The Path of Ayahuasca
Ayahuasca is a path; there are many paths. It is a school; there are many schools. It is a place where I have found my place. However, I have also found my place in many other places, and it’s important to note that the place I find within this sacrament was built on the foundations of the paths I walked and the teachings I carried before I drank this medicine.
Within the ayahuasca path, however, there is a great space capable of holding many things. Whatever you want to believe, you can find it there. This space can serve as an altar, a door, or a bridge to wherever your faith draws you.
There are groups that use this drink to sing to Shiva; there are those who invoke Jesus Christ and the Holy Trinity; there are those who sing to Allah, and those who sing to Adonai. And there are those who don’t sing—who enter into the stillness and the silence to listen and listen and listen.
There are, of course, traditions that sing to the plants, to the elements, and to the relational beings of the earth: the rivers, mountains, and jungles. There are cults with all sorts of folk deities that are called upon and are present and prevalent. And there are, increasingly and fascinatingly, those who pay homage to all of the above and more by holding a universal ground—an approach that emerges through one’s intimate and direct experience of the non-dual nature. If one has an experience of what some call “oneness”, then, upon returning to “twoness”, their perception is forever altered. They have been given eyes to see and ears to hear.
To truly practice religion or spirituality is to be loving, compassionate, and accepting of the faith of another. To have truly understood love is to know intimately the essence of the golden rule. To understand within one’s heart that the message of so many masters is to walk a universal path, which does not deny anyone access to the infinite or the infinite ways to reach it. The doorways of these sacraments hold a space for the interplay of chaos and order, the faith and disbelief that one may encounter within their own mind. In essence, it is a space that reveals a universality capable of holding it all.
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For individuals who are sensitive, it is wise that you have a solid understanding of the cosmology of beliefs and worldviews that the group or facilitator possesses before you drink medicine with them.
Early on in my journey, I worked with different ethnic groups and always marvelled that the same tea opened strikingly different worlds, doors, and directions depending on who was leading.
I would clearly see how each rite was informed by the ancestry, lineage, and the shape and pattern of the formation of the leader, while with another leader it would be uniquely different yet visible in the same light.
This occurs because the astral is infinite and those groups and individuals have navigated those infinite waters and created maps, established alliances and ways of working, healing, and trancing. When they open a space for others they do so in their own house so to speak.
If you already have your own existing religious or spiritual temperament, then that foundation can be like a raft to learn to sail and navigate these astral waters.
There are also those who come with no spiritual practice or existing faith, and I enjoy that very much, for we can see what is there without any interference. For some, it is revelational and deeply spiritual. For others, it is interpersonal and psychologically revealing. For some, it is just nausea.
Whatever is latent, dormant, or salient in your mind, it may appear. There is a saying: when you squeeze an orange, out comes orange juice. When ayahuasca squeezes you, like a boa constrictor, what emerges often is your training, your defaults, and the resources you’ve cultivated—or the absence of them.
If you are grieving, it may press that button; if you are anxious and afraid, it may amplify those dials. If you avoid sadness and discomfort, it may confront you with just that.
Yet, if you cultivate compassion, it can grant you the capacity to hold difficulty. If you find forgiveness, it can offer you a sword to cut through confusion and density. If you have love, it can lift you up to the celestial realms where harmony reigns. Again, what is important is how you sit with what is present.
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People find their path in many different ways. I am naturally a hermit, and I once assumed that the best way to translate my path was to wander without cause, without direction, in a state of constant contemplation. Yes, that can be a good path, but for myself, I found its deepening, ripening, and fruition in family, in community. When two or more are gathered, our intimate contemplations and devotions transform into outward rituals and gather greater meaning.
Translating our innermost spiritual experiences and longings into ritual spaces is something humans have done since the dawn of recorded history. It is something our ancestors took part in, it is something in the long tradition of humanity, it is something in our blood.
When we are devoid of it, we fall into despondency, restlessness, and a hollow ache appears—plunging us into depression, anxiety, and a sense of disconnection from ourselves and the world.
Over the aeons, humanity and its wisdom traditions have cultivated diverse variations of ritual formations, ceremonial landscapes, rites, offerings, and prayers. These practices often emerge from a deep desire to translate experiences of the profound, to invoke the sacred as a remembrance of what is meaningful, and to unite a group in collective attunement. They serve to prepare individuals for fostering such experiences, as well as for cultivating the right attitudes and ethics to navigate the world and find belonging in it.
The ritual practice, we could thus say, is about remembrance and invocation: to remember those experiences and evoke their quality; to recall what is vital and of value, what is important and most essential, and to invoke its essence again into our recognition.
When we have tremendous, life-changing, transformative experiences, we draw closer to the deeper truths that shape our lives. The seemingly big things that once distracted us, caused grief, or brought harm, often shrink in significance when contrasted with the Big Thing—the experience that transforms us or reveals a profound truth. It is up to each of us to discern what that Big Thing is and our relationship to it.
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There is archeological evidence that humans have been using entheogenic, mind-altering substances for thousands of years: the use of peyote by Native Americans in Mexico for at least 5,700 years, and prehistoric rock art in Northern Australia, possibly depicting psychoactive mushrooms as far back as 10,000 BCE., Across all corners of the globe, our ancestors appear to have engaged with nature and the spiritual dimensions, using these substances as sacred tools of experimentation and exploration.
Entheogens have often been associated with profound shifts in human consciousness, including the development of religious institutions and practices, symbolic thought, and social cohesion. Some argue that they played a pivotal role in humanity’s great leaps forward, such as laying the foundations for civilisation and intellectual traditions. Others take this idea even further, suggesting that entheogens may have influenced critical evolutionary transitions in cognition—perhaps even bridging the gap between apes and modern humans.
Though entheogens can be profound, they are not necessary. There are, of course, many ways to come together in ritual, to quiet the mind, open the heart, and reconnect with the deepest parts of ourselves, with others, and with nature.
Ayahuasca, like many plants, can peel back layers and reveal a sense of belonging—to ourselves, to our environment, and to something greater. But it is not the path itself.
As they say in Zen, it is the finger pointing at the moon. Seeing it is not enough; drinking medicine is not enough. It opens the door, but one must learn to step through it on their own, to find their footing and walk the path themselves.
Everything—ritual substances, kriyas, asanas, sadhanas, meditation—is ultimately a crutch. None of it will lead you all the way through. Only you can do that, only the direct realisation of what you are will suffice.
I say this not to diminish the role of these plants—they are here on earth for a mission. They are here for us to work with them, and they have been a part of my journey, a part of where I’ve found my place, and how I serve my community. But I don’t want anyone to lean on them. These tools are helpers, not the source. The source is within you. Whether I continue serving or not, I am not attached to being “that person.” It’s just where I’ve landed for now, and the place I hold in our community today.
We must be very careful about the reasons we engage in these practices. Many people do it because it’s trendy, because others are doing it, or because they want to keep up some kind of appearance—feeding the spiritual ego and their idea of what it means to be a healer. True healers, however, do not seek the title. They become healers because they have needed deep healing themselves. Through that process, they arrive at great humility and are often reluctant to carry such responsibility. Yet, for those who bear this gift, their role is to pass it on, to hold space for others, fulfilling the charity of the archetype of the wounded healer.
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As I said, ayahuasca can open the door. But to get there, one must pay attention. To enter into the trance, one must know how to be lucid and pliant with the mind. In this way, it’s used as a way to pray and enter contemplative concentration and meditation.
In an ayahuasca ceremony, some people realise they can’t hold on—and in that letting go, they discover what holds them. It changes so much; it reorders and restructures certain things. But in the midst of that change, we must also ask: what hasn’t changed? If we can identify what remains unaltered, we find the one foundation we can truly hold on to. This is where a broader, more expansive view of spirituality becomes essential.
Because it’s not just about healing. It’s not just about transformation. It’s not about the visionary state. It’s not simply the music, the prayers, or the act of someone shaking a feather or leaves to invoke healing. It can include all of those things—but it can also be so much more. We like to say, “Drink less and learn more.” More is not necessarily better. It’s not about chasing bigger experiences or pushing ourselves over the edge to “kill the ego.” It’s about integrating the experience along the way and, ultimately, having a ritual space—both inward and outward—to continually return to, to remind us and reorient us toward what truly matters.
And the path, for me, is not about chasing a dangling carrot or striving to get somewhere. It’s not about waiting for a perfect paradise or hoping for heaven, but about helping to build and remember the kingdom of heaven here and now—on earth, together, while we are alive in the body, in the mind, and in nature. Because when we begin to work through the things that hinder, inhibit, and distract us, our eyes open wider, and we finally see what is right before us. And it’s a truly astounding thing—to be here, to have this opportunity.
So here, in this life, there are many helpers along the way that offer opportunities. Ayahuasca is one such helper. As the Buddha says, these helpers are like a raft—once you reach the other shore, you don’t carry the raft with you.
There’s a saying: when the ceremony is over, the real ceremony begins. And that’s life. It may sound cliché to call it “the ceremony of life,” but there’s truth in it. The ceremony is over, now get on with it. What are you going to do with this life?
What is this life to you? Why are you alive? How do you wake up in the morning? How do you go to sleep at night? Where do you spend the time in your mind? Because that is the ultimate medicine.
A ritualistic sacrament like ayahuasca gives us a kick up the backside and hopefully reorients us. Our task is to find the direction of that orientation and course-correct as needed. This is also what the world’s religions and wisdom traditions are for: to guide those with a spiritual calling—a calling for deep healing, for deep presence—to reorient themselves and find a good direction.
So, we shouldn’t lean on sacraments. We shouldn’t lean on anything, because ultimately it’s about what we are, about what we are remembering within ourselves. That is where the finger is pointing.
