I wrote the blog below in 2009, just days after my first complete and utter trip to hell. This is a personal story of surviving and integrating the darkest edges of Ayahuasca.

This was my 18th ceremony. I had some sense of the power of the medicine, an endless deluge of respect, and a healthy dose of anxiety. And yet I had summoned the courage to ask for the experience I most resisted: I asked Ayahuasca to tell me the truth about my fear.

There I was, drowning in the metaphorical blackness of my most nightmarish Ayahuasca ceremony. Confronting the deepest layer of my madness. Wondering if I would survive. If I even wanted to anymore.

And the only thing I could think of doing to help myself was . . . to ask for help. To finally give myself that license. Throw out an SOS and see if the Universe was listening.

The shaman played his music, my friends were lost in their own journeys, but I knew I could summon Gee – the shaman’s intoxicating and powerful girlfriend / assistant. I sat at the far back of the circle, placed there because I could presumably handle myself and not need as much guidance. So many bodies, so much energy to sift through, if I chose to stand up and walk to her.

That was not an option. I couldn’t move, couldn’t risk disturbing Husband or ceremony buddy ET or any of my other angel journeyers. But I knew I couldn’t take this anymore, not alone, so I just stared her down and willed her to come to me. Please, Gee, oh my God–please come make this go away.

I trembled and quietly sobbed, but otherwise did not acknowledge the intense emotion that simmered within. Gee didn’t move–she sat next to Shaman Ace and surveyed us in the moonlight. I kept fidgeting and shaking, sending out my energies as best I could. A few minutes in, Gee rose and approached ET, who sat to my right. My heart surged at the opportunity. I brushed back my hair and readied myself to catch her attention in the near-total darkness.

ET did not need assistance, so Gee turned to walk back to her place in the circle. I bolted up as straight as I could without standing, staring at her with desperation. She saw me. She felt me. She leaned in and simply asked – Are you ok?

No. No, I’m not. I shook my head to emphasize.

What are you feeling?

I brushed my hair back again and tried not to scream.

I’m terrified.

Do you want to purge?

I nodded. She nodded. I rose and tried to follow her.

Walking to the bathroom took everything I had. I felt like it was a plank of sorts, that more dark depths awaited my plunge. It couldn’t be any worse though. That was my only consolation. It couldn’t be more frightening or painful. And it might even help.

To Read More About How Ayahuasca Has Helped Me Heal, See: Mother Ayahuasca, Please Take the Things I Cling To.

We got to my tiny downstairs bathroom, and as soon as the door shuffled shut, I collapsed on the floor. Gee gave me a handful of beautiful, comforting words–things I did not hear. I hovered over the toilet and sobbed.

She handed me a liter of salt water and asked me to drink. This was Ace’s tradition; a way to force the purge. I had never encountered this method in other ceremonies, and had significant judgements. Not that I was in any shape to be discerning.

I tried to drink the concoction, but the feel of the water on my lips repulsed me. I shook my head and kept rocking back and forth.

Take it, she told me. It will help you purge.

And so I tried again–and failed. As I took in the tiniest thread of liquids, I felt an immediate need to spit it out–yet the purge didn’t come. I was frozen in hell.

Then she spoke the words that started to crack me open.

You know, it’s interesting how you won’t take the water. You won’t take the one thing that could help you. There’s still a part of you that wants to be here, Kitty. There’s still a part of you that doesn’t want this help.

I stopped the incessant moving to truly listen. And I knew she was right. I nodded slowly and stared at the toilet water as it swirled and beckoned in the candlelight. Then I grabbed the salt water and sucked down as much as I could.

A few seconds later, my release began.

I purged with a viscous energy, yet almost silently so. My body rejoiced at the letting-go, and my mind kicked into overdrive. What does this mean? What am I purging? How did I get here? How do I heal?

I saw it so clearly then–my face relaxed and willing to purge for eternity, it floated just above the splashing liquids. I saw what it was I was resisting.

It wasn’t death or sanity or pain that I didn’t want to know. It was just the opposite. Ayahuasca had been gently, and then not so gently, showing and telling me about all the ways I had been content to play small. Across the board, I had been playing it safe in my world, refusing to acknowledge my own power and divinity. This was her cosmic bitch slap, as the only option I allowed was a full-on onslaught. I refused to hear her any other way. And there I was, puking and shaking and sobbing–and recognizing–TRULY feeling–how much of God I really was. Am. Always will be.

There was nothing tangible in this epiphany–it was just a supreme Knowing. I am afraid of what it means to be God, to step forward and claim the dharma that has been waiting for my eyes-opened self. All of my attachments raced into view–everything from the materialistic (my house! my car!) to the illusion of security (my job!) to all the many people I cling to (Boyfriend! Sage! Best Friend!) But I laid them all down, as best I could. As the demons flew out of me, so did the need to cling to everything that made me feel safe. I know, of course, that my willingness to let them go–to truly lose them, if that’s what’s for our highest good–is the only way to prevent losing them all together. In those moments I spent with Gee at the toilet, I was ready to give everything I had, and everything I ever was, in order to be free.

When the purging stopped, I knew it wasn’t over. But I also knew I wasn’t going to get to the pot of gold that night. The purge helped to release the energy, but it wasn’t a short cut. I would have to go back to hell and get my passport stamped. But this was not the night

Do you have more to purge? she asked me.

I nodded, but told her–It won’t happen now. It was time to go back to the circle. I knew this. Before I gathered my courage and clarity, I sat in the energies for a few more moments, positively blown away by the profundity. I didn’t have the answers, didn’t know how exactly I would learn to embrace who I really was, but I had the experience of feeling my greatness. I knew, too, that it was no more or less than anyone else’s, yet I realized the supreme gift of getting an inkling of what lies within.

I thanked Gee in my tear-filled whisper-breath, and she beamed an angelic reply.

We are each other’s saviors, I thought to myself. But we can really only save ourselves.

Off I went to continue the journey. . .the night was far from over.

After powering through the absolutely worst, most nightmarish 90 minutes of my life so far, I found the trip back to the ceremonial circle to be pure bliss. I walked from the tiny bathroom to my spot in the space with a pounding purpose–excited to feel such a tremendous release from my terror. I had recognized so much in those purging minutes–how much I hold myself small. How much I torture myself for not living up to my insanely high expectations. And what a glorious, powerful being I really am.

The shaman started pounding on his luscious tribal drum, and my entire being surged with alive-ness. I shimmied and swayed, allowing the intense energies to flow throw me now–no longer locked down in resistance. I had released the need to make the night’s events look the way I wanted them to look, and instead left it up to divinity. No more fighting and resistance. And as such, my pot of gold awaited.

After a stretch of silence, Ace and Gee started up another round of magnificent music. Ace honored an out-loud request Boyfriend had before the ceremony–Ace sat down at Lucy, my upright piano, and played what has to be the most gorgeous melodies I’ve ever heard her coo. Hearing this symphony, I literally felt my heart crack open. Light poured in and out of my chakras, and my chest rose up toward the sky, my arms outstretched and falling to my sides. I was a puppet being pulled into the cosmos, and as I felt my body rise and fall without my conscious effort, I also became keenly aware of the tidal wave.

Tears. So. Many. Tears. They burst forth down my face in a flood of release, and the observer in me smiled at the poetry. Yes, I sobbed–fiercely at times, shakes ripping through my frame–but I felt so joyful to let all this go. I didn’t have stories attached to the tears, just a very clear knowing that I was being cleansed. That I was being prepared for the next chapter of my existence. And it wouldn’t involve hiding, pretending to be powerless, or any sort of easy road.

I accepted these messages with open arms. Ayahuasca confused me, however–she kept calling me a mother. Over and over again, she showed me the parts of me that are nurturing and maternal. Children appeared from all sides and all ages, with beaming faces full of trust and admiration and love. I took this to mean I would be a symbolic mother for children in the world, and could certainly accept that.

I didn’t know how much this mother-vision would mean, in just two short weeks. Ah, the symmetry.

The night played out in between the magical shaman-songs–I would process the beautiful lessons a particular piece brought forth in the silence, then feel my emotional being cracked open again when a new song would start. I felt the whole range of emotions, all the while shaking with the energetic flow. But my observer-self, the elevated, blissful being–she just radiated her appreciation for the night. Even for the agony. Especially for the agony. And she is the one I connected with the most–the one who encapsulated the “I” within me most prominently. Which is right where I love to be–in the highest self I can access.

As the night hit the 2/3s mark, I rolled over to my side for a breather, and saw Boyfriend facing me, laying in the same fashion. I could see his gorgeous smile, and it filled me up with an incredible sense of love. I reached out for his hand, and he reciprocated with a tight, glorious grip. We stayed that way for some time, staring and beaming and feeling and connecting. I felt his energies merge with mine, and before I could get lost of the beauty of it, Ayahuasca stepped in with a message.

Detach, she told me.

Hold on to him, love him with all that you are, but don’t let it define you. Be ready to lose him. Be willing to lay down this bliss.

I processed this for some time. I thought about what it would be like if he left me tomorrow–if our journey found an abrupt end. I connected with the sadness of this possibility–the inevitable emotion – but it did not feel overwhelming. What I was most conscious of was an incredible gratefulness–for having known him at all. For receiving such a tangible glimpse of what a truly connected, truly devoted relationship could be.

I acknowledged the ways in which I was attached, and started letting each thread release and float away. And just as I did, Boyfriend released his grip, smiled, and rolled his face to the other side of the room.

Perfect. Timing.

And we would discover the next morning that just as I was processing the lesson of detachment, he was too. Landing at the same conclusions–how fortunate we are, how fragile it all is, and how crucial it was to remain grateful and detached.

The night ended quietly. The shaman repeated the previous evening’s ritual by lighting a candle and inviting us to sit around and discuss the events. This time, I felt alert and alive–the previous ceremony had left me speechless and dizzy, still in too deep at the end to find any way to communicate. This night, I was there–glowing, feeling, basking. I listened, contributed a bit here and there, and connected with all of my fellow travelers. ET and I had an especially magical bond–I saw him rocking and holding himself, very much where I had been the previous evening, and I obeyed the urge to envelope him in a tight embrace.

Welcome to college, he told me.

And I knew what he referenced. We had done previous ceremonies together, he and I, and as amazing and powerful as they were, they felt like grade school. We had graduated, together. And this just felt unspeakably precious.

I had touched the truth of our divinity. My divinity. And it was hell that brought me to heaven. If fear was the force that led me to liberation, then I would gladly pledge my trust and allegiance to this terror. I knew there was more to come. But for now, I was floating in the clouds.

Certain these clouds go somewhere . . .

“So I know it’s just a spring haze

But I don’t much like the look of it

And all we do is circle it

And I found out where my edge is

And it bleeds into where you resist

And my only way, way out is to go

So far in”

– Tori Amos

About the Author

Tina “Kat” Courtney, The AfterLife Coach, is a sacred plant guide, messenger, and devotee to organic altered spaces. Her wildly beautiful ride with plant medicine began in 2006, when she landed in the Peruvian jungle, seeking help with bipolar disorder, bouts of destructive depression, bulimia, alcoholism, and severe + chronic anxiety. Kat took on a shamanic apprenticeship that lasted a decade, drinking in hundreds and hundreds of plant ceremonies. She has transformed into shamanic guide, a trusted mystical therapist, and a messenger for the plants.