Traveling with
Mother Ayahuasca

Andre's compound, known as "The Center."

Ayahuasca growing in Andre's compound.

Andre, the leader or "Master" of Essence Divine in Frances, and Christine, the leader of the French contingent. Andrea, my iboga guru, is in the background.

Andrea, my guide.

Andre prepares ayahuasca.

The compound on the evening of December 31.

Christine and her student, Baptiste.

As the year ends, tonight I will have my first taste of ayahuasca.

Talking to the people here, drinking ayahuasca is wonderful. People see visions, receive teachings, and "cleanse." This isn't iboga and no one has talked about "entering the land of the dead."

I'll be drinking with Essência Divina (Essence of the Divine), one of the many Brazilian ayahuasca churches. The leader of this group, in this small resort community, is Andre. I like him. In his forties, he is friendly and sincere. About fifty people have come from all over Brazil to be here tonight and this will be one of the biggest events of the year.

Dressed in white, which is what everyone is supposed to wear, we arrived at Andre's compound — what the Brazilians call "The Center" — at 6 pm. Just inside the center, in front of the ayahuasca garden, someone had set up a white sun shade above a kitchen table that functioned as the altar. On the altar was a beer-bottle-sized statue of the Virgin Mary, a statue of the black virgin, another statue of a Catholic saint, a crystal, and some decorative stones. The table also had a four-liter clear glass container filled with ayahuasca.

Shortly, the ceremony began. Andre said he was glad to see us and that this was a good way to close one year and begin another. After that, everyone lined up and was served a glass of ayahuasca from Andre. My glass, about twice the size of a whiskey shot glass, was filled about ¾ full. I've heard that the more ayahuasca you drink the worse it tastes. My first taste wasn't too bad — certainly much better than iboga, whose bitterness is second only to that of battery acid.

I sat beside Andrea. Andrea is the person who, more than anyone else, saved me during my iboga initiation in Africa four months ago. It was her skill, love, confidence, and caring attention that pulled me through that. Now we are old friends and she's the one who invited me here.

Andrea told me to just sit comfortably, close my eyes, and simply be ready to meet Mother Ayahuasca. Just keep an open mind and, Andrea assured me, Mother Ayahuasca would do the rest. After we drank, Andre turned on his fantastic sound system and played a long piece of music that began with hypnotic wind chimes, followed by a recorded sermon — a mix of Catholic Mass and Tibetan ritual — and then Andre sang a long, slow, beautiful song in Portuguese.

I waited and waited for something to happen. Finally my legs started vibrating, and then I felt as if someone was twisting my neck and head in different directions. I must have looked like I was trying to jog in place and do yoga while sitting in the chair. Everyone else was motionless. I felt a little embarrassed, but I wasn't making any noise or distracting anyone, so I just let it happen.

After an hour or so there was a pause in the music and a few people walked up for a second glass. I followed. The second glass went down as easily as the first.

Then came a break. The Brazilians acted like they were at a cocktail party — quietly talking, embracing old friends, enjoying the cool evening. All of the French went outside for a cigarette. I followed, continuing to shake and move my body like I was rehearsing for a disco dance contest.

The line dancing started with men on one side of the yard and women on the other. Everyone did a simple side-to-side shuffle. In the middle of the yard people played guitars, bongos, a violin, and even an orchestral harp!

Before long it started to lightly rain. I found a spot on the grass and lay down. My parka only covered me down to my waist. My legs and bare feet were getting wet.

It was time to vomit. The retching was violent and came complete with horrible sounds. Soon I felt a few hands on my shoulders and back and heard comforting words. Baptiste walked me to a partially covered patio. "There is some purification going on here," I told him. He nodded. "And I'm a non-smoker and a vegetarian too, you know?" Christine found a blanket. I immediately collapsed onto my stomach. I heard Andrea's voice. She combed my hair with her fingers and told me that everything was okay. She is an angel.

The paralysis seemed to deepen. Damn, I thought, this is like the iboga initiation all over again. I can't move but at least here there isn't, like there was in Africa, a little monkey crawling over me and here people aren't stepping on me. Just then someone stepped on me, but just my foot.

I remembered that usually people don't die after drinking ayahuasca. Unfortunately, however, I was going to be an exception. The drug was getting the better of me — I couldn't feel my limbs; my heart and breathing were slowing down.

"Andrea? Andrea?" I whispered, unable to move.

"I'm here," she said.

With great difficulty I whispered, "I think that my heart is going to stop beating. When that happens you'll need to roll me over and have someone pound on my chest to get my heart beating again."

"No, don't worry — your heart isn't going to stop beating. That is just the mind playing a game with you."

"But I feel that it's going to stop beating."

"It's just the mind. You are okay, you're just fine, and everything is perfect." She was gently touching my back.

"Yes. I understand. But could you watch me and if you see that my heart isn't beating, do something."

"I'll always watch you."

It was raining heavily now. My heart is slowing down. Death is coming. I can feel every heartbeat and every breath. Touch my feet, can you feel a pulse? It's getting faint.

I heard someone whistling. Perhaps it was Andre. I had heard that whistling is sometimes used to calm people down when they are freaking out on ayahuasca. I wasn't freaking out; the mind was calm. My only problem was that my heart was going to stop beating any second now.

The involuntary violent tremors continued in my feet and shoulders. Some of the people watching me laughed. I must have looked like a frog on a lab table being poked with an electric prod. Hey, guys, come on, I'm not faking this, you know?

I didn't move for a long time. More time passed. Christine came up to me. "Can you walk?" — "Yes, I think so." That was a surprise.

"Then come to the beach with us. It is better if we can stay together."

Somehow I sat up, and using one foot and then the other, I found that I could stand up. I looked around. All this time I had thought I was lying in the grass. In fact though, it was concrete.

Andrea held my hand and told me that everything was fine and that I had done very well. She is always one to say comforting things in times of stress. Thank God for that.

It was a fifteen-minute walk to the beach. We walked through a thick forest, up a hill, then through a coconut grove. On the beach the Brazilians were already singing and dancing. Someone had brought the huge orchestral harp that they had played earlier in the evening. Now they were playing it in the wonderfully bright moonlight while fireworks lit up the distant night sky. I had forgotten that this was New Year's Eve.

Andrea and I talked for a long time. She told me that the last few months had been very intense — a long relationship in the iboga world had ended. She felt that the ayahuasca had helped her let go of any ideas of who she was supposed to be and let her accept more of who she really was.

[Tom's January 4th session at the center, continuing to work with the plant and his guides as his body adjusts to ayahuasca's powerful currents.]

My legs started to cramp. Very painful cramps engulfed my calf muscles. I asked if someone could please massage them. Someone did, but still the pain was almost unbearable.

The vomiting continued. The people around me would occasionally give me a sip of water which I would almost immediately throw up. A few times I was sure I would soon be getting diarrhea.

The leader of the ceremony told me again and again that I was healing my body and mind and that I was going to feel much better later. Looking back, I think she was afraid that someone would say, "Fool! Why did you give so much ayahuasca to someone who clearly couldn't handle it!"

Gradually I could see silhouettes as the night was ending and the morning was beginning. Just then I heard a bird singing.

Finally my breathing must have started to return to normal.

It was now bright morning — the sun was beating down in the grass. An hour or so later I asked someone to help me stand up. I took one step, paused for a minute, took another, and did that until I could shuffle my feet unaided. The cramps that had hurt me so much a few hours ago now caused me to painfully limp. But walking was soothing. I walked around for a long time. The people who helped me make it through the night were still up, talking and smoking cigarettes. I had a terrible stutter and all the vomiting had reduced my voice to a harsh whisper. Nevertheless I managed to thank everyone for their help.

It would be more than a year before I realized what had happened on that horrific night. Now, in 2008, I see how easy it is for people to declare themselves a master of almost anything and begin teaching before they are ready. Sometimes that can be harmless, if what they are teaching is ping-pong, but if they are declaring themselves ayahuasca masters, they can really do some damage!

The French contingent, with Andrea and I again declaring ourselves friends for life, left Brazil two days later.

After the French left I moved into a small hostel. By this time my regular sleeping patterns were long forgotten, so one night, long after my usual bedtime, I found myself wandering around the village. I peaked into the ayahuasca center. Andre was talking with a few friends; when he saw me he invited me to go with him to a Santo Daime Church service the next night.

The Santo Daime Church is the biggest and most famous of Brazil's ayahuasca churches. Started by a rubber-tapper in the Amazon rainforest named Raimundo Irineuby, it now has branches all around Brazil and in a few countries overseas, including England and Japan.

This particular Santo Daime Church was on a small hill outside of Maceio, about an hour's drive from here. Traveling with us was a father and his 15-year-old daughter from Brasilia. The father told me that he had been drinking ayahuasca for 17 years and that his daughter had been drinking ayahuasca all her life. When his wife had given birth to his daughter, he had taken some ayahuasca to the hospital and given it to his wife to ease the pain of delivery and, immediately after the birth, to his newborn daughter to welcome her into the world.

This was going to be a special service because a famous padre in the Santo Daime Church was going to lead it. They said that this man could pray very strongly.

When we arrived, members of the Church were wearing uniforms — white shirt and black pants for men, white shirt and black skirt for women. A few people wore a badge that looked remarkably like an American sheriff's badge: it was the star of ayahuasca.

The dancing consisted of four small steps to the right and four small steps to the left. Music was provided by two guitar players, one person on maracas, and one guy on bongo drums. Each song was started by a woman who seemed to have the lungs of an opera star. There wasn't a break in the dancing for more than four hours. The padre that people had come to hear looked to be over seventy, but he was still full of energy. At least two of the other men who had danced nonstop for four hours were in their sixties. I was amazed.

By the end of the evening I had drunk three small glasses of ayahuasca while most everyone else had put back three big glasses. When the dancing finally stopped at 2:30, I noticed that not one person lit a cigarette. This was a wonderful relief after having spent two weeks with the French who would light up every chance they got.

During the drive back to Frances I asked the 15-year-old girl if she was tired. She said that she was not — after three large glasses of ayahuasca she said she was in what the people here call the "burrachira," or the blissful mind state that ayahuasca can bring. She seemed very happy and, like other teenagers I've met in the ayahuasca community, remarkably self-confident and mature.

Yesterday Andre had the idea that what I needed was a more structured way to make friends with ayahuasca. He invited me to come over to his place at 10 in the morning for a breathing exercise.

It was very simple. I was given some ayahuasca, told to lie down on my back, and breathe deeply through my mouth for two hours. I did my best to follow directions.

Soon I felt as if the deep and soothing fingers of the best masseuse in the world were massaging me from head to foot in waves of soothing energy. I signaled to Andre that this was wonderful. "This is only the beginning," one of his assistants told me.

I fell into, well, ecstasy. The breathing and the ayahuasca, for reasons that I'll never understand, gave me the sensation that I was having the greatest massage of all time. This was a remarkable change.

And then I fell asleep.

Hours later I woke up and pulled the scarf away from my eyes. The world had changed. Now the sun was shining from a different direction and everything was bright and colorful. I looked at my watch. The entire exercise had taken about four hours. Amazing. What has just happened to me? The only people still hanging around were two angelic-looking little girls and their mother. The mother told one of them to take me by the hand and lead me to the kitchen.

I was dizzy and walking was difficult, but somehow we made it. There I ate some rice and fish.

That night was an ayahuasca "work" with about twenty people. I drank one glass, thought I was going to vomit, didn't, got a splitting headache, and finally slept on a mat somewhere until the ceremony ended at 3:30 in the morning.

Today was another breathing exercise, what I've learned is called a "birthing ceremony." This time I was told that I would not be drinking ayahuasca; I just had to breathe deeply for two hours. I wondered what possible benefit I could get from that, but if three other people were going to do it with me, I would do my best.

We all lay down, started breathing through our noses, and then were told to breathe deeply through our mouths by expanding our stomachs. Soon my mouth was very wide open and my tongue was extending out of my mouth as I breathed deeper and deeper.

When I studied karate we would breathe out in a kung-fu "Hah!" and then cough a final pocket of air out of our stomachs. I found myself doing just that, only now, after the final exhalation, I couldn't inhale again. Where was my breath? Why couldn't I inhale? Was I going to suffocate? I grabbed my throat — come on air, come in! Finally, I was able to inhale. Shortly I found that when I exhaled I was pounding my stomach with my fist. When Andre saw me do this, he placed his foot on my stomach. I guided his foot with my hand and together we put all his weight on my stomach as I exhaled. It felt good. This was a kung-fu breathing exercise that you don't see in the movies.

Suddenly I got the dry heaves. I found myself spasmodically shaking and making horrible retching noises. (Later I was told that my retching had woken up everyone in the compound who was still sleeping.) I heaved and heaved as my body flipped around like a fish out of water.

Finally, again, I fell asleep. When I woke up my voice was hoarse, I felt stunned, and it was only with great difficulty that I eventually sat up.

Later someone asked me to compare the two days. On the first day, with ayahuasca, I had had a very blissful experience. On the second day everything was physical. But both experiences left me physically drained, dizzy, and emotionally stunned. Some deep inner cleaning had occurred.

Thank God for Andre.

On the beach in Frances.

The beach in Frances. The coconut sunshade is at the far, virtually deserted end.

Two of my fellow ayahuasca pilgrims and Andre's dog.

For about USD $25, tourists could fly around the beach in this little plane. I never did it.

One of the people who had been at the center for the last few weeks left yesterday. To mark his leaving, Andre decided to give him a going-away party in the form of ayahuasca at the beach. I was invited.

The party began with Andre giving everyone a small glass of "honey." Honey is the extra-thick, extra-dry ayahuasca that Andre saves for special occasions and for people whom he feels can handle it. If normal ayahuasca is beer, then this is vodka. Everyone stood around wincing for a few minutes.

It was an easy fifteen-minute walk from the center, over the sand dunes to the beach. There all nine of us crowded under a coconut thatch sunscreen that Andre had built. Some people immediately lay down; others sat up. I sat in full lotus.

Before long a small airplane landed in the ocean, just a hundred meters or so from where we were lying. The pilot came to our group and demanded that I go with him for a ride in his plane. I told him there was no way I was getting in his goddamned plane. He tried again and again, but I was stubborn. Why would I ever want to do that?

The ayahuasca was now sending waves of soothing energy through my body. I felt very, very good. I decided to search my memory for every woman I had ever been close to and wish her well. Using the concentration that the plant gave me, I recalled only the good times, forgave them for anything they had done to hurt me, and wished them well.

At this point Andre started singing his heartfelt prayers. Then everyone else started to sing. As they sang I felt their voices going straight to my heart. I sat up very straight and placed my hand on my chest. So, I thought, this is why they drink this stuff.

Wave after wave of ecstasy went through me. I felt that the ayahuasca had given me complete control of my mind and that I had the power to direct waves of energy up and down my spine and indeed throughout the body.

I thought about the Buddha and sensed his presence. I don't speak Pali, the language of the Buddha, but nevertheless we communicated. He said that he wanted me to be with him when he died. So I traveled back in time to Kushinigar, the place where Buddha died. It was night and we were outside, between two trees with Buddha's disciples. I recognized Ananda, the Buddha's attendant. He and I had a special bond in that neither one of us had, so far at least, reached enlightenment.

I sat in full lotus for three hours. My knees were on fire. Finally I took my feet out of full lotus, put the soles of my bare feet flat in the sand in front of me, opened my eyes, and stood up. I had new eyes — the sky had never before been this brilliant shade of turquoise blue, the beach had never looked so creation-day perfect, and the waves had never broken in such a beautiful white surf.

When I went back to the group who were still singing under the shade, Andre told me that I was now "new." I felt that way.

My ecstasy lasted the rest of the day, which included a huge dinner and ice cream.

One of the problems of life is that occasionally we encounter situations that we are emotionally unequipped to deal with. One of the biggest challenges of my life, that I was totally unequipped to deal with, happened when I was 30 years old.

At that time, in the early 1980s, refugees were streaming out of Southeast Asia in the tens of thousands — the boat people from Vietnam, the immense Cambodian refugee camps just inside the Thai border. I worked in a refugee processing center and it was the worst experience of my life. The camp was located in a poor part of a very poor country. The Americans in charge were incompetent, petty, and clearly in over their heads.

As the months wore on, we — like soldiers in an unwinnable war — began to break down. And then someone came to rescue me in the form of a Catholic nun, Sister Mary. Sister Mary seemed to understand exactly what people like me were dealing with. We became the best of friends and would occasionally sit in meditation together. Although she had been a Catholic nun for all of her adult life, she did not always wear the habit.

Having given her virginity to me, Sister Mary considered the two of us engaged to be married. Unfortunately, just about this time it became clear to me, as it did to everyone who worked with Sister Mary, that she was out of her mind. It also became clear that Sister Mary's extended family were gangsters and that to save the family honor it had been decided that I would marry the fallen nun.

I escaped with my life. But those memories have always haunted me.

Twenty-five years later, one night in Thailand, a month after I had left Africa, I ate a large quantity of iboga. A few hours later my entire life stretched out in front of me in an immense plane — like a huge cemetery with each marker standing for one incident in my life. Everything was fine except for one huge marker shaped like an Egyptian obelisk. It stood for what had happened between me and Sister Mary.

Four months later, on Friday January 26, Andre invited me to go with him to a distant beach where he and some friends were going to spend the weekend. We drove up the coast and eventually arrived at a gated estate overlooking the blue ocean far below, where we were given permission to camp in the yard.

We pitched tents, walked down a ten-minute flight of stone stairs to the ocean, and drank ayahuasca.

The next afternoon we went back down to the beach to drink ayahuasca again. This time it was a thick black soup — "honey." After we drank it Andre said to me in English, "You are going to fly."

I sat in the meditation posture. A few minutes later the ayahuasca forced me to lie down. I closed my eyes and waited.

Not long after that an amphibious airplane landed in the turquoise waters just off the beach. The pilot got out and asked me if I wanted to go for a ride. "No," I told him, "Can't you see? I'm drinking ayahuasca, I can't go anywhere."

"We just want your spiritual body," he said. "You can leave your physical body here."

"Sure, I could do that."

With that I got up and looked back to see my physical body lying on the beach.

The plane took me up, out of the bay, and over a hill to the next bay where we landed. I got out, and there, waiting for me, was Sister Mary. She was still thin, but now, twenty-five years after our last meeting, she had cut her hair short, curled it, and my guess was that now she dyed it black. Clearly she had aged twenty-five years.

I was shocked and surprised to see her there. Was I in danger? Was she here to hurt me?

"How are you?" she asked cautiously.

"Fine. And you?" She said that life had treated her well. The ice between us melted.

We talked as old friends — the bitterness that we both might have once felt was now gone. I didn't ask her about her gangster family; she did, however, ask me for the password to my bank account.

"Hey," I said with a laugh, "remember where you're from? I never give that kind of thing to people from there." — "Come on, guy. You owe me one." — "No way."

I offered to help her in other ways and suggested that she e-mail me. She said she would.

Strangely, my mother was there as well. As always my mother ignored any women who had come to see me. My mother said she had come to say good-bye before she died. I tried to tell her some comforting words. She had lived a good life and although I would miss her terribly, I was sure that I would be okay. It was very emotional.

Soon it was time to get back in the airplane and return to the beach. I bid farewell to Sister Mary and to my mother.

As I got back in the plane, the pilot saw that I was crying. "Look man," I told him, "if you can't cry when you're saying good-bye to your mother for the last time, when can you cry?" He seemed to understand.

Meanwhile, tears started flowing out of my physical body on the beach. A river of nonstop tears flowed from my eyes. Marissa, Andre's wife, saw me crying and asked Andre again and again to do something for me. "No," he told her, "he's okay." Andre's word was "tranquil."

Shortly Andre sang, in his beautiful voice, a few songs that I found very comforting. The tears would not stop rolling out of my eyes even after everyone else on the beach had finished with their ayahuasca journeys. I think I broke all previous records for the number of tears cried by a human being while drinking ayahuasca.

When I stepped out of the plane, I saw my body on the beach and very consciously re-entered it.

I had been gone for about three hours. "Tom," one of the women said, "if there is anything we can do for you, we're here to help." As she said that, I pulled my scarf over my eyes — the tears would not stop.

When I opened my eyes again, I made sure that I was looking away from the group and towards the ocean — it was so clear, calm, and beautiful.

Time passes quickly here in this little village. I came to Brazil with a bunch of feature films on my computer, thinking that I would pass the time watching movies, but I have yet to watch a single movie. The time passes reading, going to the beach, the Internet café, occasionally going into Maceio to do some shopping, and otherwise just going about the day — eating, doing yoga, meditation, the things that a person always does.

There was a "work" last night. For me, the remarkable thing was that nothing remarkable happened. I drank the same amount of ayahuasca as everyone else, and like everyone else I sat perfectly still all night. That sure beats flopping around like a lab-table frog.

I can't report any big insights. I tried to stay away from daydreaming about my personal history. It was wonderfully relaxing.

When most people were dancing, I sat in full lotus for an hour or so. The party ended at 3:30 in the morning. I came home, slept for three hours, and began my day.

Life can be very sweet.

Downtown Iquitos, Peru.

Ayahuasca for sale in the market in Iquitos.

There are no roads connecting Iquitos with the rest of Peru — plenty of rivers, though.

The ayahuasca retreat center.

All of the ayahuasca ceremonies took place here.

I left Maceio on February 7 and flew to Lima, Peru, where, after two nights in town, I flew for one hour to the city of Iquitos to join an "ayahuasca for tourists" retreat.

This retreat center was on the bank of an Amazon tributary in the jungle outside of Iquitos. The center was set up by an American ethnobotanist who had hired a local Peruvian shaman, Don Rober, to run the ayahuasca sessions. Don Rober, 60 going on 18, gives new meaning to the term "lightness of being."

Although the rituals and ceremony were different, the actual ayahuasca experience was identical.

Don Rober began his ceremonies about 9 PM with a welcoming speech. After that the participants walked up one-by-one to receive a cup of ayahuasca. Then, just as the ayahuasca was kicking in, Don Rober would sing what at the time seemed like the most beautiful songs I had ever heard. The songs were icaros, ayahuasca songs.

Don Rober pours freshly brewed ayahuasca into a bottle. One night I recorded Don Rober ♪ singing an icaro.

The author and Don Rober.

The singing continued for the duration of the ceremony, which like the Brazilian ceremonies, can last four or five hours. After an hour or so, participants were welcome to have another glass. At the end of the ceremony Don Rober did "a healing" on whoever had earlier requested it — chanting and using cigarette smoke and sometimes massage to remove any spiritual poisons from the person's body. It always felt wonderful.

In the Peruvian system celibacy is thought to enhance the experience, as does a diet that doesn't include much salt, sugar, or pork.

We drank three times — every other day for the week I was there. The first time we drank, nothing happened. During the second ceremony I had the pleasure of going for a ride in the same airplane that I had ridden in before. By now the captain and the crew seemed like old friends.

They took me to meet some of my relatives. I wanted to tell the younger people: don't worry about anything. Life would pass just as it should and all too quickly. Marriage, children, love, sex, money, fame, and fortune didn't really matter. Those things would come or not come in their own time. The secret was to make the most of the present; enjoy the simple things without comparing your life to anyone else's. I made a point of holding everyone's hand and touching them. I now know why my own older relatives always tried to do that with me.

The last time I drank ayahuasca in Peru was extraordinary. The evening began with Don Rober wishing us well — hoping that we could all benefit from the evening's ceremony. To make a personal connection, he gave everyone a blessing before we drank — singing an icaro as he gently struck everyone with his little swisher. It felt wonderful.

When that finished, as usual, as the first person sitting to Don Rober's right, I was the first to drink. Don Rober filled my cup as full as he could fill it and I easily drank it down.

I began by sitting in full lotus. Shortly, however, the ayahuasca kicked in and I realized that I should lie down. This was going to be strong, very strong.

Immediately my mind started to go back to my past, my family, and unfinished personal issues. I silently vowed just to stick with sensations and visions — just to experience the plant and not my own drama.

Just then the wife of the manager handed me her cell phone. With the phone to my ear, I heard the telephone operator ask me if I would accept a long-distance call. I said yes. It was my older brother calling to tell me that my mother was dying. That was a surprise. Like a drunk stopped for a speeding ticket, I quickly sobered up. Damn, I thought, now I can forget about this ayahuasca stuff.

With the greatest possible effort I was able to bring my mind back to the present, but my body was still overtaken by the drug. I couldn't stand up to walk outside, so I just lay there with the phone to my ear — whispering a few words into the receiver so as not to disturb the other participants.

My brother was with my mother in the nursing home in Ohio as she was dying. It was a conference call in that my other brother in California was also on the line. We talked about how much our mother had loved us all and that now we would have to do what she wanted, which was that we love and help each other. The ayahuasca was bringing out my sentimental side.

We talked about the practicalities of what to do next. I told them to make all of the arrangements. Certainly, I assured them, I would be able to get on a plane back to Ohio within the next week or so.

Now what to do? I decided that when I got back to Ohio I would telephone some of my mother's friends to say hello and to talk about old times. As I thought about what I would say, tears flowed from my eyes. Buckets of tears.

I imagined what I would say at my mother's funeral. I thought of funny stories and gradually outlined my own life as I told people my memories of my mother. How she must have worried when I was sick on an isolated island in the South Pacific and later when I was in Cambodia as the civil war there was ending.

When the tears stopped, I wondered if it was possible that the ayahuasca had caused me to imagine the entire phone call. No, I thought, that's impossible — for one thing my hand was in the same position that it had been when I had held the cell phone in it.

But could I have imagined it? To erase any doubt, at the end of the ceremony I asked the man sitting just to the left of Don Rober if anyone had received a phone call during the ceremony. No, he said, there hadn't been any calls.

Suddenly, frighteningly so, it became clear that I had imagined the entire thing! At first I thought that I had been tricked. But then I realized that along with all the crying had been a tremendous inner cleansing. The ayahuasca had given me, even though I had resisted it, just what I needed.

Machu Picchu, Peru's most famous tourist attraction. I climbed up the mountain on the left, and, using my camera's self-timer, took the picture on the right.

Andre during the fechaw with a spoonful of honey. During the fechaw he worked virtually 24 hours a day.

Volunteers sort through the chacruna leaves. Chacruna releases the power of the ayahuasca.

Andre stirring the brew.

Close-up of the brew.

Two weeks after my last ayahuasca session in Peru, I checked back into my guesthouse in Frances, Brazil and walked down to the ayahuasca center where the fechaw, pronounced fay-chow — the yearly two-week party where they make a year's supply of ayahuasca — was just beginning.

On the grounds of the center is a large oven that looks a bit like a traditional wood pizza oven. At the top of the oven, at ground level, are two holes that are just big enough to fit two 30-gallon stainless steel pots. Now, for the first time, I saw boiling in those pots ayahuasca, and the plant that releases the power of the ayahuasca, chacruna.

The fechaw is very much a team effort. One man tends to the fire below the two pots, while above him two men stir the pots. Other people clean the leaves of the chacruna and grind up the ayahuasca vine itself. The party would continue for most of the day and night for two weeks.

Often they boiled the ayahuasca tea, poured some out and bottled it, and then added new water. At other times they cooked down the ayahuasca tea until it became as thick as honey. Because this is Brazil, usually someone was singing while playing a drum or guitar. It was hot, smoky, dirty, and hard work, but the whole mood stayed festive.

That night there was a formal ceremony to mark the beginning of the fechaw. I was very happy to be back, but I didn't experience anything. I was just too tired and exhausted from the plane rides and days of very little sleep.

On Sunday and Monday I learned that many people were drinking ayahuasca two or three times a day. This was, everyone said, a very special time. Inspired, on Tuesday I decided that I would drink ayahuasca at nine o'clock in the morning.

Because it was so freshly made, it went down remarkably easily — the taste wasn't bad at all. I then found a quiet corner of the compound, spread out my mat, took out my MP3 player, and had a very wonderful two hours listening to music and feeling utterly at peace.

I thought about my Cambodian friends. I know many Cambodians from my years in the refugee camps and later from 18 months in Cambodia. They all had suffered incredibly under the Khmer Rouge. One of my best friends told me that he had woken up with nightmares every morning for the first ten years after he escaped. A Cambodian woman in the US told me that the movies and books about life under the Khmer Rouge were all by or about people who had had it easy.

I resolved to write them and tell them that there was a way that they could stop all their mental pain and at last be ready to die in peace. What a relief, I thought over and over again, to be able to die at peace with the world.

When I stood up again, one of the visitors — a professional masseuse — volunteered to give me a massage. Brazilian massage involves breathing with the masseuse as he pulls you, stretches you, and rubs you. He had very strong, confident hands. When he finished I was in utter bliss.

Who could imagine a more pleasant morning?

I went back that night expecting to do the same thing I had in the morning but I got a big surprise. Instead of experiencing bliss, less than an hour after I drank the ayahuasca, I had the sensation that I had dengue fever or even malaria. At first I was very cold and then very hot. Finally the body fell into a series of painful contortions.

I was in a quiet corner of the center, lying down. After more than one of the longest hours of my life, one of the men who was helping to brew the ayahuasca stopped by. My voice wasn't working, but I was able to whisper that I wasn't good at all. Could he help me stand up? He was built like a cement mixer. He stood me up like I was a little doll, helped me out of my jacket, sat me in a comfortable chair, and got me a glass of water.

Andre was there overseeing the making of the ayahuasca. When he asked me how I was, I asked him to help me to my feet and then, once on my feet, I was able to do walking meditation in the driveway for an hour or so. Slowly I started to feel better.

It was now midnight. Andre decided that this was the perfect time for the musicians to take out their guitars and drums and that everyone, including me, should drink more ayahuasca.

I took his advice and by the end of the evening I felt remarkably better.

In retrospect, I realize why even though I felt like I was on the edge of death, I was treated like someone whose foot has fallen asleep or has eaten too much pizza: the Brazilians know that no one will die from the ayahuasca and indeed, no matter how sick someone appears right now, in a few hours he or she will be fine.

The ceremony started late, about 9 pm. The ayahuasca went down so easily that initially I wondered if there was any power in it. Andre immediately started singing and kept at it for much longer than usual, as if he wanted to guide us to a very special place.

Soon any doubts I had about the strength of the ayahuasca vanished and I started to wonder if he hadn't laced it with LSD.

Three women came out of nowhere and stood near me as I sat in the plastic chair. "Look at him, isn't he beautiful?" one of them said. — "Oh, yes." I nodded. Some of the Brazilian women are suckers for men with blue eyes. Sometimes, even if you are drinking ayahuasca, it's nice to have women flirt with you.

After that I started to see fantastic patterns of Middle-American art. But it didn't particularly interest me.

By now I was very much in the land of ayahuasca bliss, but I felt that as long as I was sitting in the chair I would never be able to relax enough to let the real healing power of the ayahuasca begin. So I got up and found a place to lie down.

Immediately I had the sensation of thousands of marching ants or tiny praying mantises moving from the top of my head to my feet. I looked and saw that the personal issues that had arisen in past ayahuasca sessions were now resolved. There was nothing left to cry about and nothing to be afraid of or regret. The past was truly past and the mind was calm, clear, and happy.

I asked for healing of my back, shoulder, and knees. Soon I felt as if an old shoulder injury was being healed, along with my knees. I lay there and simply directed healing energy around my body for perhaps an hour.

The music started. The musicians went into the house to get their instruments — guitars, bongos, a tambourine, and a wooden flute. One of the men stood alone for a few minutes holding his guitar high over his head, letting the full moon that was shining brightly overhead cleanse him and his guitar.

The music, as always, was wonderful.

Feeling stronger now, I got up, spread a mat on the grass, and sat in meditation. It was very clear, wonderfully clear. After an hour, not wanting to injure my knees again, I stood up to stretch. Just then Andre brought the session to a close and everyone clapped.

Could anyone imagine a more perfect night?

Last night I went back to the center, thinking that I would have another wonderful experience. But with this plant, I've found, you can go to heaven one day and hell the next.

There wasn't a formal ceremony, but this being the fechaw, anyone could, under Andre's supervision, drink any time. I stretched out on the porch of the house and sat in meditation until the full power of the ayahuasca kicked in and I realized that I could no longer sit up.

I stretched out, but instead of things getting better, they got worse. I was going to vomit. I found a quiet corner of the yard, but couldn't vomit. Too weak to sit up and too nauseous to lie down, I decided I'd better walk. My knees throbbed like someone had just hit them with a cricket bat and my right shoulder felt like it had been dislocated in a car crash.

I stumbled outside to the sand road and started pacing back and forth. After a long time it started to rain. So I went back inside the compound and walked back and forth along one side of the dining area. Andre's mother was there, sitting at a table talking to some friends — I took her hand and placed it on my heart. She sensed that I needed some support and gave me her blessing. I needed it.

Finally one man, sitting in a chair, gave me his hand and signaled that I should lean back and, holding his hand, put my weight into stretching my arm and pulling his hand as if I was trying to pull him out of his chair. I immediately felt an immense surge of healing energy pass from his arm, up my arm, and into me.

He then stood up and had me stretch both arms out straight in a T. He pulled one arm and asked someone else to pull the other, effectively crucifying me. I relaxed and pushed my arms out straight. This time even more energy surged from their hands, up my arms, and through my entire body. I closed my eyes and felt red and blue energy pulsing through me.

"Amazing," I said. "I can't believe it." — "And your voice is back," the woman who could speak English said. Suddenly all of the discomfort vanished.

Now for the first time, I didn't feel like doing meditation; I felt like enjoying the company of the people there. I met one man who tried to explain Brazil to me. He said that here there is a mixture of European, African, and Native American cultures which makes Brazil the most interesting country in the world. He asked me if Brazilians were exotic to me. I told him no. Everyone I've met here shares my ideas about personal property, privacy, morality, and all of that. And unlike so many places I've visited, here lots of people are vegetarians, ecologically conscious, interested in yoga, and feel that they are on a path to enlightenment.

The dining area was decorated with a collage of religious symbols including the OM, Jesus, and the founders of the Santo Daime and Essência Divina Churches.

When Andre and his mother talked about ayahuasca, one would have thought they were talking about fine wine — color, aroma, taste, aftertaste, and overall effect were all discussed in detail.

Andre's mother. Like her son, she was always ready to help anyone at the center. She once performed a hilarious parody of my disco dancing.

The fechaw, or week of making ayahuasca, continues. Last night was a formal meeting. At 8:30 or so, Andre rang a bell and people moved into the open dining area. Like an astronaut about to go into outer space, I shook hands with many people before we drank; we all wished each other well.

Andre asked everyone to try to stay as silent as possible, especially during the first part of the meeting — the time when he usually sings and prays out loud.

The tension was building. Everyone gave each other a nervous smile.

Andre asked me if I wanted a strong glass of ayahuasca. I said that I was open for anything. He then gave me about two whiskey shot glasses of "tea." There was, however, one long-time ayahuasca drinker who drank a big glass of honey. When I saw him do that, shivers went down my spine. God help that guy, I thought to myself.

I thought about how much better drinking together in a group like this is than drinking alone.

The power of the ayahuasca started to manifest. I saw the usual patterns of Middle-American art and then thought about some old friends and how much I loved them. I pictured everyone I could think of and mentally said, "I love you." Whew.

Eventually I realized that the ayahuasca was slowly leaving my system. I found a quiet place to sit and pulled myself up to half-lotus. I sat motionless for an hour. My concentration was almost perfect. I could feel the space between each vertebra of my spine and at other times I could feel the energy moving from the crown of my head to my feet.

I stopped sitting just as Andre called everyone together for a closing ceremony.

What a night. Everyone agreed that it had been very special.

Advice for Buddhist meditators who are planning to use healing plants:

1. Meditate every day. Get in the habit of finding your breath, assuming the position, and watching thoughts arise and pass away. Rain or shine, healthy or sick, busy or free, sit.
2. Do metta meditation. Send loving kindness to everyone. Any negative feelings you have are going to come back and hit you pretty hard once you start eating healing psychotropic plants.
3. When drinking the ayahuasca don't let the mind wander. Don't get lost in stupid fantasies. Stay centered; stay present. There are times when the plant will simply take you. Before and after that, watch the mind like a child in Asia watches a lizard on the wall.
4. Sit in meditation after drinking ayahuasca. Sometimes you won't be able to sit up, but when you can, take the meditation position. It will center you, raise the energy level, calm you, and it just might be very blissful. Be a little careful though — there is no reason to murder your knees by sitting much longer than you usually do.
5. Keep as many precepts as you can. Some ayahuasca traditions stress celibacy. The idea is to take the energy of orgasm and use it to help focus the energy of the healing plant. Also, naturally, alcohol and marijuana have no place in these traditions. Some traditions forbid smoking; others use healing smoke as part of the process. Some say not to eat salty food, sugar, or pork.

Yesterday Andre invited a Swiss woman, Camille, who came here last week, and me to do a "breathing exercise" at his compound.

When we got there I saw the man who on Sunday night had frightened me when I saw him drink the huge glass of honey. He said that Sunday had been his birthday, so he had wanted to do something very special. "Would you do it again?" I asked. "Not for a very long time." (It would be a year before he had the nerve to drink any ayahuasca again.)

Our breathing work began at 9:30 in the morning with a big hit of ayahuasca. Andrea told us just to rest quietly and listen to music for 15 minutes while the ayahuasca kicked in.

Camille was assisted by Andre and a young woman assisted me. "Assisting" consisted of reminding us to breathe deeply. We proceeded to enter a different world that was initially calm and peaceful. Soon though my body contorted and my arms started flapping around. Sometimes I forgot to breathe and sometimes I couldn't breathe at all. The woman watching over me massaged the insoles of my feet in a very soothing way to try to calm me down.

After a very uncomfortable hour of contortions, I realized that either I could stay prone and miserable or get up and walk. I got up to walk. Walking meant pacing back and forth on the four-meter long porch.

She massaged the top of my head in a very special way. I then took her hand and pressed it hard on top of my heart. She kept me calm. At one point she positioned herself behind me, very gently rubbing the top of my head. If there ever was a woman who has a heavenly touch, it was her.

Camille stayed lying down for a long time. Eventually she sat up and told me what a wonderful experience she had just had. My head was still exploding to the point that I had wrapped a long scarf tightly around my head to literally try to "keep my head together."

After a few minutes Andre came back. He wanted us to do one more drug — hap-pay. He had a small V-shaped pipe. He filled one end with powder and put that end in his mouth. He put the other end of the pipe up my nose. He then exhaled while I inhaled. He was right — I felt the top of my head lift off. Jesus Christ! Wasn't one drug enough?

Camille and I were now in a separate reality. The world existed, but there were only two people in it — Camille and me.

It took us both more than another hour for the ayahuasca and the magic powder to leave our systems enough for us to leave our separate realities and re-join everyone else at the center. Just then lunch was served. We ate a little and then, still feeling more bonded than gibbons, walked to the beach for a swim.

What an amazing day.

My Brazilian visa is expiring. It has been almost three months since I first tasted the "vine of the Gods." In the Buddhist tradition three months — "a rains retreat" — is considered to be a good length of time to do spiritual practice. And so it has been.

I drank ayahuasca for the last time yesterday. Actually I did a double hitter. The idea was that we would begin with just a little ayahuasca on Monday night and Tuesday morning we were to round things out with a "work" at the beach.

All the people here have been very interested in what I've had to tell them about Peru and Don Rober. So last night, with just a few of us at the center, Andre served us ayahuasca and then had us sit in total darkness and listen to the CD of ayahuasca songs that I brought back from Peru. Everyone seemed to enjoy it. I sat in the meditation posture for the whole time and for the whole time I once again thought of the people in my life and wished each of them well. This kind of meditation called metta is popular in Southeast Asia. For me the last three months have been so extraordinarily wonderful that now it is easy for me to spend a lot of time wishing other people well. I can't imagine that my own life could be much better.

Following Andre's directions, Camille and I were back at the center at nine o'clock the next morning to begin part two. After doing ayahuasca in the breathing exercise and bonding in a separate reality, we had become the best of friends.

Anyway, when we arrived most people were still sleeping. Never mind — presently people got up, washed, put on clothes, and soon it was time to drink ayahuasca. I felt relieved when Camille told me that she, even after years of drinking ayahuasca, still gets nervous every time she drinks. Many of the Brazilians feel the same way — no one knows where the plant will take them.

There were only six of us but as always, Andre had us ritually stand together in our beach attire, poured us each a glass of ayahuasca, said a prayer, and signaled that it was bottoms up. I had a box of throat lozenges with me which I shared with everyone to take the ayahuasca-induced winces off their faces. None of the long-time ayahuasca-drinkers likes the taste any more than I do.

We immediately left for the beach. I closed my eyes and then for the first time ever I started to get horrific visions of electric worms and psychedelic snakes. What was that? Soon, once again, I got the feeling that I was coming down with malaria, dengue fever, typhoid, food poisoning, and that I had just been bitten by a rattlesnake. Oh my God, what could be worse than this?

One thing became immediately clear: lying down on the beach was not an option. Using mind over matter, I pulled myself to my feet and, using my umbrella to protect me from the sun, I started to do walking meditation away from the group. It was god-awful hot, I felt miserable, and I was having wild hallucinations. Everywhere I looked in the sand there were now huge numbers of giant marching ants and even with my umbrella and sunglasses I felt like I was going snow blind.

I was called back to the beach umbrella where Andre was sitting. By this time I was so far in outer space that it was impossible for me to look at anyone's face. So I knelt down and pressed my forehead into the sand at Andre's feet. With my hands I grasped Andre's ankles to try to ground myself. Camille asked me if I was okay; I said no.

Andrea explained that he was going to sing a magic prayer that had recently been channeled to him from another Brazilian ayahuasca master. It couldn't have taken him five minutes to sing the prayer but by the time he finished I was remarkably, incredibly, amazingly, better. When he stopped singing I lifted my head up out of the sand and, now that I was able to, looked at Andre. He appeared to be glowing.

I felt so good that I didn't walk away from the ocean but down to it. I walked along the beach and let the waves break at my feet.

It was a beautiful day. On the beach were families with children, farther out were some surfers, and one man was parasailing. I looked across the waves and for the first time it occurred to me that directly across the ocean at virtually the same latitude was Gabon. I thought about the people who had traveled with me there. At the time we had thought that nothing could be more intense or more life-changing than iboga. Now I knew that ayahuasca was equally powerful.

I walked along the beach for a long time. Finally Camille came down the beach and together we went swimming. She told me that I looked like an African shaman. Swimming with her, now that we had once again become ayahuasca-bonded, was incredible. The ocean was now a giant massage machine that, if we held onto each other tightly, we could enjoy more than any massage we had ever had.

After swimming, looking like crazy teenagers, we met Andre again. We told him that we wanted to go to the village and get something to eat. He cautioned us, saying that we were spiritually in a very special and fragile place. We should, he said, stay away from the crowds.

Good advice.

I would read later that sometimes people have experiences like these and the experience is so incredibly powerful that the people who have them become convinced that their partner is their eternal soul mate. Some people even get married, only later to discover that they have married the wrong person. Fortunately, however, Camille was experienced with the world of magic plants and took a wise and meditative stance to everything.

Nevertheless, it was with some sadness that I said good-bye to her and Andre a few days later.

Two months after that I was able to spend 10 days in silent meditation in a meditation center in Thailand. There I found that the restlessness that had plagued me for years during meditation was gone. Gone too, as far as I could tell in ten days of meditation, were the painful memories that had followed me all of my adult life.