After enduring three grueling nights of ayahuasca ceremonies, I was convinced that I couldn’t bear another. The mere thought of the sage and the brew’s scent lingering in the air made me queasy; throughout the entire week, I had consumed over 10 cups of ayahuasca. Nevertheless, as I made my way toward the Maloca, I noticed that the line to enter was significantly shorter. Conversations with those waiting revealed that several participants had opted out of the final ceremony. I couldn’t blame them; these past nights had either helped individuals or shattered them completely. Confronting one’s shadows and past traumas is never easy.

Inside the Maloca, the light workers began to rearrange the beds of the absentees. Nearly a quarter of the participants had withdrawn from their journey. Tears had been shed all week, and at times, I witnessed attempts to persuade others to continue. However, this journey had to be a self-made decision. Entering the ceremony with doubt would only lead to a chaotic experience. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s the power of intention.

The night commenced as usual, although I sensed that Taita was either fatigued or not at his best. He seemed slightly off, but he initiated the ceremony nonetheless. In my previous ceremonies, I had endured some tough nights, drinking up to four cups each time. Tonight, however, my body urged me to have just one cup. As usual, I queued up and reluctantly drank the first cup, coaxing myself not to purge immediately. My bed had been relocated, leaving me uncomfortably warm. Requesting a lighter sheet instead of the thick blanket, I settled in for the ceremony.

Within ten minutes, the purging began among fellow participants. I felt a wave of relief at not being the first to succumb. Thirty minutes in, the nausea hit me, and I struggled to fight the urge to vomit. The purging process was agonizing, taking me 45 minutes of wandering around the Maloca  before collapsing onto the grass. After purging, an overwhelming urge to lie down consumed me, and I drifted into sleep, missing the entirety of the ceremony. According to Taita, such a deep sleep indicated a profound healing, wherein ancestral issues were addressed by the spirits—a phenomenon known as a “NADA.”

Upon awakening, I felt an immense sense of relief and peace, as though something fundamental had shifted within me. It wasn’t until a neighboring participant informed me that I had entered a NADA that I realized what had transpired.

Post-ceremony, Taita delved into discussions about the spiritual realm, showcasing his remarkable abilities. Over the weekend, he had even cured someone’s deafness. However, his penchant for lengthy group discussions left many eager to depart by the time he concluded. Yet, he concluded with a blessing for any items participants desired. Some placed photographs, books, or cellphone images of loved ones. I chose to bless three of my own possessions before departing quietly. Though I could have requested a photo with Taita, I felt no need to document my experience externally—I carried its memory within me, and that was sufficient.

Despite our extreme fatigue, before we dispersed to our rooms, the entire group shared embraces in congratulations for enduring the challenging week together. We had all survived the difficult journey that laid before us. While not everyone completed the journey alongside us, those who did felt a profound sense of relief, knowing that we had confronted and overcome some of our personal shadows.

Additional note: My intuition proved correct; Taita confessed post-ceremony that he had struggled throughout the night. Like other shamans, he drank ayahuasca before ceremonies, experiencing its effects differently due to his extensive exposure. Despite his challenges, he managed to conduct the entire ceremony—a feat I could scarcely comprehend, given my own slumber.