hamilton was a very good shaman, he felt he wasn’t treating the thing with the proper respect, and that was contributing to how bad the night had gotten for some. I don’t really want to get into the whole thing, because it would take explaining minutiae and it isn’t really relevant. It matters because it planted the doubt.
Just like the night before, I wasn’t sure that I was going to do it again. Even at its most fucking magical (and that second night WAS), it was still unbelievably draining. And I felt empty, and tired, and I was fasting for the most part… the same as the day before. But now, someone had just inadvertently planted doubt, and that is probably why, just before the ceremony, I decided I was done. I had experienced so much, and I was tired, so I made my decision as we were waiting to drink, just like I had the second night. Except this time, I opted not to join in.
Next: The story of a sad little boy too shy to be in the world.