It’s tough, but I knew it would be.
The first cup is a trance, a dream where my eyes flutter and my head slowly tilts from side to side. I’m anxious and she can tell. Laying back, I let the evening reverie take me slowly down into my mat.
The second cup is thoughts and thoughtlessness. My arms twist and I roll onto my side, needing to rub my face against something soft.
Breathe, I’m reminded. Open up the airways.
Intensity follows and I lightly claw at my throat, desperate for something all-consumingly masculine. I crave it, I need it. It’s carnal, impure, something I’ve shamed myself into deathlessness for wanting. Envelop me. Consume me, take me. I can’t be ashamed anymore. I need to be a better human, and part of that means becoming more honest with myself.
Patterns begin taking shape, a spectrum of neon ciphers in the blackness of midnight, not unlike a computer switchboard, pulsing, dancing. Reminding me of her beauty. In the middle of my struggle I laugh. This is very strong, I say a little louder than a whisper. Everything is a pattern, including my current openness. I can almost reach inside and grab it, rearrange it, quantify it.
My stomach pain is hot, has a color, and makes a sound as I deliver it into the night.
The third cup is fear. “The cup of the soul.” Even with my eyes open, against the unilluminated floor, I can clearly see my fingers and the systems rewriting themselves across my flesh. Numbers and symbols I do not recognize dance across every surface my eyes fall upon, all while thoughts of death, lies of this world, and human deceit dig their way into my heart and kidnap any hope I have remaining for our future.
All I can do is breathe, and hope this will pass. It does, but it’s something I’ve sat on and processed for the past two days. Those thoughts didn’t come from her, they came from me. Clever girl. I claim I’m not afraid, but I am. Of unreliable people, who put themselves first, who lie. Of myself, of writing. Of trusting. What’s the point?
Trust yourself, she says. 90 Ayahuasca ceremonies changes a man, and mother never lies.
#ayahuasca