Grandmother Gets Involved
It’s February 2019. My frozen shoulder was far better; the pain was gone and only some restriction in range of motion remained. We had just shot a multi day job in Dana Point. While there, I did my first “remote” healing session with a Dr Feinberg out of Oregon. It was called NeuroModulation Technique and consisted of a small remote “speaker” thing that plugged into my iPhone. The doctor would play a sound track with some sort of clicking using a machine on the other end. He had readouts that told of my status. I wish I could say it moved the needle. It may have, however at the rate it went, it seemed like it was going to take years. Johnny thought I was headed to the loony bin (still does).
Not a bad location for headshots. | Dana Point, California, January 2019
As I mentioned in my last post, the medicine called Ayahuasca showed up in one of my many readings on psychedelics. I recalled my brother telling me about it eight plus years prior and I hadn’t thought of it since. I was sitting at a cafe in Venice Beach, where I had gone for the first time to experience this strange thing called a “vacation”, something I had been loathe to allow myself for many years. Growing up, vacations typically meant traipsing across the country in our wood-paneled station wagon, Chevy Chase style (minus the skinny dipping models with Ferraris) to see relatives. My dad was typically not happy because he wasn’t working and we were spending money - aka committing a cardinal sin. One of the three of us siblings always finished our Lifesavers before the others and took to begging or stealing from the other two. We fought. There was yelling. There were tears. In short, I really never learned how to properly take a vacation. You can ask my former wife. I sucked at it.
My first ever visit to Venice Beach. Shot with a Canon MkIV I was testing (don’t tell Nikon). | January 2019
I’m sitting in this great cafe and I decided I was going to Ecuador and I was going to experience Ayahuasca and it was going to fucking heal me. As it turned out, my oldest daughter was spending the second half of her gap year in Cuenca. I asked my therapist and they confirmed I could find the medicine there; I didn’t have to go to Peru (which simplified travel a bit). So I booked a twelve day retreat with seven medicine ceremonies - six Aya and one San Pedro (Mescaline) - based on a website and proximity to my daughter’s location.
Ayahuasca is an ancient and powerful psychedelic medicine that is produced by mixing two plants - the Ayahuasca vine and the Chacruna leaf - and boiling them for 8-10 hours to make a tea (although not in the same vein as, say, Earl Grey). The Aya vine is an MAOI (monoamine oxidase inhibiter) and it stops the enzymatic action of the stomach so that the DMT (dimethyltriptamine) from the Chacruna leaf can pass through the blood/brain barrier. Our brains produce trace amounts of DMT in the pineal gland, so it at least familiar to our bodies. In addition to being a powerful psychedelic, Aya is a purgative. It generally (not always) causes vomiting and diarrhea; often profusely and sometimes simultaneously. At the time, I recall thinking I basically wanted a roto-rooter for my GI system.
The medicine is generally administered by a Shaman, who has been trained for many, many years in its use. Traditionally, the Shaman would take the medicine and then, in the altered state, energetically connect with and “examine” the individuals in the ceremony to ascertain what kind of healing they need. These days, however, the participants and the Shaman both consume the brew. Ayahuasca is also considered a feminine energy. As such, the spirit of the medicine is often referred to as “Grandmother Ayahuasca”.
Me, after 90 minutes in 33º Lake Michigan water for the Polar Plunge. | March 2019
Photography work was reasonably steady, although I continued to do most of it in pain. I shot the Special Olympics’ Polar Plunge from in the icy waters of Lake Michigan in early March - even the cold wasn’t anesthetic enough to alleviate the pain. I was seeing my therapist regularly, getting deep tissue massages and practicing yoga semi-regularly. Several times, after a yoga session, I’d end up with severe back spasms. I was still applying my “work-out” and “go big or go home” mentality. My journals were packed with my thoughts; it was definitely nice to get things on paper. Yet, nothing seemed to be moving the needle - the physical and psychic pain remained. This was frustrating, because I thought the psychedelics should have “fixed” me. Dating remained a non-starter.
In late March, I flew to Quito, Ecuador via Panama City, stayed the night and flew to Cuenca the next day, where I stayed with my daughter and her host family for several nights. Ecuador is a stunningly beautiful country. Quito and Cuenca are in the central region, which is mountainous. There are numerous dormant volcanos and the soil is very rich. Quito’s elevation is 10,000+ ft and there are mountains in every direction. After a couple days in Cuenca, I boarded a van and took a four and half hour drive south to Vilcabamba. At no time during the drive did we go straight ahead for more than an 1/4th of a mile. Somewhat surprisingly (I was still a bit a bit cynical), Miguel, the Shaman, and one of his assistants picked me up at the hotel where the van dropped me off. It was getting dark. We drove another 20+ minutes south in a 20 year old Suzuki something-or-other. I think it had a three cylinder engine, max.The retreat center consisted of several small red brick buildings with a swimming pool in need of a cleaning in the center. Each building had two bedrooms on either side of a small bathroom. There were a couple German Shepards, some chickens and, as I discovered at 4:30am, a rooster on the grounds. It was very rustic, yet it was perfect.
A painting by the Ecuadoran artist, Chalco, at an exhibit I stumbled upon prior to leaving Cuenca. | April 2019
Let me share a little aside about how spiritual synchronicity began showing up for me in a big way during this trip. In the couple weeks leading up to the trip, there were three songs I was playing over and over. Curious, at one point, I happened to look at the titles. Each was about “Ganesha”. “Hmmmmm, that’s interesting,” I thought. Simultaneously, I happened to notice a document on my computer’s desktop called “Kirtan Translations” (Kirtan is a yogic chanting originating in the Hindu faith). I didn’t recall downloading this document. I’m sure I came across it during my vast canvassing of the internet to feed my mind’s voracious appetite for all things spiritual and psychedelic. Here’s what it said about Ganesha:
Ganesha = the elephant-headed god; son of Shiva and Parvati. The name Ganesha means “gana” + “isha”. Gana means “troops” or multitudinous spiritual attendants of Shiva. Isha means “Lord”. So Ganesha = “Lord of the troops”. Ganesha is remover of obstacles and is invoked at the beginning of any endeavor (such as the beginning of a spiritual retreat!).
I texted Johnny, who was in India at the time. “Check this out!” I said. He replied, “Holy shit! I had a statue of Ganesha in my hand for you this morning. I didn’t buy it because the guy said it was handmade and I could see the seams on it.” The night before my flight, my upstairs neighbor offered me a few books to take along. I grabbed three without a ton of consideration. The book I began to read on the airplane was written by Jody Picoult and titled “Leaving Time.” The story was of a woman who worked at an ELEPHANT sanctuary! You can’t make this stuff up. I was beginning to plug in again.
An overly HDR-ed image of Chakapita, the retreat center south of Vilcambamba. | April 2019
Prior to arrival at the retreat center, while thinking about who I would be sharing this experience with, I had a foreshadowing thought that I would be the only person at the retreat center. As it turns out, I was. The other woman, Judit, was Hungarian and was there as something of an apprentice. Buckle up!
On the afternoon of the first full day, we fasted beginning at 1:00pm. Around 3:00pm we climbed into the squirrel-powered Suzuki and took a trip to a small river in the village of Vilcabamba, where we brought flower petals from the retreat grounds. After a short ceremony, we stated our intention for the upcoming journeys and dropped the petals into the river. My intention was “heal and connect”. I was moved to tears by this simple ceremony. I felt as though I was coming home. I wanted so badly to heal and feel like my old self.
That evening, at around 9:00pm, we gathered in the small brick chapel on the grounds. It had maybe four small pews in it, which were moved to the back. We were given thin camping pads and some blankets to keep us warm. The comforter I was given just happened to be the same pattern my parents had on their bed when I was about 12 - Marimeko - white with primary color bold geometric flower prints. It just kept getting stranger! I had brought along a couple of “rocks” mostly quartz, along with a piece of fresh lava from an active volcano in Bali that Johnny had recently brought me. Why? Because that’s what you do when you’re into the woo!
The chapel where I had three of the seven journeys. | Chakapita, April 2019
After opening the ceremony, Miguel performed a “limpia” (cleansing) ceremony during which we smoked some very strong tobacco and had some brown powder blown up our nose, I was quite present, to say the least. Now, if you’ve read anything about Ayahuasca, you’ve likely read that it doesn’t taste particularly good. In fact, the stories of how bad it tastes are legion. I’ve always found it funny that the shamans typically store Ayahuasca in two liter Coke bottles. It’s just so incongruous. Miguel passed me the cup, an enameled metal camping cup. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. Here I was, sitting on the wooden floor of a primitive chapel at 7,000 feet in the Andes, thousands of miles from home, with two people I had only met 24 hours prior, preparing to drink one of the most powerful psychedelics known to man. After a brief pause and short prayer, I drank down the third of a cup of brown liquid. Either I was prepared or my taste buds were deadened by years of drinking strong coffee. I can’t say it tasted great, but it wasn’t nearly as terrible as I thought it would be. Earthy, a bit metallic perhaps; nothing I’d choose but I didn’t want to vomit instantly either. “Smooooooth” I croaked.
I returned to my pad and laid down. Miguel began to play a small flute, beat his drum rhythmically and sing. When working with Ayahuasca, the Shamans will sing songs called “Icaros” which are very powerful incantations that move energy in different ways. I lay there for 30 minutes or so, after which Miguel offered me another of a cup of “Jungle Juice” as it is known. Gritting my teeth, I drank it down and returned to my mat. As I lay there, I felt a mildly out of sorts and maybe slightly nauseous. My stomach was churning a bit (ya think?). After another 30-45 minutes, I definitely wasn’t tripping. “Hey Matt. How you doing? Are you seeing the ‘visions’?” Miguel asked. “Nope.” “Ok. You want some more?” In for a penny, in for a pound. Ever the adventurer, I replied, “Sure.” Down went another third of a cup.
The alarm clock at Chakapita. No extra charge. Works great, as long as 4:45 is when you want to wake up. | April 2019
I laid back down. After what couldn’t have been more than three minutes, as Miguel began the icaro I would come to recognize as “THAT song”, my stomach began to do backflips and I began to trip, really hard. My head was absolutely swimming. My body began to get clammy and there was a rumbling down below. The best way I have to describe it is as a freight train. The feeling originated deep within my gut as the cold sweat began to pour from my body and I started shaking. As it became abundantly clear that no amount of love or money was going to keep me from vomiting, I got on all fours and grabbed the bucket. The word “violently” only barely scratches the surfaces as an adverb to describe my vomiting. Fortunately, the other end held… for the time being.
After throwing up what felt like the last year’s meals over the course of five or so minutes, I laid down again on my mat and pulled the comforter over me. Some instinct had me grab for the piece of lava that was on the floor above my head - perhaps a desire to “ground” - and hold it outside my jeans against my pubis. In the instant I did that, my body completely disintegrated and dissolved into the earth below. Poof! And I was gone. As far as I “knew”, I was no longer a body. I found “myself” (whatever that is) floating in what I can only describe as infinite blackness. There was absolutely nothing and it was incredibly peaceful. I then became aware of myself as a bright light, floating in this vast peaceful ocean of blackness. Profound is much too small of a word.
A pano showing the setting for the retreat center, which was down in the valley to the left of center. | April 2019
I could have stayed like this forever. It was incredible. However, it was not to be. Miguel had other ideas. He began singing a different icaro and I found myself back in my body. And now, it felt as though I was standing in a puddle of water and grasping a live 220 volt line. I began convulsing rather violently on my little mat with the comforter from my youth pulled over me. I flailed around, writhing and twisting as “Grandmother” Ayahuasca had her way with me, continuing to clear the trapped energy that both the mushrooms and the MDMA had exposed (but not cleared) in prior journey. I began hallucinating. I had vividly explicit sexual “dreams” about women from my past. I cried deeply for what seemed like an hour. I became a what seemed to be a cricket or a cockroach, a bush, the earth. At one point, I felt as though I was being pulled into multiple dimensions - cosmically drawn and quartered, if you will. In short, it was absolutely fucking wild. At no time do I recall being scared. I just went with it, knowing I was being taken care of. I was also wise enough to know from my ten day meditation experience that resistance nearly always makes things worse.
Yours truly, after a couple Aya journeys. | Chakapita, April 2019
The effects began subsiding four to five hours later, at which point I somehow made it back to my little brick hut and tried to sleep. It was at this point that Grandmother opened the valve at the other end. Whatever was in me that hadn’t come out the top, now began making its way rapidly out my bottom. I probably hit the can five or six times before I was done. As I lay there, drifting off to sleep, I would periodically be involuntarily overcome with a powerful deep breath and sigh, shuddering as the energy coursed through me. At some point I drifted off to sleep.
