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Ayahuasca Journeys Testimonials

Meditating...over the Ayahuasca brew, by the Sweat Lodge, in Ashi Meraya

 PHOTO courtesy Andrey Emelyanov - photo & TEXT Copyright © Andrey Emelyanov

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''My Encounter with the Master Teacher Ayahuasca

or the Preliminary Death Experience''

By Andrey Emelyanov

<< Never in my life had I been as careless when planning even a minor trip as when preparing to take part in the Ayahuasca ceremonies. Pressed by multiple obligations at my work up to the day of departure I did everything in haste, therefore accepted the crucial clauses of the contract light-heartedly and didn’t bother to read testimonies of those who had participated earlier. Whoever could guess that ‘assuming responsibility for my own death’ wasn’t just a legal wording included into the contract ‘just in case’ and that I would face Death itself, balance on its verge and bargain with it for my life! Now that the memories of the Ayahuasca experience slowly began releasing their emotional grip on me I more clearly realise an indispensable truth that they will stay with me forever and that some essential part of my being has dramatically and irrecoverably changed – who knows to the good or the bad…

… Normally, the ceremony starts at 9 pm when it’s mysteriously dark outside the veranda, the footpath to which coming through the jungle alone casts one into solemn mood. However, this mood contrasted with the large plastic basins which had been set near each seat for vomit, which unsightly presence had no impression on me. In fact, I didn’t expect anything extraordinary or at least long-lasting because normally all my previous experiments with minor drugs or alcohol had proved a failure. Therefore, when the shaman Walter, who normally wore a T-shirt, jeans and flip-flops but now was clad in a proper ritual shamanic garment for the case, beckoned me for my turn to drink ‘the bitter cup’ I did it flippantly and returned to my seat to ponder for half an hour over uniqueness of my physiology, which could never seem to be affected even by powerful hallucinogens.

…The jungle was full of the croaking of bull-frogs, whistling and twittering of birds and other less recognizable sounds. My thoughts were carried away by this hubbub, by the light breeze, by the mixture of unusual smells, then they came back with the old idea to whinge about my unlucky fate once more …only to be intercepted and suppressed by a powerful process starting from the crown of the head and going down to the feet in spiral manner and squeezing every limb of the body with a powerful grip as if I was being cocooned and paralyzed like Frodo by the spideress Shelob. The focus of my vision floated deep inside and from within I saw tracer green lights like those created by bullets forming the cocoon of vertical power lines of the net that held me and heard high-pitched rattling sound accompanying the lights as if some gigantic insect was producing it. Later seeing a doctor I discovered to my utter astonishment that the same effect in the ears could be achieved when a source of ultra-sound of approx. 35 kHz is applied to one’s stomach.

Meanwhile, the intensity of the process grew and I felt really bad, covered with cold sweat trying to reach with a disobedient hand for my heart to test if it was in place. The first vomiting fit came all of a sudden and it took enormous effort to grope for the plastic basin. Throwing up didn’t bring relief, my state even worsened. Then followed one more vomiting fit, then another, then yet another. It seemed that that all of us threw up almost simultaneously for in the same time I heard distinctive retching sounds from my neighbours but these weren’t typical sounds – in fact, they reminded me of the agony of the evil spirit exiting host body from some foolish scary movie, these sounds were low and menacing.

Later my attention drifted away from the others but as far as I remember all of them kept on throwing up till the end of the first ceremony and, to run a few steps forward, the same happened to them at the following three ceremonies as well. Though in my case the vomiting fits finished quite soon (at the last ceremony I didn’t even throw up at all!), the situation with me was even worse – I had to conquer almost unbearable urge to defecate despite the preliminary measures I had taken, such as not eating much and applying glycerine suppositories beforehand. Strictly speaking, this urge is so tightly interwoven into the mysterious vision I had that it can’t be separated from it and dismissed as just an impeding factor. Who knows, maybe it was the only ground to what my mind managed to cling under the pressure of what was happening to me and the only remnant of my identity within the vision of what normally is called willpower! Even though I realise that this trait speaks rather of the lack of inner freedom, like many contemporary people I’m full of prejudices about ‘decent’ and ‘indecent’ social behaviour, which means that under no circumstances will I allow myself to shit my pants unless I’ve gone completely crazy. Therefore, the story of my vision is to the great extent the story of my struggle with these urges to defecate…

After the first vomiting fits, when my body was completely in the grip of numbness, I found myself inside a vision, the reality of which I don’t doubt even now six weeks after the event. What I felt from within the situation as far as I could realise anything was looking like what is described in ‘Tibetan book of the dead’ and the likes. I was almost lacking willpower, couldn’t act on my own and was attracted to what my being corresponds to most, which, unsurprisingly, happened to be quite different from what I could have expected. All of a sudden I was sucked to the heavens, which were cleft in two parts – dark and lucid, the dark part being occupied by the Evil power, the lucid part by the army of angel-like creatures. With no logic involved I clearly saw that my ethereal being was witnessing the last preparation for the Great the Battle of Armageddon!

Witnessing??? No – taking an active part. In fact, being the head of… Oh no, not again…
…Later I was wondering why I had had that déjà vu feeling that reminded me of the bowl of petunias falling to the surface of some remote planet in the Universe from nowhere with the same sorrowful exclamation ‘Oh no, not again’, the scene vividly depicted in the great book ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy’ by Douglas Adams.

Oh no, not again…
… some grim voice told me ‘We are ready sir. Just give the signal to attack!’ But who was I? I turned whatever was the ethereal representation of my head to the angels with this numb question trying to avoid the glances of the Dark army. Some other voice insisted ‘The time is come. No further procrastination. Make up your mind’ As if in confirmation of these words the lightning had struck and pre-thunderstorm clouds started gathering at the Evil side.

Oh no, not again…
I knew it from the beginning – I was the Dark Lord. But why??!
…the urge to defecate had reached its most unbearable peak paralyzing my judgment but for some imperceptible moment bringing me back to this earthly reality for the salutary gulp of willpower. For reason unknown I felt that relaxing, giving up to the urge and soiling my pants was equivalent to accepting the challenge and … losing the battle for my soul!

OK – I’d made up my mind. I give up. No more Armageddon, not again…

I’m here back again at the battlefield. I’ve decided. With a thunder-like voice I declare ‘I give up, I don’t want to fight, I dismiss my army and hand myself over at your discretion’. The angels look at each other in utter bewilderment, I knew from the start that they hadn’t had a slightest chance to win. The Evil party accepts its fate with grudging obedience and disappears into nowhere, it seems they didn’t care much…The angels approach me, joyfully embrace me and, melted with their love, I faint…
… a recurrent burst in my stomach distracted my attention again and I popped up to reality to find personal time and space stretched enormously, so when at some desperate moment at the peak of stomach revolution I wanted to take a head lamp which had been left on a bench nearby I felt that it took ages to reach for the bench itself let alone the lamp and that my hand was crossing the space of Galaxy. No wonder that the lamp was out of reach (needless to say that at next sessions I didn’t take it off).

Upon successfully stifling the fit I was dragged back into the vision. The plot proceeded uninterrupted but surroundings were more earthly this time and the angels turned into sages of austere countenances. They pronounced judgment that my present body doesn’t correspond to the task of spiritual development anymore and it was high time to shed this useless shell to be born again in a more appropriate body. ‘It’s going to be a painlessly smooth process’ they promised. When I looked around I was petrified to discover that everything including me was prepared for the ritual. The reality of the scenery and the action was beyond doubt and I couldn’t help feeling the pending expectation of the consent…

How nice it was that the stomach problems kept a small part of my consciousness unceasingly alert! Many reasons had crossed my mind – what a shocking business it would be for my friend, who doesn’t speak even English let alone Spanish, to deliver the corpse to the motherland, how much, if any, would my family get from the insurance company, how many activities I leave unsettled, etc., etc. Astonished by my own bravery as much as one could be in these circumstances, I started furiously bargaining with the sages for my life.
‘Well guys’, – I rather thought than pronounced – ‘I gave up and dismissed my army on my free will. It’s unjust to demand more. I want to retain this bloody form, however much I dislike it myself, for I still have a lot of obligations’
‘Do you realise that staying in this imperfect body you will be tortured by many physical, psychological and mental troubles’ – they replied sadly in chorus – ‘and you sentence yourself to life full of sorrows and unrealised ambitions? What’s more, the divinely outlined task of your being might be not fulfilled should you choose to save this form. Do you still insist on your choice?’

‘Yes, I do’, – I say. They solemnly nod respectfully accepting my choice and swept from the scene by another fit of stomach pain I find myself in a pristine forest of medieval pre-Christian Russia with the task to build a new religion from a scratch. Puzzled by the unexpected change of the scenery I start a completely new life in solitude in futile attempt to find anyone of my kin in the surroundings. It seems that eternity passes…

… oblivion follows full of events not distinctly registered by my perception. Then I come round in a marquee of the ancient nomadic tribe of the Asian part of Russia as if reborn with a new purpose in my life. Lulled by the beautiful shamanic song that tells a story of nobleness and glory, of love and hatred, of the eternal battle for the Good, I can’t help feeling that ages full of hard work for the glory of my country have passed and a lot more lay ahead. In the same time I’m tired and refreshed, newly-born and enjoying the best period of manhood. But the leading motive is the sorrow for the heroic past which I only feel but can’t vividly recall. The sorrow increases to the verge of deathly desperation but the song becomes more intense too dragging me gradually out of the immeasurable depths of gloom. For some time I’m divided between the two realities – the reality of the vision and the reality of the material world.

Shipibo shaman Ayahuasquero Don Walter, with Andrey, in Ashi Meraya 

 PHOTO courtesy Andrey Emelyanov -  Copyright © Andrey Emelyanov

The more I come round the more I realise that the song is being sung by Walter, not by the nomadic shaman from the dream. It is a beautiful Icaro, one of the magical songs of Amazonia. The song fades in the thickness of the jungle, the shaman announces that the ceremony is over. I find myself lying on a bench still having a powerful aftertaste of the vision … and a heavy burden in the stomach. Now that the ritual has been finished it’s high time to be relieved of it!

A walk of a zombie it was! Half-bent at the knees, stumbling over every small obstacle, groping for each support possible, staggering and swaying, all in all looking like a convalescent recovering from a deathly illness but still retaining a feverish glow in his eyes, I was firmly led by the overpowering idea to ease my bowels into the nearest convenient place. If there had been witnesses around they would have run away in shock. It was 2 am, five hours after drinking the cup of Ayahuasca.

I’ll skip the details of the process, restricting myself only to remark that it took all my powers to maintain equilibrium and not to fall down in the filth, which, unsurprisingly, smelt of Ayahuasca! The same enormous effort to get back to the bench had to be applied, my limbs acting on their own not, following the routine of vertebrally controlled coordination. Now tired of the struggle I had no other option than to fall asleep onto the bench…

What a beautiful morning it was! I was woken up by my friend who suggested that we get back to the hut to sleep there in more comfortable conditions. Though still weak, I felt I could make it and we started. The short distance of a hundred meters by a footpath in the jungle seemed to be the road to heaven, for struck by the sudden transparency of the jungle and pulled by the beams of soft white rays coming through translucent palm trees I wasn’t walking but rather floating through ether. The sounds of the jungle passed my ears not like waves but like moving objects – they passed and died momentarily. It all looked so fantastically unreal that for a brief moment I had to touch my head to make sure that wasn’t yet another vision.

The next day was full of deep reflections and reliving anew the experience of the previous night, this time consciously but non-analytically as no inner resources for analysis was left. This meditative state lasted all day until the evening, when we began to prepare for sleep but were interrupted by Clever our translator who called us for the second ceremony, which, for the best of our knowledge, had been planned for the day after. This menacing news filled us up with creeping horror!

Not wielding a skilful pen like Carlos Castaneda and not being a native English speaker to begin with, I don’t feel I’ll scrape enough words to describe the further experiences. To be frank, I’m not sure if it’s possible even in my native Russian. Moreover, it might not be necessary to describe the following ceremonies as thoroughly as the first one, which is as dear to me as my first love - it was the most vivid, the most significant, the one that has upturned and shattered me all over. Suffice it to say that all four ceremonies though alike in procedure had a different effect on me. In the second one I had another vision, less apocalyptic but no less significant because it showed me in condensed form the ugly results to which my behavioural trends would lead me. At the third and forth sessions I didn’t have visions or at least I don’t remember that I had them. Still, they taught me how to overcome the benumbness of my limbs and move them with conscious commands when I frequently dived into the jungle to defecate (My God, I only hope that the members of Shipibo family do not hold it against me!). I managed to see my own aura as an electric luminescence for a prolonged period of time and got accustomed to listening to the strangest sounds without fear.

Has the Ayahuasca experience met my expectations? To be honest, yes and no. In fact, it has upturned all my prejudices about hallucinogens. In my imagination I pictured something less dangerous and more entertaining, less about spirituality and more about magic. After years of futile attempts to achieve the states of mind and body described in Hindu and Buddhist literature and utter disillusionment in my ability to reproduce even the easiest effect mentioned in books on meditation I finally gave up and, though with some regret as if I was betraying the sweetest dream of my youth, inwardly pushed aside one of the main principles of Buddhism which forbids the use of hallucinogens. So, my first encounter with Ayahuasca wasn’t the result of a spontaneous impulse or a momentarily sparkled interest but it was a long-nourished idea based on a deep disappointment in my personal application of ‘regular’ methods of self-transformation. But never in my wildest dreams had I had imagined that I would have gone through the unequalled spiritual experience in a magical ceremony! What’s more, whoever could have imagined that in the remote jungle of Peruvian Amazon I would be profoundly imbued with the ideas of Russian Orthodox Church and the interest in Russian history would be sparked in me! Not that I’m so ignorant, but emotionally these matters had never touched my heart! Especially so, that I was born in the totally atheistic USSR!

Normally, when I come back from some spiritual place, be it the mountains of Altay in Russia or Tibet or India, I promise myself that upon the return I will change my approach to life. One week passes and everything falls into its usual routine. But this time there was no need for promises – I have come home being another person, nothing else, and I really like this new state.

One might ask if I’m going to repeat the experience. I wonder myself, but can’t answer the question. On the one hand, I’ve got some clues to my identity, got the answers to my innermost questions, was shown the proper path and, what’s more, due to the overwhelming reality of the visions I believe the answers were true – no point in double checking which could suggest only one thing – I do not trust what I saw. Moreover, the memory of my first encounter with Ayahuasca still fills me up with primeval superstitious awe as if it was descent to hell with uncertain prospect of getting back again. On the other hand, who knows what challenge I will face at the next bend of my life’s path, and the need to ask master teacher Ayahuasca for advice may arise once more. Only time will tell…>>

Andrey Emelyanov, Technical Manager, Moscow, RUSSIAN FEDERATION

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