Be the Shaman Series

The shamans shared that not everyone gets to die on the vine…that is, to experience one’s own death during an ayahuasca (aka “the vine”) ceremony.

I felt both nervous and excited. There would be four ceremonies sitting with Grandmother Medicine, the master plant teacher, ayahuasca, in the jungle-forest foothills of the Ecuadorian Andes. Participation was optional, yet I felt trepidatiously called to all of them.

The first was a gentle affair. As the medicine came up, I heard her voice—the voice I’ve come to know as Abuela, the grandmother spirit of ayahuasca. On this first night together, her voice was gentle and affirming.

She told me, “We’re going to take it easy today. There’ll be no purging. I have messages for you. Before we begin, you need to scream loudly two times. The shamans will know what to do.”

I still had enough ego present to feel uncomfortable with the thought of screaming loudly in a circle of people. I didn’t want to call attention to myself or disturb anyone. I did it anyway, just as she guided me.

I screamed. Loudly. Twice.

The ayahuascero came running over with his helper and immediately began a healing on me with smoke, feathers, trago and breath. The screams sounded as if they were coming from somewhere other than me, yet I felt their vibrations reverberating through my chest. Then it became difficult to breathe.

Anxiety? Asthma? An allergic reaction?

I hungered for air. My mind ran through possible explanations, but none of the thoughts stayed. They disappeared almost as quickly as they arose. As I released the worry, the shamans continued their work, extracting the entity. And then my full breath returned. I don’t remember all the details. What I remember in my body is the immediate relief of being able to breathe again.

The medicine came on more strongly after the screams. Around me, I could hear others in their own realms…some vomiting, some murmuring to themselves, some groaning on the ground. This healing and release would be my purging for the first ceremony.

And then came the downloads.

Grandmother gently invited me to a nearby tree and told me to sit with my back against it. I felt in divine solitude with her medicine and wisdom. The others in the circle seemed to disappear into the jungle, held by a blanket of green. Beneath the tree she told me things.

She told me there were “other medicines”—other plant medicines—that I needed to stop consuming. They weren’t for me. They were interfering with the deeper places she would take me.

Apparently sensing my curiosity, she told me these medicines were “laced with greed.” They were not aligned with my energy, and bringing that greed energy into my body was a danger to my health.

“All was not well there,” she said.

I continued listening supported by the tree. There were long pauses between her messages, giving me space to take them in, not always the case with ayahuasca, which can download so much information so quickly that it’s impossible to integrate it completely.

The evening wore on. Aya’s presence lingered though with less intensity. She told me she would be back the next day. It would be different this time, she foretold, and I should rest in preparation.

There would be a day between ceremonies during which the medicine stayed with me. As we approached the second ceremony, I could feel her rising in me before I even drank the tea. A very different energy presenced this ceremony.

Anxiety. Anticipatory anxiety.

Heart pounding. Breath shallow. Senses heightened.

The Tsáchila community holding the ceremony offered their traditional music before and during the first part of the journey as the medicine began to rise. I drank my portion and remained quiet and still, allowing the music to guide me. Suddenly, the music stopped. And it hit hard and fast. The first ceremony had indeed been preparation for the second.

I purged. And purged. And purged.

When that was complete, I slumped down onto the banana leaf that had been laid out for each of us. And she took me on a nightlong journey. Cooper’s Hawk, Wolf, Jaguar surrounded me and Abuela’s patient yet firm guidance:

Let go…Let go…LET GO!

Only later did I understand what I was being asked to let go of. I was being taken through a journey of my own death.

Several shamans shared afterward that I had received a gift from Grandmother—that not everyone gets to experience their own death through her medicine. I’ve come to hold it that way, as a gift. A knowing of how to die.

Knowing that my spirit animal, Cooper’s Hawk, will appear to guide my spirit upward to the Apus to meet Condor, who will carry my spirit beyond into the upper realms where I am met by my ancestors who have gone before me.

Knowing that my power animals, Jaguar and Wolf, will be there to guard me and carry my body away once my spirit departs.

Knowing that I will not be alone in dying.

Knowing that I have already been there.

Knowing that I died on the vine.