Читать книгу Listening to Ayahuasca - Rachel Harris PhD - Страница 9
Оглавление“I eat less and feel better. I’m less negative, more sensitive to my spouse, less harsh, more loving. I feel better about myself, more alive. I learned how to live, how to love, how to help others.” This was Nathan’s description of how he changed as a result of participating in one hundred ayahuasca ceremonies over a ten-year period. A sixty-three-year-old teacher with a master’s degree, Nathan’s most recent experience with the medicine was two months before participating in the study. (Note that, in this chapter and throughout the book, pseudonyms are used for all study participants.)
Do one hundred ayahuasca ceremonies in ten years sound like an addiction problem? That would be an incorrect assumption for a few reasons. First of all, ayahuasca is not addictive (for more on this, see “Addictions,” chapter 8, page 228). Second, what if Nathan described attending a meditation retreat every month for ten years? Would that sound like an addiction or like Nathan was a serious meditation student? I think it’s more accurate to say that the ayahuasca ceremonies were an integral part of Nathan’s psychospiritual life.
Could psychotherapy have accomplished the same results for Nathan? I certainly hope so, but he’d already had years of therapy, from cognitive behavioral therapy to couples therapy. Evidently, it hadn’t helped, or perhaps it hadn’t helped enough. Nathan’s simple, yet clear description of his improved health habits — “I eat less and feel better” — is an important wake-up call to therapists. Therapists have told people to eat healthier for decades, and we all know how well that’s worked. Nathan’s overall characterization indicates he experienced a global shift, perhaps a spiritual opening, which is something that doesn’t necessarily happen even with successful therapy.
A thirty-three-year-old graduate student, Anna described her changes since drinking ayahuasca. After fifteen years of struggling with addictions, she said, “I never drank or smoked pot or touched any other substance like that again. I never had casual sex again or even a casual make-out session. And I cut back on sugar.” Anna’s central issue was her sense of self. “I finally feel like myself. Yes, I love myself!” She had never been in psychotherapy and had attended about fifty ayahuasca ceremonies. Her last ceremony was six years before the study, which gives us a clue about the long-lasting impact of the medicine for some people.
Philip, age twenty-nine and a graduate student in psychology, said, “I’ve always struggled with anxiety and depression, but I’m more accepting of them now.” Philip had undergone an array of therapeutic approaches and had seven experiences of drinking ayahuasca, the last one a few months before the study. He carefully distinguished between changes in anxiety and depression and his attitude toward these feelings. Although his ayahuasca experiences did not provide a miracle cure in the sense of removing anxiety and depression, they helped him to change how he related to these challenging feelings. Philip described an important inner shift that implies having greater compassion, possibly at a spiritual level beyond psychological acceptance.
George, age twenty-seven and in graduate school, made a similar observation regarding how he deals with mood swings since drinking ayahuasca. “No changes in emotional moods, but my ability to handle them is 100 percent better!” George hadn’t had any psychotherapy, but he had participated in twenty-two ayahuasca ceremonies over several years prior to the study. He wrote, “I no longer drink since puking out bad alcohol dependency three years ago with ayahuasca. I lost forty pounds and am now relatively athletic. I became a vegan after my tenth ceremony. My relationships are no longer codependent. I no longer feel self-esteem problems. I feel incredibly happy and centered and more able to deal with adverse situations.”
George asked his parents to answer the question, “Did anyone close to you notice any changes in you?” I included this question to obtain a more objective perspective regarding how people changed since drinking ayahuasca. Born-again Christians, George’s parents wrote that they “couldn’t fathom how a plant had helped George find so much health and love.” We have to give George a lot of credit for sharing his journey with his parents, and their response reflects how mystified they are about his experience and how relieved they are that he’s feeling much better.
William, a forty-five-year-old medical doctor, wrote that, since drinking ayahuasca, “Marijuana use is down 75 percent. My relationship with my wife is deepening. I’m more compassionate and affectionate. I have more confidence and feel a renewal of hope that I can create a meaningful life. I feel an opening of my heart to the scope of mystery.” Again, we hear the intimations of a spiritual path unfolding. William had been in almost one hundred ceremonies, the last one over six months prior to the study.
I personally interviewed William, who specializes in palliative care and is often present as his patients are dying. He told me, “Ayahuasca keeps me light on my feet and capable of responding to my patients’ suffering.” He feels guided by Grandmother Ayahuasca as he creates a new system for providing care for people during the final stage of life. He said, “Ayahuasca has moved to North America. She’s got something going on, and I’m a small piece of it.” I have to admit that I and many others feel the same way — those of us who feel we’ve received some sort of mission from Grandmother Ayahuasca and that she’s guiding and helping us rise to the challenge she’s assigned.
Perhaps that’s too strong a claim — that a plant has intentionally selected certain people to carry out a small aspect of her plan, to contribute to her larger cause. Perhaps I should say that, because of ayahuasca, some of us are rising up to accept the challenges we’ve imagined for ourselves. The truth is that I don’t know how to differentiate between an inner inspiration and a message from a plant teacher that I’m not sure I believe in, even though I’ve heard her voice loud and clear. This is the recurring symptom of my ontological crisis, which is the most powerful way I’ve changed since drinking ayahuasca. More about that later.
Nancy, a forty-two-year-old college graduate and farmer, had attended seventy-five ceremonies during the six years before the study. She’d tried a number of different therapies on and off for ten years, from talk therapy to somatic therapy. She wrote that as a result of her ayahuasca experiences: “I’m more stable and grounded, less likely to get swept up in my own dramas. I’m more willing to allow my feelings, but differentiate them from ‘moods,’ which can be caused by an imbalanced brain/body chemistry. I’m a better listener and more patient. I have more awareness of what I’m doing and as a result am not so self-destructive. I no longer drink alcohol. Weight loss. Asthma gone. Junk food doesn’t seem so appealing. I now love myself. I have compassion for myself. I relate to my inner selves as parts of myself, not as enemies.” After all that, Nancy still felt compelled to add an additional note: “It’s not an overstatement to say ayahuasca saved my life — more than once.”
Lewis was a fifty-three-year-old college grad working as a telecom technician who’d never had therapy. At the time of the study, Lewis had been a member of the Santo Daime Church for three years and had about eighty experiences with ayahuasca — or the “Daime,” as the medicine is known in the church, where it’s revered as a sacrament. Lewis wrote, “I’m more socially outgoing, more attentive to others, and less self-absorbed; more open, spontaneous, and expressive. I’m less self-critical, more accepting with a better understanding of who I am as opposed to who I thought I was. I feel much less sadness, less anxiety and gloomy thoughts. I have flashes of joy and hope, the possibility of being alive. I’m aware of the possibility of transcendence. I want to live before I die.”
Lewis is certainly quite expressive now. If we listen between the lines, we can hear how depressed he must have been before embarking on his journey with the Daime. Previous to my own experiences with ayahuasca, I would’ve thought, Here’s a guy in desperate need of therapy. Now, however, I appreciate the therapeutic potential in this ancient medicine to relieve major, lifelong depression. This is just one of the ways I’ve changed my thinking since embarking on my own ayahuasca journey.
Lewis also had someone close to him describe the changes they’ve noticed, which provides an outside perspective on the drastic changes Lewis has experienced. The person wrote: “I have noticed a great change. Where before he didn’t share his personal feelings, he has become increasingly open, confident, and communicative concerning personal feelings and his self-discoveries. He is much happier. He smiles far more often and expresses joy in his day-today life. I have noticed a great opening up and acceptance accompanied by a releasing of pent-up worries, fears, and other unpleasant preoccupying emotions. He has also become more social, including himself in numerous group activities and making new, good friends. Very positive overall.”
This description confirms Lewis’s self-report. However, it’s fair to wonder, were Lewis’s changes a result of the ayahuasca he ingested or from his new identity since joining the Santo Daime Church? Only three people in this study were members of an ayahuasca church, which is too few to separate into their own group, one distinct from those drinking ayahuasca in a shamanic context. Thus, I have no way to tease out the effects of the medicine from the social experience of joining a church and all the interpersonal benefits of belonging to a group. Many of us have either experienced or witnessed others who joined a new social group and benefited from that involvement, but the dramatic and extensive changes that Lewis described seem due to more than just church membership.
For instance, Lewis wrote about his diet: “Less crap, less sugar, less pigging out, more veggies. I’m slimmer, feel younger, and appear younger, or so say others.”
The self-reports describe the therapeutic benefits of ayahuasca: better sense of self, improved interpersonal relationships, less depression and anxiety, healthier lifestyle, and relief from addictions. These are also the central themes in psychotherapy, regardless of theoretical model or practical technique. What therapist doesn’t want to hear that his or her clients feel better and have more positive thoughts and moods? That their inner critic is less harsh, and they feel more accepting and loving toward themselves and their close relationships? Or that clients are taking better care of themselves, eating healthier, exercising more, and stopping addictive behaviors? These central themes are the bedrock of personal well-being and the hallmarks of a meaningful life. Accordingly, each merits greater consideration.
Self-Acceptance and Love
The questionnaire asked participants to describe any changes in attitude toward themselves as a result of their ayahuasca experiences. The most common responses were, to paraphrase: “I’m more accepting of myself, more loving, kind, and patient. I have more self-confidence, take better care of myself, and have greater understanding. I’m less critical.” This last statement is clinically important, since a harsh inner critic can be constantly demoralizing in daily life. The therapeutic approaches most commonly used to treat negative self-tapes include disputing them (“I’m not always wrong”) and using positive affirmations (“I make good decisions”). That’s not what’s happening here. The effects of ayahuasca are completely radical.
“I was caught in a hell realm, stuck in my self-hatred loops,” said Steve, a seventy-year-old somatic therapist in private practice. He quoted this loop as saying, You’re not good enough, not smart enough, not successful enough, not anything enough. We all know these inner-critic tapes and how hard it is to escape their destructive messages. Can you imagine having to listen to such a toxic rant while under the influence of a medicine that amplifies everything? Steve was stuck, and this was not a new experience. He’d been there and done that throughout his lifetime.
During his ayahuasca experience, Steve heard a voice asking, Who is doing this to you? Steve was sure the voice was Grandmother Ayahuasca, who can be therapeutic in astonishingly surprising ways. Steve told me, “She taught me a big lesson — how to stop my inner critic.” Steve realized that these critical messages were remnants from his childhood that no longer held sway over him as an adult. Did the tapes come back? He said they didn’t during the ceremony, but they could reemerge afterward, albeit with less intensity. The difference was that Steve now had the power to silence these destructive messages.
One of the most powerful barriers to self-acceptance, these demeaning messages are relentless and reinforce criticisms we heard during our vulnerable growing-up years. I had a strikingly beautiful client who heard, You’re not pretty enough. I didn’t understand the origin of this message until she explained, “I have an older sister who’s the pretty one. That role was taken. I had to be the smart one, the popular one, or the athletic one. Things were worse for my younger sister — she had fewer options.” Somehow this was the rule in that family, never explicitly stated but powerful nonetheless, or perhaps even more powerful for being unspoken.
In my psychotherapy practice, I divided clients into two categories: those who did or did not feel loved as a child. This is not the same as, “Did your parents love you?” It’s whether you felt loved. I could pretty much divide my clients into yes or no categories. While I had a boutique private practice in which everyone was well-educated and professional, so that I didn’t face a wide array of psychiatric diagnoses, this one question was pivotal. It determined the client’s sense of self and his or her capacity for intimate relationships.
As research from brain development and attachment theory was applied to psychotherapy, I realized that I was distinguishing whether or not the client had a secure attachment. This develops during early childhood when we learn that we can count on our parents to meet our needs in kind, caring ways. It’s estimated that about 55 percent of people have a secure attachment.1 The other 45 percent experience three other categories of attachment: anxious attachment, which develops when our caretakers sometimes meet our needs and sometimes don’t, so we never know what to expect; avoidant attachment, in which we give up on getting our needs met; and, worst of all, disorganized attachment, in which our caretakers are cruel or abusive.
The issue of whether or not someone has a secure attachment or felt loved as a child is not the same as self-esteem, which the California legislature attempted to “fix” with a self-esteem initiative telling parents and teachers to heap praise on children.2 That program was not based on psychological research. We know that empty praise does nothing for a child’s sense of self except inflate their ego and distort expectations about how the world will greet them. Better to encourage old-fashioned hard work and perseverance: “You really kept at that problem until you got it solved!”
The pervasive problem of feeling unlovable was the issue a group of American psychologists and meditation teachers presented to the Dalai Lama during the third Mind and Life Institute conference in Dharamsala, India, in 1991. When Sharon Salzberg asked His Holiness, “So when we teach loving-kindness and compassion, should we talk very specifically about loving yourself?” The Dalai Lama entered into a long exchange with his Tibetan translator, who eventually explained that the concept was alien to His Holiness. The Westerners described how people suffer with their inner critics. The Dalai Lama admitted, “I thought I had a very good acquaintance with the mind, but now I feel quite ignorant. I find this very, very strange and I wonder where it comes from.”3 Evidently, in Tibetan culture, children are responded to quickly and kindly, and I imagine they have a higher percentage of securely attached adults than we do.
One of the most common healing experiences during ayahuasca ceremonies is a sense of being flooded with love. This sensation ranges from the comfort of a warm bath to ecstatic heights of feeling loved as a child of the universe. Greater compassion for oneself and self-acceptance are mentioned the most frequently. One man said, “You can hear something one thousand times and still not get it. With ayahuasca, the message [of being loved] drops down into the cellular level, and all of a sudden you know it in your bones.” Some people attributed the source of love to Grandmother Ayahuasca. One wrote, “I am more and more seeing how I am supported and loved by her.”
Years ago, as a slightly cynical psychotherapist, I would’ve said this sounds like a spiritual bypass. Feeling cosmic love is a way to avoid dealing with parents who weren’t kind and loving. Get thee to a therapist and work on family-of-origin issues, I would think. Now I’m not so sure.
In the sharing circle one morning after a ceremony I attended, a thirty-something guy exclaimed with all the emotional enthusiasm of a religious epiphany how he now felt loved — “truly loved!” Then he reflected, “I wonder why I didn’t feel loved before.” I sat nearby using all my energy to keep my mouth shut. I had met his mother, knew his family story. It was all I could do not to say to him, and by that I mean shout at him, “You didn’t feel loved because your mother is a narcissist and your father abandoned you!” Perhaps this impatience is why I’ve retired from private practice.
Sitting in the circle, I wondered if maybe it didn’t matter that this guy didn’t understand why he didn’t feel loved before. Maybe the only thing that mattered was that he felt so well-loved now. I know how intense that feeling of being loved can be under the full sway of the medicine. Perhaps that works as a “corrective experience,” which is therapy jargon for one of those spontaneous healing moments that happen in therapy between client and therapist when they look directly into each other’s eyes and something powerful and unspoken happens.4 The current theory of interpersonal neurobiology says that the therapist’s brain connects with the client’s in a way that rewrites the client’s life narrative.5 This opens the possibility of learning something new, as in, “I’m lovable!”
The ceremonial situation is different — everyone sits in the dark, and there’s no direct interaction or eye-to-eye contact. Possibly the reprogramming of the brain happens in a biochemical way with the medicine lowering one’s usual pattern of filters and defenses, allowing the brain to experience something new — “I’m lovable!” — just as the man exclaimed in the sharing circle the morning after.6
A few weeks after this ceremony, I was sitting in a spiritual direction session with a monk who’d been living silently for over fifty years at the New Camaldoli Hermitage in California (www.contemplation.com). I had to explain to him what “spiritual bypass” meant, and he understood the concept immediately. He said he “believed that sometimes the spiritual experience of feeling loved changed everything for a person,” and then he paused. I waited. He spoke again: “And sometimes it didn’t.” We sat together in silent agreement.
Relationships
The old saw that you have to love yourself before you can truly love another fits perfectly with attachment theory. People who feel loved, people with secure attachment, assume the best from their loved ones. In fact, they select for those capacities, quickly eliminating someone who crosses lines of good behavior. A securely attached young woman refused to go on a second date with a presumably very eligible bachelor. When I asked her why, she replied, “He told me I had too much makeup on.” That simple. The guy was critical on the first date. No point making a second date. Since then, she’s been married for thirty-five years to a very kind, serious medical researcher who wouldn’t dream of criticizing his wife’s appearance.
People with secure attachment know how to be married. This doesn’t mean that they’re perfect. They hurt each other’s feelings, but they listen to their partner with empathy and then apologize. They forgive and let go of the hurt feelings, which means that they don’t bring up the kitchen sink when they fight. They celebrate each other’s successes and are happy to make the other person happy. In short, they “get” each other, and they’re there for each other.
In this study, people reported feeling more accepting, loving, and compassionate toward themselves after drinking ayahuasca. Many also said they felt the same way toward those closest to them. For those who reported an improvement in their relationships, there was a clear trend toward more honest, direct, and open communication with deeper connections. One college professor succinctly described his changes: “Better marriage. Better relationships with students and colleagues.” We don’t know if one thing led to the other, if feeling better about themselves allowed them to feel better about their relationships. We don’t know if there’s a causal relationship, even though it would make clinical sense.
How relationships change as a result of an ayahuasca experience is qualitatively different from reporting on internal states — feelings and attitudes toward oneself. Changes in relationships depend not only on how the person feels but on how that person behaves. Relationships raise the issue of integration. A more specific way to phrase this question is “How does the ayahuasca experience change how you behave on a daily basis in your relationships?” It’s one thing to be flooded with love during a ceremony and another thing altogether to behave in loving ways upon the return home.
A fifty-two-year-old businessman described his personal evolution regarding sex and relationships after two dozen experiences with ayahuasca over a fifteen-year period. He wrote that he “broke a powerful sexual addiction. Now I’m drawn to looking for relationships. Sex for sex’s sake doesn’t do it for me.”
People’s responses showed a trend toward having more patience and tolerance in family relationships. Many of the younger respondents said their relationships with their parents had improved. One early-twenties college student, happily in his fifth year of undergraduate study, asked his mother to answer the question, “Did anyone close to you notice any changes in you (since drinking ayahuasca)?” She responded, “Now he has control over his behavior and has become very spiritual.” It’s interesting to note that this young man’s mother identified two very important themes that others mentioned about post-ayahuasca changes: better behavior and spiritual awakening. Again, the latter is more than psychotherapy intends to accomplish or claims to do.
A number of people reported reconciliations in ruptured relationships. One woman wrote, “I made peace with my ex-husband, and it made a huge difference for us and our two children.” I also experienced a changed attitude toward my ex-husband after taking ayahuasca. I’m able to see once again the spiritual being I fell in love with underneath his personality. However, whether, and how, you act on an inner shift in perspective is a therapeutic decision. Inner experiences, whether resulting from ayahuasca ceremonies or something else, do not necessarily translate into specific behaviors or a face-to-face reconciliation. This is another reason I recommend talking with a therapist after an ayahuasca healing, since this can help differentiate what insights to act on and what insights to hold privately.
The question about relationships is complex. Some people answered, “No change,” but we don’t know if that lack of change is positive or negative. Were their relationships already accepting and loving, or were their relationships unsatisfactory and remained so? Alas, the limits of a questionnaire.
A number of people reported ending “unhealthy relationships” with both romantic partners and friends. This news was presented as an accomplishment, something they should’ve done long ago. It seems there’s a reevaluation of relationships after the ayahuasca experience. For example, one woman explained that she “was better at setting limits without guilt” in her relationships. Another said, “I’ve stopped anything that was toxic.” One man reported, “Some people do not fit anymore.”
Other factors also complicate the relationship question. There can be an in-group/out-group dynamic: Those drinking ayahuasca share a very intense experience that is by its very nature ineffable and difficult to explain to someone who hasn’t experienced the medicine. This is a particularly delicate issue for couples when one partner drinks and the other doesn’t. I experienced this dynamic with a married friend of mine. After a weekend ceremony, we returned to her house, chattering away about our experiences, and her husband, rightfully so, felt left out of our conversation. My friend and I agreed to debrief elsewhere in deference to his feelings.
A variant on this theme was expressed by a woman who joined her husband in a ceremony but repeatedly received the same message from Grandmother Ayahuasca: You don’t really need to be here. You’re already doing your job as a partner and helpmate to your husband. This ceremony is for him. Eventually, she decided to continue joining him in ceremony but to drink only a very small amount of the medicine. This was an interesting compromise elegantly designed to stay connected to her husband’s experience even though ayahuasca was not her personal path.
As if all these relationship issues aren’t complex enough to navigate and understand, the illicit nature of the situation cannot be forgotten. We don’t live in an indigenous village where ayahuasca ceremonies are part of the fabric of the culture, where friends and family respect the medicine. A Westerner can hardly walk into work Monday morning and say, “Guess what I did this weekend?”
Depression and Anxiety
“Depression is GONE. I now have a feeling of self-worth. I’m slower to anger and quicker to smile,” wrote Ben, a thirty-one-year-old man. He said he’d been on antidepressants since his teens and had undergone five years of psychotherapy. Before the study, he’d been drinking ayahuasca every two months or so for about a year.
This is the miracle cure we all want, but the reason it’s called a miracle is precisely because it doesn’t always happen. There are no guarantees. When this kind of relief from depression or anxiety does happen, we need to know: How often is the person drinking ayahuasca? How long does the relief last? What percentage of people enjoy such a miraculous cure? We need long-term studies to follow up on people like Ben and to explore the most therapeutic use of ayahuasca in terms of frequency and dose.
In my study, two-thirds of the people reported improvement in mood after drinking ayahuasca. Only a few described a miraculous cure like Ben’s. The fact that an instantaneous lifting of major depression doesn’t happen for everyone doesn’t minimize the self-reports describing a range of relief from both depression and anxiety. Most people noted a general improvement in mood: more feelings of love and compassion, increased optimism, greater serenity, increased confidence, and more joy. As a result of drinking ayahuasca, respondents said they felt more easygoing, safer, and lighter; they had more fun and felt more stable. They also reported feeling less anxious, angry, agitated, or upset. One person wrote, “Less darkness, more light.”
We do have a few clues about the frequency of drinking ayahuasca. One research study with only three subjects showed how depressive symptoms returned exactly fourteen days after drinking the medicine.7 Santo Daime churches, with decades of experience, hold a ceremony or “work” every two weeks, and this frequency seems to maintain the antidepressant effects of ayahuasca.
People seeking help for depression or anxiety may need to drink ayahuasca on a regular basis. This is a realistic consideration not usually included in the splashy media articles about the new medicine from the Amazon. When people return from an ayahuasca retreat in South America, having enjoyed some relief from lifelong depression and anxiety, they’re faced with a dilemma — how to continue drinking ayahuasca. Not many people can afford the time and money for regular trips to the jungle, while accessing the medicine in the United States means entering an illegal underground. This is hardly a comfortable decision for people seeking healing and spiritual direction.
An important aspect of the healing process continues long after the ceremony is over. In terms of depression and anxiety, people seem to develop a distance between themselves and their moods that allows them to consider the most constructive way to handle their emotionality. A forty-seven-year-old teacher wrote, “I’m less emotional and can better deal with my moods.” Another woman, age fifty-nine and a college professor, described a distancing from her moods: “I don’t take my moods so seriously anymore.” This is not denial or repression, but rather emotional objectivity with a touch of disidentification. This is what’s taught in Roberto Assagioli’s transpersonal approach to psychotherapy, psychosynthesis — “I have a body, but I am not my body. I have an emotional life, but I am not my emotions or my feelings.”8
Disidentification is not the detachment seen in schizoid personality disorder, where the person is out of touch with the flow of their inner, emotional life. People with this diagnosis are often indifferent to others and appear to be cold and detached with little emotional range.
The people reporting greater objectivity about their moods after ayahuasca are very much in touch with their emotions. “I still have ups and downs but I’m less surprised,” wrote a thirty-year-old male musician. A thirty-nine-year-old woman who practiced acupuncture had a similar response: “My oversensitivity has decreased, or I’m better able to handle it.”
In psychosynthesis, the full process is identification, disidentification, and finally Self-identification. With a capital S, Self refers to the transpersonal Self, beyond the ego. Psychosynthesis uses the term Self in the same way Jungians do, meaning a numinous center. The identification step means that the person is aware of and in touch with his or her moods yet is able to develop greater insight. Or, as a fifty-year-old man wrote, “I’m clearer about the source of my moods and the effect they have on others.”
Disidentifying with every passing mood creates a new level of inner freedom and choice. Amy wrote, “I used to be very hot-tempered. While I still get frustrated at times, I now have more space between action and reaction to respond in a more level-headed, caring way. . . usually.” Amy, a twenty-nine-year-old chef, wrote this to explain her process of integrating the ayahuasca experience into her daily life. Amy’s description implies a learning curve or neurological reprogramming, where she gradually became better at delaying her immediate reaction so she could choose how she wanted to respond. Amy’s description is a good example of Goleman’s theory of emotional intelligence.9 Goleman calls an immediate reaction the low road, marked by a fear-based, defensive reaction governed by the brain’s amygdala. The amygdala warns us of danger, enabling us to react quickly when we see a snake on the path in front of our foot. However, when the amygdala takes over in our interpersonal relationships, we say or do things without thinking, which we inevitably come to regret. The low road is in contrast to the high road, which allows time for the prefrontal cortex to weigh in and think through a more conscious response.
The young chef learning to respond in a “level-headed, caring way” is describing more than the alleviation of depression. She’s developing self-regulation, the capacity to manage emotions, channeling them into constructive communications. Goleman explained that widening the gap between impulse and action is exactly what mindfulness training does. In this case, ayahuasca is helping Amy to do the same.
Katie, a thirty-year-old graduate student, reported her version of a similar process: “I’ve always been sensitive, cried, laughed, howled at the moon. Now I’ve learned to accept that’s who I am, and I’ve learned discernment about when to express it and how to express it. But I definitely express it.” It’s clear from Katie’s description that taking the high road is not about squelching feelings. “When to express” and “how to express” are the hallmarks of her prefrontal cortex deciding the best way to deal with her intense feelings.
A forty-five-year-old salesman wrote how he’d changed in relationship to his emotions: “I now embrace happiness and sadness equally.” He was describing an expanded acceptance of his emotional range, which is reminiscent of the Buddhist quality of equanimity, the capacity to see what is without judgment, without getting caught in desiring one emotion over another. This man described a subtle shift in perspective in which he didn’t identify with his transitory moods but identified with the Self that the moods move through, just as clouds float by in the sky.
Some people reported greater openness in relationships along with less depression and anxiety. Clinically, it’s irrelevant which happened first. As they felt better emotionally, they became more available in their relationships, and as they felt more connected, their mood improved. “I’ve come out of my shell,” one man reported. Good news, however it happened.
When antidepressants worked for my psychotherapy clients, they reported similar symptomatic relief: “I didn’t know life could be like this.” “I can’t believe I resisted going on drugs.” “The meds, even at low doses, got me through my husband’s death.” And even, “I’ve hired a lawyer and I’m filing for divorce.” Believe me, this last one was a breakthrough we couldn’t get from therapy alone.
There’s an important difference, however, between the ayahuasca reports and the quotes from my psychotherapy clients on antidepressants. Everyone describes the same lessening of depression and anxiety, symptoms that they’ve suffered with most of their lives. The difference is that people drinking ayahuasca describe a spiritual process as well. The shift in their relationship to their moods is what makes their process spiritual, rather than only lessening symptoms. Here’s how Lisa, a fifty-nine-year-old therapist, expressed it: “I am confident and serene within the context of a fluctuating personality and body. My core is secure.”
This shift in perspective does not generally occur with antidepressants alone, even when the person has been on a spiritual path for years. A client of mine, a yoga teacher, told me, “I listen to my Prozac brain now to make better decisions.” Her comment illustrates awareness but not the spiritual level of Self-identification reflected in the ayahuasca testimonials.
Health
Some people take ayahuasca with very specific intentions regarding health and illness. In my study, Franny, a fifty-four-year-old neuropsychologist, said she intended to “put her cancer into remission.” There are plenty of stories circulating on the internet about shamans using ayahuasca to cure cancer, AIDS, Parkinson’s, and a variety of other serious diagnoses. Franny did three ayahuasca ceremonies. After the first one, she said, she “had about a year of remission. My cancer marker blood test score plummeted [a good sign] after the second session. No change after the third session.”
Franny said the message she received during her third ayahuasca ceremony was that “I can’t cure my cancer, but I can prolong my life somewhat by doing Buddhist practice, doing things I love to do, spending time with family and friends.” She said, “I’m coming to terms with the fact that I will not live out my expected life span. But I trust that I will get what I need when I am very sick. I will be taken care of.”
Research from the sixties with LSD as well as current studies using psilocybin with terminal cancer patients have shown a reduction in death anxiety along with a greater acceptance of dying.10 I’m sure ayahuasca will also prove to be helpful with terminal patients, just as it has been with Franny. Franny exemplifies the difference between being cured and being healed. She was not cured of her cancer, but she was healed in her process of facing death.
In a more general approach to health, the reported changes in diet and exercise after drinking ayahuasca are remarkable. They far exceed any other intervention, including psychotherapy, which, admittedly, does not have a very good track record. Since a significant portion of the national health-care budget is related to lifestyle choices, any improvements in diet and exercise have an impact on the national cost of medical care.
The responses about dietary changes after ayahuasca followed a strong pattern: less sugar, junk food, and red meat; more vegetables and fruit; and smaller portions. A number of people became vegetarian, some vegan, and a few were trying a raw food diet. One woman reported that her anxiety level around food was gone. Another said, “Junk food is less appealing, even chocolate,” which I consider a major breakthrough. “Each ceremony is a reminder of how food affects me, and I let go of crappy foods that creep back into my diet.”
These changes were not the result of willpower or discipline — nobody mentioned those stalwarts of the dieting world. Rather, the desire for a healthier diet seemed to unfold spontaneously as if based on some kind of revelation. Some people reported that they heard a voice telling them to change their eating habits. Others came out of a ceremony and changed lifelong patterns with seemingly no effort, as if they simply decided, “I now just prefer kale to chocolate.”
People felt better after the ceremonies and enjoyed an increase in vitality and energy. A few mentioned that their breathing had improved and that they felt younger. I remember returning home after my first ayahuasca experience and calling all my friends to tell them I’d discovered the fountain of youth. My joints felt as if they’d been oiled like the Tin Man in The Wizard of Oz. Of course, I’m ten years older now, and ayahuasca has not literally made me younger, but I do still believe that the process of aging is ameliorated to a certain extent by drinking ayahuasca.
People reported that the medicine seemed to help an array of complaints, from minor aches and pains to asthma and migraines. People described being more aware of their bodies and their energy levels, along with a greater desire to take care of themselves. One woman wrote, “I’m more drawn to natural foods. Now I can feel why they’re better.”
At the same time that people improved their eating habits, they also increased their physical activity with hiking, yoga, and other kinds of exercise. Diet, health, and exercise are inextricably linked, similar to how reductions in depression and anxiety are associated with improved relationships. There’s no way to determine what caused what, but clinically, it doesn’t matter. The lived experience is one of great relief and improvement.
I recently asked a shaman about backsliding, and he laughed. “Of course,” he said, “most of us need to hear things many times before we can change.” This is a more realistic attitude than expecting instant changes in behavior, and it helped me assuage my own guilt and dismay for not following the advice I have received from Grandmother Ayahuasca. In almost every ceremony over the last ten years, she’s given me straightforward advice: Eat lite. I know she means in terms of both quality and quantity. It makes perfect sense. Have I done it? No.
I’ve only recently been able to talk to friends regarding my failure to follow Grandmother Ayahuasca’s advice. I started with my Rolfer, Neal Powers, whom I knew forty years and forty pounds ago. My weight gain is embarrassing enough, but it’s even more so since he’s in better shape now than he was back then. He’s a winter swimmer in San Francisco — yes, he swims in those cold, shark-infested waters for the sheer joy of it, and he has the shoulder girdle to prove it. Perhaps because I was lying in my underwear on his Rolfing table, I decided to unburden myself of my dilemma. As he worked, I admitted, “In every ceremony I’ve done, I’ve gotten the same message — Eat lite. It’s not as if it’s a secret that I’m eating too heavy. I mean, the evidence is all around me. Literally.” Then I gestured to my midsection as if he might not have noticed an extra forty pounds.
The next person I chose to bare my soul to heard Grandmother Ayahuasca’s message in a totally different way. Steeped in a lifelong spiritual quest, my friend thought I said, “Eat light” — just like the women mystics of the Middle Ages who mysteriously survived on air and light rather than food. My friend was so relieved to hear the message was Eat lite that the conversation veered away from the real crux of the matter — that I was not following Grandmother Ayahuasca’s advice.
I’ve recently received a different message from Grandmother. Not long ago, I spent two nights of ceremony confronting my abusive childhood history and the full extent of the resulting damage. I’ve had so much therapy in my life, I didn’t think I could be surprised by anything, but I sobbed through those two nights as though hearing my own story for the first time. With quiet compassion, the voice acknowledged, No wonder you’re not eating lite. Reflecting back on the messages I’ve received about diet, I think this last one shows that Grandmother Ayahuasca has a learning curve of her own. It’s as if she understood me more deeply after these recent ceremonies and changed her message accordingly. Of course, I’m still hoping for the spontaneous breakthrough that’s not about discipline or willpower, but simply wanting a healthier diet, wanting to take better care of myself. I’m still hoping for the spontaneous cure that so many others have reported.
Drug Use
The people who participated in my research study were very experienced with psychedelics. Three-quarters of them had used LSD, psilocybin, or mushrooms. Half had used MDMA, or ecstasy. The overall number of ayahuasca ceremonies represented in this research project was 2,267. At the extremes, twenty-four people reported having twenty or more experiences, and ten people reported having only one. Let’s be frank, that’s a lot of trips. However, as I discuss later, these drugs are not addictive.
The strongest addictive drug I failed to ask about was tobacco. Cigarette smoking is widely considered to be one of the most difficult addictions to break. There’s currently research at Johns Hopkins indicating that psilocybin helps people to quit smoking.11 It’s possible that ayahuasca does also, but this requires further study.
In the indigenous cultures of the Amazon, shamans smoke mapacho cigarettes made with Nicotiana rustica, which is supposed to contain nine to twenty times more nicotine than common tobacco (Nicotiana tabacum). Tobacco is considered a major plant teacher, along with Grandmother Ayahuasca, and the smoke from mapacho cigarettes is often used to clear negative energy. Sometimes the smoke is blown into the brew; other times it’s blown directly onto someone when they’re having difficulty during a ceremony. Some traditions soak the tobacco leaves in water and then snort the water up the nose before drinking ayahuasca in order to open up energy channels for increased receptivity to the medicine.
In one of my early experiences with ayahuasca, I was in Costa Rica in a very large group with two shamans from Ecuador. The shamans sat at one end of the maloca, or longhouse, where they had arranged a makeshift altar. They directed the men in the group to sit closer to the altar, relegating the women to the outside circle. I was having a particularly difficult time and was unable to marshal my energy to summon help. When one of the assistants finally noticed that I appeared disoriented, he brought a shaman over to do a healing. The shaman blew mapacho smoke over me to clear away negative energies. Unfortunately, the smoke only made me more nauseous, which I hadn’t thought was possible. I waved him away, not understanding the respect and faith with which shamans revere the spirit of tobacco, a typical example of cross-cultural misunderstanding.
In the questionnaire, I also neglected to ask about drugs like heroin and methamphetamine. However, I did ask about one of the most problematic addictive drugs in the world: “Any changes in your use of alcohol (since drinking ayahuasca)?” The monetary and human costs associated with problem drinking and alcoholism far exceed that of any drug. In the United States alone, the cost in 2006 was $223.5 billion.12 Some people explained that they rarely drank alcohol and reported “no change” after trying ayahuasca. But almost thirty of the eighty-one people in the study reported that they drank less or stopped drinking altogether after ayahuasca.
A few people reported a shift in their perception of alcohol. A twenty-nine-year-old woman said, “I used to drink four times a week, not too much, but a few glasses of wine. Now I hardly drink. I see the darkness of alcohol now.” In addition to her change in attitude toward alcohol, it’s interesting that she didn’t see eight to twelve glasses of wine a week as problematic. We might assume that “a few glasses of wine” means only two to three a night, but it could easily mean more, since people usually underreport what they drink. Alcoholism is a progressive disease, and if this young woman had kept up her rate of consumption, we can only imagine where she’d be fifteen or twenty years down the road.
Others mentioned a similar shift in perspective. One thirty-four-year-old man said, “After doing ayahuasca, I feel that alcohol is a poison.” A forty-four-year-old woman explained that she drinks “less alcohol now. It’s as if my body wants to stay clean.” This spontaneous change in attitude toward alcohol reminds me of the hypnotherapy approach to changing behavior, in which someone imagines something disgusting about the behavior, like fat clogging arteries when eating French fries or filthy ashtrays when reaching for a cigarette. In the case of ayahuasca, some people spontaneously began to view alcohol in a negative light. It’s this effortless change in perception and behavior that’s the unique hallmark of ayahuasca. The changes are not a result of white-knuckle self-control but of an internal shift that seems to happen organically.
People describe this shift in a variety of ways, but the pattern is clear: “I can hardly drink now.” “Alcohol is not appealing anymore.” “I used to drink too much alcohol. I do not enjoy it since meeting Grandmother Ayahuasca.” “I have more awareness around abuse of alcohol, so I drink less.” “No desire for alcohol.”
A client of mine, a forty-six-year-old man, stopped drinking after his first ayahuasca experience. Previously, he’d been on a clear path to alcoholism. After one ceremony he didn’t even have a drink when he went out to dinner. It wasn’t that he insisted on abstinence; he just preferred not drinking. Frankly, I had trouble believing this was real, and I talked about it with my friend, psychiatrist Bob Rosenthal, copresident of the Foundation for Inner Peace, the publisher of A Course in Miracles (www.acim.org). His response was, “With spirit, all things are possible.” For me of little faith, I figured I’d wait and see. Seven years later, as of the writing of this book, the man was still not drinking.
Not everyone enjoys this kind of miraculous turnaround. A thirty-four-year-old businesswoman said, “Alcohol is much reduced, although it is still my biggest vice. For one month before and after a ceremony, I never want it.” A forty-seven-year-old executive wrote, “Shortly after [a ceremony], I used less alcohol. This did not last.” Perhaps these people are still in process and will eventually lose any desire for alcohol. Maybe for some people, it just takes longer even with the help of ayahuasca.
The responses regarding marijuana use are complex. Some people feel that marijuana connects them to ayahuasca. A forty-seven-year-old man said, “Ayahuasca told me that marijuana was an ally of mine. I’ve had a slight increase in use.” Another man said, “When I smoke marijuana, I go back to the sacred feeling I have with ayahuasca.” A thirty-five-year-old woman said, “When I use marijuana, I feel the presence of ayahuasca.”
I had a disturbing experience with marijuana three days after a ceremony. I was meeting friends, and marijuana was available. I took one small toke. Within twenty minutes, I realized I was too high. That one toke seemed to mix with whatever ayahuasca remained in my system from the recent ceremony, and it rekindled an altered state of consciousness, catching me totally by surprise. I’d never had such a strong reaction to just one hit of marijuana before in my life. My friends drove me home, helped me get settled, and left. But I was far from settled. The marijuana didn’t exactly take me back to the sacred ceremony, but it certainly took me out of this world. What eventually saved me were hours of Monty Python, which I found on a cable station. Eventually, I went to sleep and was fine the next morning. Upon reflection, I would say this was not a fun or useful altered state — no psychological insights, no spiritual epiphanies, no spontaneous healing. Just hours of Monty Python.
Contrary to my experiences, a few people reported using marijuana in a ceremonial way. A forty-two-year-old woman wrote, “It must be a plant spirit in its own right, and I’ve taken two intentional journeys with it.” A twenty-nine-year-old man said, “Marijuana had a more powerful effect, so I stopped using it recreationally and only use it in more intentional [sacred] settings.”
In my study, twenty participants reported smoking less marijuana or stopping altogether in much the same way as people stopped drinking alcohol. “During my first ceremony, I became aware that I didn’t want alcohol or pot anymore, and this has easily sustained,” said a forty-year-old man. A thirty-one-year-old man wrote that, after six ceremonies, “I’ve quit smoking marijuana.”
For some people the change was more dramatic. A fifty-two-year-old man said he no longer smoked any marijuana: “I was more and more concerned for my lungs and ‘foggy’ mind in the days after using marijuana.” A twenty-three-year-old woman said, “Ayahuasca helped me heal my addiction to marijuana that was a burden for years.”
As mentioned, this was a very sophisticated group when it came to psychedelic drugs. Two people said that after taking ayahuasca they increased their use of other psychedelics. A twenty-four-year-old woman said, “Ayahuasca set a new bar in terms of defining what I’m looking to get out of psychedelic use.” Seven people said they reduced their use or didn’t take anything other than ayahuasca. A few people expressed feelings of loyalty to Grandmother Ayahuasca in the sense that they wouldn’t stray or “cheat” on her. A sixty-year-old man put it this way: “After ayahuasca, I don’t want to use other drugs. They seem superfluous.”
The Intentions of Participants
When asked about their intentions to drink ayahuasca, most people said they were seeking psychological and spiritual healing. Psychological intentions referenced healing childhood wounds, emotional cleansing, opening one’s heart, personal learning, self-knowledge, and improvement. Spiritual intentions were more mystical; people described wanting to connect with their higher selves, the Divine, and other realities. Some said they were seeking knowledge and guidance, spiritual openings, or insights. Three were seeking medical help: one for Parkinson’s disease, one for cocaine addiction, and one for cancer. Three mentioned curiosity. The intentions of the participants in my study were similar to those of a group of fifteen ayahuasca tourists traveling to Peru studied by anthropologist Michael Winkelman.13 In Winkelman’s study, these so-called “drug tourists” said that they hoped for increased self-awareness, personal insights, and guidance in life as well as a deeper connection to nature and the spirit world.
The question about intentions is important for a few reasons. First of all, a person’s intentions are part of their “set,” or the personal history, beliefs, and expectations that they bring to an event. The concept of “set and setting” is frequently and erroneously attributed to Timothy Leary, but it was first used in the fifties by Alfred Hubbard.14 Our intentions are an attempt to focus the ayahuasca experience while at the same time knowing full well that we cannot control what comes up during a ceremony. Grandmother Ayahuasca evidently has a mind of her own and will inevitably overpower whatever our humble intentions were. Second, clarifying intentions is often considered essential for integrating the ayahuasca experience afterward. Writing down intentions allows the person to review later what they were thinking as they prepared for the ceremony and to reflect upon how their experience related to their original hopes. So much can happen during an ayahuasca-infused night that it can be challenging to sort out the experience. Written intentions function as the first bookend to a ceremony, in the sense of creating a minimal container for the often-overwhelming experience.
For example, in my study, some participants reported intentions that were quite specific, such as hoping to let go of entrenched patterns or asking for help to deal with the recent death of a mother. In these cases, the stated intentions function almost like a benchmark allowing the person to monitor how much they change in the weeks following the ceremony.
It’s interesting to note how people said their intentions changed over time. Of the three who had previously said they were curious, two realized that had been “a profane intention,” and they were now more interested in inner healing. Although people mentioned continuing their psychospiritual healing, they were more specific about deepening their relationship with Grandmother Ayahuasca. The intentions became more spiritual than psychological over time. One person said he would surrender to whatever the ceremony might bring, and others expressed a desire to open their hearts to love. A sixty-three-year-old man, a teacher, put it best: “My intentions now have less to do with personal issues and more to do with transpersonal ones.”
A Ceremonial Setting
As with intentions, or a person’s “set,” the setting for taking ayahuasca was significant in my study. On the one hand, since I spoke only to people who had taken ayahuasca in the United States and Canada, everyone knew they were engaging in an illegal activity when they took it. However, almost everyone did so as part of a group participating in a sacred ceremony. In other words, even as people hid their use of ayahuasca from society, most sought the support and guidance of a spiritually minded group of others.
That said, five of the eighty-one respondents reported drinking ayahuasca alone in their own apartments, having obtained the ingredients and preparation instructions from the internet. This may be an early indication of a trend, especially for Americans who tend to be staunchly individualistic do-it-yourselfers, whether renovating homes or imbibing a potent hallucinogen.
Inevitably, when I present my research findings at a conference, there’s at least one young man who will stand up during the Q&A to testify about the benefits of do-it-yourself ayahuasca. I listen respectfully, but as a therapist, I always urge caution and recommend never taking ayahuasca alone. Everyone needs the safety of a sitter, someone who is experienced and will stay with the person for the duration in case of trouble. Experience with other psychedelics doesn’t mean a person is prepared to handle ayahuasca.
For instance, a twenty-something guy described drinking ayahuasca with a buddy — they had agreed to be each other’s guide, which at least meant that they knew something about the nature of the medicine. I asked, “How’d that work out?”
“Not too well,” he admitted.
I talked to a native Brazilian about the American tendency to take the medicine on one’s own. “We would never do that,” she said with wide-eyed emphasis. Of course, there are stories from the jungle about apprentices drinking the medicine in individual tambos or huts, but they are in their shaman’s energy field and protected. Shamans spend considerable time and energy purifying and protecting sacred space for the medicine. I don’t know what they are protecting participants from, but I have to assume they know more than the young guys who stand up at conferences.
Eighty percent of study respondents said that a shaman or leader was present, but this means that one-fifth of respondents attended only leaderless ceremonies. This makes a tremendous difference. I know of two unrelated leaderless groups who told the same story: Nothing happened. They drank ayahuasca and just sat there. One throwback to the sixties said, “Nothing was going on. One person went to the bathroom. Someone put on a CD of icaros [songs sung by a shaman], and all of a sudden we blasted off. The person who had been in the bathroom returned to a very different room. He was still not feeling anything, as he hadn’t heard the songs yet. Once he sat down and listened to the icaros, he opened up.”
Among those who attended ceremonies, they said the events were held in private homes with access to nature, and they were conducted in a sacred manner. Almost everyone said they felt safe and secure. Finding a safe, natural setting where people can feel secure taking an illegal substance requires careful planning. I attended a three-day ceremony at a site that was used as a children’s music camp in the summer and rarely used out of season. The ceremony went on for most of the night. When there was a break about 2 AM, the leader suggested that we refrain from pouring outside en masse — since it would be difficult to explain to awakened neighbors what scores of people decked out in bright, white garb were doing loitering around the camp in the middle of the night.
In preparation for the ceremonies, most everyone said they received warnings about prescription drugs, specifically not to mix antidepressants (specifically SSRIs, or selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors, and MAOIs), with ayahuasca. Since ayahuasca alters the concentrations of serotonin in the brain, there is a chance of serotonin syndrome, a possibly lethal reaction to excessive levels of the mood-regulating neurotransmitter.15 James Callaway and Charles Grob report that a person has to be off SSRIs for at least five weeks in order to be sure they are safe from such high-risk complications.16
Ninety percent of the respondents were given dietary recommendations ranging from simple to more comprehensive instructions. In general, it’s recommended that participants refrain from meat, pork, fermented foods, salt, sugar, and alcohol for a few days to a few weeks both before and after drinking ayahuasca. Most study participants fasted for at least a few hours before the start of the ceremony. The threat of the almost-inevitable purge keeps most participants on the straight and narrow path of fasting for the sake of self-preservation alone. Although reactions to the medicine can vary extremely, vomiting is so common that plastic buckets are typically handed out to each participant to keep handy. In shamanic circles, sounds of purging are often heard in the darkness while the shaman sings special songs to encourage and strengthen the participants.
As with many aspects of ayahuasca, there are exceptions to every rule, including even intestinal reactions. While on retreat, I watched someone walk by the outdoor ceremonial space on his way back from drinks and dinner. He casually made a last-minute decision to drink ayahuasca on top of all that beer and food. He had a great time. Meanwhile, I, who had fasted, was intestinally miserable. Another exception was reported by an American woman studying with a Colombian shaman, where it was the custom for everyone to eat a hearty diet of pork and other meats before ceremonies. There are many mysteries surrounding the medicine, some ethereal and others far more corporeal.
Participants reported that most ceremonies included live singing of icaros, or healing songs usually in the Quechuan language of the Amazon basin. This language dates back to the Inca Empire before the Spanish invasion in the sixteenth century, which gives a glimpse of the cultural leap made by the medicine as it travels from the jungle into the Western world. Rattles, drums, guitars, or flutes might accompany the live singing. Some respondents said that a few groups sang hymns in Portuguese or English adapted from the ayahuasca churches.
The importance of music was made exceedingly clear to me at a ceremony I attended in a private home. During a break, the untrained leader put on taped music, specifically Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” The music was so loud I thought I must be sitting on top of the speakers, but when I tried to move away from the blast, I quickly discovered there was no escape. Ayahuasca, like other psychedelics, enhances auditory acuity, which leads to an exquisite appreciation for most music, but not, unfortunately, Cyndi Lauper.
Integration
Participants reported that in most ceremonies, the groups gathered informally over breakfast and shared their stories. Some groups participated in talking stick circles, in which a piece of ayahuasca vine was passed around, denoting each person’s time to talk. During these, there is very little cross-talk. The shaman or leader might answer questions, but no one makes psychological interpretations. Two-thirds of the ayahuasca users said they participated in these sharing circles. However, only 10 percent of people said that the leaders or shamans were available for consultation or follow-up guidance after the ceremony.
When asked how they integrated their ayahuasca experiences into their daily lives, people said they wrote in their journals, meditated, prayed, stayed on the restrictive ayahuasca diet, spent more time in nature, and got massages. A twenty-nine-year-old male graduate student admitted, even after a few years had passed, that “I still haven’t integrated this last experience, which was a doozy! I still feel like I’m trying to make sense of it. The work feels unfinished. I haven’t integrated the spiritual insights into behavioral change.”
I also asked participants whether they sought therapy after their experiences. Naturally, as a psychologist, I think everyone should seek therapy after such an intense experience. The problem is finding a therapist with personal ayahuasca experience who knows about ayahuasca and can be trusted with self-incriminating information. This is not so easy, although a number of people expressed a serious desire for such a therapist, and one man found a Native American clinical psychologist for weekly therapy sessions.
In the study, the male professors and doctors expressed the strongest rejection of psychotherapy. One forty-eight-year-old college professor said he stopped his own private practice as a therapist, perhaps the most damning rejection of therapy. A sixty-one-year-old college professor wrote, “The very idea of seeing a therapist sounds peculiar at best, ridiculous at worst. No one can address the issues or problems that come up who has not drunk ayahuasca.”
A fifty-four-year-old college professor said, “Therapy? Most professionals wouldn’t have a clue even if it was needed. Most of them would benefit from drinking some ayahuasca.” A forty-six-year-old medical doctor wrote, “No to psychotherapy. The shaman is the only professional I know qualified to assist in this way” — meaning qualified to help integrate an ayahuasca experience. I don’t entirely agree with his perspective. I think an ayahuasca-experienced
therapist could help a person work on the psychological issues that are illuminated during a ceremony. However, I do agree that only a shaman could work on the energetic levels and otherworld dimensions revealed during an ayahuasca ceremony.
Despite my enthusiasm for therapy, most people held the opinion, as one young woman put it, that “mainstream help cannot provide me assistance at this time.” Or as another woman said, “Ayahuasca is my therapist.” One man simply said, “NEVER.” Another wrote, “I go to an energy healer that is much more helpful in overcoming personal blocks than a psychiatrist.”
When I first started the research study in 2008, I would receive inquiries asking for help to connect with a source of the medicine. Around 2012, therapists began to contact me for clinical information because they had a client who had taken ayahuasca, and they had no idea what that meant. Needless to say, these therapists had no idea how to work with the experiences these clients were bringing into therapy. This situation confirms why participants reject “mainstream help,” and it affirms the need for more therapists with personal experience of ayahuasca.
This chapter describes the enormous therapeutic potential in this medicine from the Amazon jungle. But ayahuasca does more — it opens up a rich spiritual world of visions, healing, and love, which is what we’ll explore next.
