10 Years of Therapy in One Night

They say that iboga brings so much enlightenment and healing that's it's like 10 years of therapy in one night. It's true. I feel awakened, rebirthed. I feel that my disconnected soul has returned to join me. My body feels lighter; the physical pains are gone, and I'm smiling. The world seems brighter. This is the story of my second Iboga journey.

The sun is down and night is fully upon us. It's about 10:30 pm. I know more of what to expect this time. There are two mats on the floor; Christy will be joining me. The ceremonial objects are placed, the candles flicker, the hypnotic rhythm of the tribal music fills the room. The skirts have been donned... and the buckets are ready.

The five of us descend to the garage to do our smudge cleansing. The baby is sleeping in the RV and Grandma has the baby monitor nearby. Matt whips the torch around me. A spark of ember hits the top on my right foot. It stings, but I don't react. We finish smudging, and head back to the living room.

No one tries to sound the Water Buffalo horn tonight. Matt has a ceremonial band around his head with a flume of feather coming off the front of his forehead. I ask Matt about the significance of the head dressing, and he gives me a vague answer that is not really an answer at all, and then says that it's a secret. "It's your antenna into the spirit realm," I blurt out. He smiles, clicks his fingers and points at me with both hands. Bingo. He later tells me that's it's a feather from the only bird who can understand human speech. He announces himself and his bloodline in full names and gives a brief introduction.

It's time for the medicine. Trisha serves me my first dose, a spoonful of powder on my tongue. Some of it goes down the wrong way into my trachea. I cough and gag, and drink water for the next 5-10 minutes. The rest of the medicine I take in capsules. I swallow five, huge 000 size capsules of the medicine after the mouthful of powder. We sit and talk. They say the same things they've been saying all week. "You showed up. That was the hard part. This is your week. You have listened to yourself and followed the calling of Iboga that brought you here. You are learning to love yourself and listen to yourself. You are to be awakened."

I listen more with my soul than my mind. My mind is tired of hearing the words, but my soul is open and ready for whatever is next. I'm in tune with my body to analyze what I'm feeling. My neck begins to tingle, then my shoulders. I feel relaxed. I'm waiting for a buzzing sound in my head as the signal of activation, but it doesn't come. An hour after the first dosing, Matt walks me around to activate the medicine and see how it is affecting me. I do my version of the Bwiti dance. They tell me that I've got the moves. I'm stable on my feet and not light headed at all, so he gives me more medicine... four more large capsules.

I sit and wait, listening. The baby cries and Julie goes to the RV to attend him. Christy lays on the mat. I'm still sitting, waiting to feel something, see something. Another hour passes. Matt walks me around again. I see flashes of light but it only lasts about 5-10 seconds. I'm feeling slightly light headed, but I'm still able to walk normally. I don't really feel much. They decide to give me a third dose of medicine. I sit and wait.

About 30 minutes later, I don't feel high, but Matt says that I am and recommends that I lay down and just relax. "Don't overthink it", he says. He offers me another dose and I refuse.

The medicine does eventually kick in. My brain feels super ADD, flashing quickly between words, pictures, and flashes of light. Nothing seems significant. I ask some of my questions, but focus evades me.

Trisha sits down beside my head and whispers softly to me. "Kim, I want you to go to your house. Are you there? What do you see? Do you see yourself there?"

"No, I'm not there." I instinctively know this is not good. It means that no one is home inside, my soul is disconnected from me.

"Okay, let's go to the house that you grew up in," Trisha continues. "Can you go to your bedroom? What do you see? Do you see yourself? How old are you? What is your five year old self doing?"

I see myself at age 5, sitting by my desk, playing with a couple toys in my hands.

"Does she look happy?" Trisha asks.

No, she's very sullen.

"Okay, let's go and look for your 7 year old self. Do you see her? What is she doing?"

My 7 year old self is coloring Fashion Plates, and she also is not happy.

"Can you ask her if she will talk to you? Say, 'Hey, Kim, can we talk?'"

I ask her to talk, but my 7 year old self ignores me; she is already broken and fragmented to the point that she is disconnected. Her will is broken.

"Okay,  let's go back to your 5 year old self.  Ask her if it's okay if we have a conversation. 'How are you? Are you okay?'."

She's not okay, so I ask her what is wrong. It's hard to stay focused. My stomach is beginning to turn and the sensations and the flashes are distracting me from the conversation with my 5 year old self. The sound of Trisha's voice brings me back.

"Mom said that she was going to beat me blue if I didn't..." it trailed off; the rest of it wasn't essential to this process. I translate what my 5 year old self tells me outloud to Trisha, but I leave out the word "blue". I'm protecting my mother. I don't want her to look like a horrible person. There's a deep sigh and audible silence.

"Can you comfort her and tell her that this isn't okay, but you understand, and you are there for her? Tell her that things are going to turn out really well in the end, and she will be free and happy. Ask her if you can I give her a hug and if you can come back and visit her again."

Trisha asks me, "How does she look now?"

"She looks perky; she's feeling better."

"Okay, let's go check on your 10 year old self. What is she doing?"

A smile comes over my face. "I'm at the roller skating rink with my friends. My mom threw me a surprise birthday party and invited my whole class and we had a blast."

"You're happy with your friends."

I nod.

"Okay how about at age 12? What is she doing?"

"She's in the gym, playing volleyball with the team. She's very happy."

"Okay, great; she's doing well. How about 14? What is she doing?"

"She's outside in her bathing suit by the sprinklers. She is not okay."

"Can you ask her what's wrong?"

My 14 year old self seems much more relatable and ready to talk. I feel like I'm standing next to a girlfriend, rather than a small child that I'm trying to comfort.

"Mom and Dad are just so frustrating!" She exclaims with her hands up in the air, like she's has no choice but to give up. I talk to her, comfort her and let her know it will all be okay. I give her a hug.

About this time, everything from inside of me is ready to purge. I had to release. I sat up and gripped the mop bucket. "O my God, I'm wrecked!" I thought. The room was swirling in every direction. My stomach was not feeling good. I felt like I was drunk, only worse.

Matt gently comes to me and says, "Okay, Kim, I want you to reach deep and get all of that out of you. Go deep; don't hold anything back." The bucket was there and I purged violently. There were guttural, almost roaring noises coming from my throat. Just when I thought it was over, it would come again. I felt like an animal was coming out of me.

And then it was over. I laid there still as possible with my hands on my stomach, trying to settle the ship.

"Keep doing the work, go to other places and check things out. Ask your questions," they reminded me. Part of me didn't want to do more work. Part of me just wanted to sleep.

I was somewhat aware of things going on around me during the night. Christy who had only one-third the amount of medicine that I had was sitting up eating next to me while I was purging. Later she went outside on the deck for her purge. I could hear them outside working with her. Then I could hearTrisha in the kitchen, crying, balling her eyes out. I wondered if something I said may have triggered her. I discover that my sense of hearing is extremely acute on the medicine.

I ask my questions, I sometimes get verbal answers and other times picture flashes. I ask, "How do I stop the stress response in my body?" The answer is "Blow a whistle". Internally, I laugh at myself as I envision a whistle around my neck and randomly blowing it whenever I feel stressed. How do I accomplish such and such? I get a clear answer on exactly how to do it and how long it will take. What book do I write first? I get my answer, somewhat in code; but an answer is there. I see my Dad. He's sitting on top of a double decker bus. He's his full age in his final years, not 100 percent social as he deals with Parkinsons and it keeps him from looking at me for long and being able to speak clearly. I join him and there's communion but no specific conversing. I tell him that I love him.

Trisha applies Pygmy paste to my forehead. It has a distinct smell that I'm starting to think I do not like. She puts something on my eyes and my head that smells better. Matt walks around me waving a fan over me to brush off all the bad energy. I see him walk around my feet, and for a second he looks like a giant bird flying through the air.

Trisha leans in, "Kim, do you want to go see your mom?"

"Yes."

"Is she in the house?"

"Yes, she's in the kitchen." She looks to be in her final years, and she's messing around happily in her kitchen. I'm outside the kitchen window. "Mom, I'm here. Can we talk?"

"What you doin' out there, girl? Get in here!" She affectionately responds. We commune, we hug. I tell her I love her. No specific conversation occurs, just a presence, BEING together in the same space.

Before I know it, Matt is telling me that it is daytime and I can go to my bed whenever I'm ready. Of course, they will assist me. I'm not able to walk on my own. I slowly get my feet under me as they lift me up. My legs shake back and forth underneath me like Bambi trying to walk. I move to the bed, high as a kite, and continue my journey there. I quickly message my 4 closest people in one text thread to let them know that I'm alive. I put my eye cover back on and keep journeying. They bring me water, then coconut water, then watermelon throughout the day.

Through the process,  I begin to realize that some of my questions are coming from the belief system of predestination. I don't get an answer to these questions. Why? Because I am the one who has to create and manifest these answers into my life. It's up to me to decide, not the universe.

I realize that my Fruedian ID, the true self, the seat of desires and needs, is greatly underdeveloped. She is scared. "Oh, I have to make the decisions now?" She's not so sure she wants that responsibility. But she knows that she is the only one equipped to do the job, and that it is the only way that she will be happy.

About 8 pm, I arise to eat dinner at the table. I'm still high. My legs shake and my head is dizzy. I move slow. I return to my room. I ask her what she wants to do. "What will make you happy?" I take a shower and finally get the herbs from the creek out of my hair and the Pygmy paste off of my forehead. Then for the next 5 hours, I plan my Lake Tahoe trip.

Last night I slept. I slept better than I've slept in a long while. There is no more pain and burning in my body. Everytime I feel a tinge of stress in my physical body, I blow my whistle, sometimes with an audible sound coming through my pursed lips. Trisha says it reminds her of Pinocchio when Jiminy Cricket tells him to "Give a little whistle" when he feels himself start to slide ... and then just let your conscience be your guide.

I've done my laundry. I've pulled out my suitcases. It's time to wrap this party up. Tomorrow they will take me back to the airport where I will pick up my rental car and continue my journey.

I'm glad I'll have this time for reflection away from normal life. I need more time to integrate everything and come up with new routines and mechanisms to follow Her lead. She begged me not to make her go back, and I promised her I would not make her return. I have some time and space to ask her what our new life looks like. We get to create it together.Leggi altro