The right half of the thinking team is rarely captain. Its role looks after emotion, music appreciation and abstract thought, as well as sensations on the left side of the body. Messages are sent across to the control room on the left. They are complementary halves, like yin to yang, or night to day. This is a simplified summary of an infant science. The cutting edge of these studies leaves big gaps filled with mystery and myth.
Split-brain patients have this bridge between hemispheres severed. A Nobel Prize was awarded to the guy who discovered that cutting through the divide could reduce or eliminate seizures. Experiments with these bonesaw veterans communicated with only one side at a time. This isn't usually possible, because millisecond-speed traffic passes within.
Varied responses from each half support the theory that we experience only the dominant stream of consciousness. There is another stream generated in the background and its messages must cross between territories. The re-readable "Mapping the Mind" suggests of this twin:
"...We might all be carrying around in our skulls a mute prisoner with a personality, ambition, and self-awareness quite distinct from the day-to-day entity we believe ourselves to be."
We might.
Aya strongly lights up the right hemisphere in brain scans. Some researchers suggest this overpowers the usually in-control left. Another concept - "hemispheric fusion" - suggests cooperation instead of revolution. My post-puke experiences included deep analytical and intuitive parts, suggesting internal teamwork.
Right hemisphere dominance can catalyst ego death - an imposter for actual death. The uninformed could slip into panic if left to interpret this feeling. Our group was well-behaved in this regard. Apparently, some people need restraint when they freak out at the temporary annihilation of their identity.
A fingertip grasp of a dream world snaps into a new day.
I woke early like sleep was a formality. In the dining room, I wasn't the only one silently waiting. We came for salt like weary drought victims to water. Interpretation of "first thing in the morning" was the silent contemplation.
When Scott entered, he detoured to the kitchen for a full cup of flaky, white crystals. For each person he first sang an icaros into the individual spoonful. The idea was not to consume, but to absorb by swishing it around. After spitting a mouthful of salt onto the grass I returned to the table. On it, I had an open book face down, but instead I sat and felt energy returning to my mind and body.
Breakfast was similar foods spiced up. While eating, a number of local ladies set up stalls outside with their handcrafted wares. Like much of my Peru experience, the pathways to popular places were lined with similar stores. Walking the gauntlet of colourful trinkets had held no appeal. I saw the items laid out on the ground here in a different light. For one thing, these stalls weren't supplemented by Coca Cola and Nestle. But it was more than that. It was no longer unnecessary "stuff", it was a conduit for the heart - a way to connect more with others. I browsed, pondered, selected and purchased. Then, thinking of other recipients, I repeated the process. These items were later added to the "mesa" in the ceremony room. This is a sheet laid out in the main circle with many personal items placed on it. The shamans would grant protection via the plant-inspired ritual.
A short ride in a longboat delivered the group along a river branch. This led to a guided jungle walk. Darlene was the only one to go barefoot. Scorpions, glow-in-the-dark frogs and food that grew in hiding places were all pointed out.
The boat to return us to camp had engine trouble. A motorised canoe came to the rescue as it pulled the larger longboat side-by-side back to base. I knew there was great symbolism here - a fitting analogy - but it didn't come to me and I didn't hunt it. Instead of thinking of what it was like, I just let it be what it was.
There was no regulation of the amount of quinoa, sweet potato and coconut curry I ate for lunch. I enjoyed every mouthful.
A familiar background of dread preceded the last ceremony. There is however, a group expectation that this one will be different. We've ceased the main food restrictions, supposedly meaning less clearing work and therefore, an easier night. Being off the diet also means we can use a trick where we'll eat oatmeal 30 minutes beforehand. This seeks to negate the stomach nausea, although a purge is still likely. The tryptophan content of oatmeal was also promoted, as these are the building blocks of serotonin and its feel-goodness.
Aya #5. Here we go one last time before leaving this home 16 thousand kilometres away from home tomorrow. Instead of the patient, pre-ceremony silence, the void was filled with many casual conversations. These light exchanges had a twist of gallows humour before another ego execution. That was the price of peering into the abyss. It was sure to respawn - the aim was for a better reincarnation.
Again I sat in a chair, this time close to Zach and Scott. I could overhear some of their conversation in the dimly-lit room as they were making final preparations. Zach was asked a question and he gave an unsure answer, then rephrased the query in Spanish to a maestro. He was corrected and relayed back the information while adding "Don't listen to me, I'm talking out my arse".
"Well, in that case your pronunciation is excellent." Scott added.
My turn to drink the brew came early in the clockwise order. I requested two thirds of a cup and it didn't seem one third easier.
On this occasion I had only a slight hint of visuals. I could vaguely make out an ant foetus taking form and trying to grow in front of me.
But mareado wasn't using that visual channel tonight. Instead, this encounter turned up the volume on body sensations along the pathway to destination unknown. When we first arrived here, several double-sided A4 pages were provided. One part read:
"Ayahuasca removes blockages in a number of ways - The most common being vomiting and diarrhea. You may also find your body trembling or shaking which is to do with the new energy moving through your body and working through blockages and resistance."
Spew was standard so far, but now let's introduce: "trembling or shaking". The intensity came in waves, and there wasn't much reprieve. In the gentler gaps I had a few goes of disgorging small amounts. Nothing to write home about.
The involuntary tremors rocked me to an inaudible, extreme metal beat. Could I pull myself out of it if I wanted to? I wasn't sure and didn't care. The medicine was doing its work and I trusted it. No control was a freedom - a blissful seizure in the darkness.
When the electric chair turned back into a rocking chair, I was able to vacate a vomit. This version of electro convulsive therapy was free-range, organic and dolphin-friendly. In the lab, shocks to the system stimulate cell growth in the brain. This may lead to better functioning and improved mood. While rewiring the brain, electrocution didn't hinder the process - it was the process.
My attention in previous sessions had focussed on my heart. Now a greater wisdom was telling me to give my brain a rest. It was like a flexed muscle that I didn't realise I was clenching. When I released the skeletal squeeze, my world became lighter.
For these moments, I had broken identification with my thinking. Consciousness was still present, but thought was the obstacle. Like a high form of meditation - the pinnacle was to be the observer of who's thinking about thinking. "Nothing is good or bad. Thinking makes it so."
A sustained, personal earthquake loosened the deep-rooted grip of something unnamed. This was a war of attrition and I was the battleground. In these late stages of the struggle, doubt gained a voice for its well-timed attack. Do you I really want to be here? If looking for a reason to quit, they'd be dangling like branches to armpits in quicksand.
My intent asked a different question. How far can I take it? I'm committed to riding the shockwaves until the unnamed thing within fucks off. The only way, was all the way. Whatever is inside need exit through energy or matter. Rattle shakes or purging splatter. The medicine was vacating a tenant in a taser-encouraged evacuation.
There was no prestige to my role in this battle. Ayahuasca was fighting this like an infection. I was a mucousy dragon. Smoke from my nose was snot. Fire from my mouth was chunder. Magic in my mind was the realisation of what was happening.
Before the night was over, I felt an urge to wear the serpent wristband I'd purchased for an unknown recipient. Tonight, an anaconda had released its crushing hold. To avoid another death-grip, my left wrist wears my green belt in Spew Fu.
It will take daily practice to keep the gift of lessons learned.
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