I didn’t fly across the United States and into western Canada eager to take my first sip of Ayahuasca. No way. Simply put, much like everybody else, I was fucking terrified. When I got to the airport, I was secretly hoping that my plane would be canceled, or maybe delayed long enough so I wouldn’t be able to make it on time. I kept trying to think of ideas to get me out of the situation. Six weeks before this, I had taken a drink of vodka for the first time in almost two years. As a result, I spiraled down to yet another rock bottom. I had been slowly dying for many years—mostly while I was actively drinking, but I was slowly dying in sobriety too—and the only thing left to do was go to an Ayahuasca retreat. This was not my idea, but I had got to a point in my life where I was desperate enough to try just about anything. So, even though I would have rather walked naked through Times Square, I reluctantly agreed. A little over a month later, I was flying west.
Those thoughts were real, and I’m not sure if I ever truly believed I was going to be drinking Ayahuasca. The thought of it was too scary. I didn’t know anybody that was going to be at the retreat—hell, I didn’t even know what kind of people attended these things—and I really had no idea what to expect. All I remember for certain is fear. Terror. The great unknown. It controlled my mind for weeks as I prepared myself. Anytime I got a good look at my children, I looked away, sad that I was going to be away from them, sad that I had to fly across the country and try something that was a tad bit far out. Anytime my wife told me what a tremendous opportunity I had, I argued back. I didn’t want to drink Ayahuasca, but I knew I had to, and that was terrifying in itself. There was a great force that was pulling me along, like a puppet on a string. And somehow, underneath all of it, I found a way to believe that string was attached to my higher self.
But that was hiding underneath layers upon layers of fear. I couldn’t sleep at night. I couldn’t pull myself out of bed in the morning. All I could do was sit outside on my deck and smoke cigarettes while I searched the web endlessly for promising Ayahuasca stories. (Back in 2018, those were hard to find.) The same thing happened every night. The fear would take complete control, and I would toss my phone away in disgust, too afraid to look into what I had signed myself up to do. I knew (and believed) that my life could be better. I wanted that. I would have done anything for that! But those six to eight hours I was going to spend with Ayahuasca was all I could think about. What was it going to be like? What was the medicine going to show me? Was I going to throw up? Because I didn’t want to. Was I going to be lying down next to two strangers? Because I didn’t want to do that either. I had so many questions, and I was hardly finding answers. Fear controlled everything.
My wife got me to the airport and my heart got me on that plane. As I started to fly further away from my family and closer to the retreat, the fear started to dissipate, just a little. I don’t know exactly how it happened, but I started to believe that I was heading in the right direction, that I was going to take medicine that was going to cause a positive shift in my life. I kept looking at the prize and stopped fretting about the fight. That’s when I exchanged fear for faith.
By the time I got to the retreat, I was just ready to get the show on the road. The people that I was worried about meeting were great, and I found it rather easy to connect with each one of them. I was out of the elements of my own home, I was far away from the elements of the ‘real world,’ and finally, I could sit with myself and prepare myself for whatever was about to come. There was still loads of fear, but once I allowed faith to take over, I was able to relax into a calm state of being. I was hearing encouraging stories from the other active participants. As a result of this, I started to become cautiously curious. By the time I got down on my knees to take my first sip of Ayahuasca, I had surrendered completely for what was about to come.
My body, my mind, my heart had all been correct. What I experienced was the scariest fucking thing I had experienced in my life, and the first thing I recall writing in my journal was, “I AM NEVER DOING THIS AGAIN!” I truly believed that to be true. Whatever had happened had scared the living bejesus out of me, and I was in no hurry to ever even think about doing it again. I laid on my mat for a long while, thinking about my experience. Slowly, after much time had passed, I picked myself up, stepped outside, and waited for the sun to rise in western Canada.
As the sun started to come up over the horizon, I started to become alive for the first time in my life. There was so much beauty coming from the sun’s rays that all I could do was silently weep tears of joy, gratitude, and love. Whatever I had experienced was terrifying, sure, but I knew at that moment that it was absolutely necessary. I had never cried like that before. I never felt more connected to our planet, our world. Most importantly, I never felt more connected to myself.
What I learned through this experience is that fear is absolutely necessary. Like love, it has a voice that can help you along the way―if you allow it to do its thing. Looking back, the reason why I was so afraid is because my body, mind, and heart knew Ayahuasca was exactly what I needed. And I think (actually I know) that underneath all of that fear that consumed my everything, there was undeterred faith that was guiding me along, like that puppet on a string. That’s the lesson, folks; finding a way to turn fear into love.
Because when you really take a look at it, having love is having faith. That blind faith changed my life forever; changed my life forever in such a positive way.
