Greeting The New Year with Ayahuasca

I’d like to share about an incredible experience I had with ayahuasca on New Year’s Eve. This was the fifth of six ceremonies I sat in at the Paititi Institute retreat in the Amazon. Every time I’ve participated in ceremony before, there was always a feeling of fear or resistance before drinking the medicine. My ego knows it’s going to lose control and that the experience will likely be intense and uncomfortable.

This ceremony was different.

For the first time, I actually found myself looking forward to drinking the medicine. There was no resistance, no fear. It was a new brew that we had cooked together a few days earlier, and being part of the preparation process felt very special. Cooking the ayahuasca together gave me a deeper sense of connection and reverence for the medicine itself.

Throughout the retreat, my friend Roman — the shaman and facilitator — shared small phrases that stayed with me. Simple statements that continued to echo during ceremony:

• “The ego doesn’t like it, but the spirit loves it.”

• “The truth tastes bitter.” (referring to the taste of ayahuasca)

• “You need to go through the purification to receive the blessing.”

• “It was at that moment that I realized I love ayahuasca.” (sharing about one of his earlier experiences)

As I reflected on these during ceremony, I realized how true they were for me. No, my ego does not like it. But my spirit absolutely loves it. Ayahuasca brings me into such a deep state of spiritual awareness that it truly feels like soul food.

I realized that I do love ayahuasca. She has shown me so much over the years, and having several experiences with the medicine has given me real trust — trust that it is powerful, healing, benevolent, and ultimately nothing to fear. The intensity and the purging are simply part of the purification that precedes insight.

This trust brought a deep sense of safety. I also saw clearly that the experience itself will simply be what it is and that fear is something I create. There is no inherent need to fear what arises. I can meet each moment as it comes, trusting my capacity to be with whatever is present.

This ceremony began with strong visuals, colorful patterns dancing vividly in the space before me. It was intense for a while. Eventually, I went outside feeling like I might need to purge, and once I reached the balcony, I threw up several times.

It was intense, but I felt relatively graceful with it, allowing it to come up and out without resistance. The taste was terrible, that bitter taste of truth once again.

I was honestly a bit disappointed afterward. Purging is generally seen as a good thing, a cleansing process, but I’ve noticed that when I throw up, the experience tends to calm significantly. Sometimes that’s a relief, but in this ceremony, once I purged, the visions largely dispersed and the experience became much more mild.

While part of me wished it had continued, I was also content. In the ceremony before this one, I had made a clear decision: my primary focus wasn’t the visions themselves, but resting in the awareness that knows the visions. It felt more like a practice of being, of letting experiences come and go without clinging.

So I sat and enjoyed simply being.

Later in the ceremony, Roman opened the circle for singing. Many people shared songs, myself included. Singing in ceremony has a depth and beauty that’s hard to describe. It feels more intimate, more real than singing in ordinary life.

Several songs in a row were about letting go. Everything felt peaceful.

Then, somewhat comically, Roman rang the singing bowl and said, “Okay… time to let go. Seconds!”

The energy in the room dropped instantly. Nervous laughter rippled through the maloka as people felt the weight of the invitation to drink more.

My stomach dropped, and immediately I knew I was going to drink seconds, even though my ego absolutely did not want to. While the experience had mellowed, I remembered how intense it had been earlier.

I hesitated for a moment. Then another participant stood up to receive seconds. I remember thinking, Okay, I’ll go with you. We can do this together. It struck me how powerful it is when someone leads, how courage can be contagious.

When I received my second serving, Roman filled the cup fairly high. I drank it and returned to my seat.

About thirty minutes later, the effects deepened. I began feeling strong vibrations of energy all around me. They were visible and tangible.

Throughout the retreat, we had been practicing Qi Gong in the mornings, and now I felt the Qi (chi) very strongly. I began breathing and gently moving my hands, guiding the energy with intention.

I practiced Qi Gong in my late teens, and I’ve experienced similar states before during breathwork, on ayahuasca, or in moments where perception opens enough to sense the flow of energy directly.

Sitting in darkness, I breathed in and lifted my hands, vividly seeing white energy rising upward toward the heavens. As I breathed out, I drew my hands downward, releasing darker, heavier energy through the soles of my feet into the earth. I repeated this for some time. It felt deeply balancing and cleansing.

While others who drank seconds went outside to purge again, I felt that I was able to move and release the energy through breath and movement instead.

This Qi Gong work was actually catalyzed by something Roman shared shortly after the second serving. He guided a Vajrayana Buddhist visualization: a Medicine Buddha seated on a lotus above the crown, pouring enlightened nectar down through the body, purifying all obscurations.

As he spoke, the effect was immediate and powerful. I could see and feel white, luminous energy flooding through me, and it felt as though layers of obscuration were being cleared in an instant. It gave me a much deeper appreciation for tantric visualization practices, how real and embodied they can be when perception is open.

Since that experience awakened this clear perception of energy, I played with that for hours afterward, working with the energy flowing through my body. At one point I stepped outside to stretch my legs and stood in the jungle, continuing the Qi Gong beneath the canopy.

A family of monkeys passed overhead, moving through the trees. Witnessing them during the ceremony, and feeling their presence, felt magical.

Roman ended the ceremony around 5 a.m., but I stayed in the maloka. I usually do, partly to observe the shifting energy as people leave, and partly to be available if anyone needs support.

This time, I stayed much longer.

First, I journaled and wrote down the key insights from the experience. Then I did some yoga to stretch my aching knees, followed by about a practice of breathwork. I felt incredibly connected to my body, to breath, to movement.

Earlier in the retreat, Roman had spoken about the “strength of spirit” that ayahuasca reveals. The body may feel weak during ceremony, but that weakness opens a connection to spiritual strength. Many locals, he said, often function just as well the next day with little sleep because of this.

In this ceremony, I felt I fully tapped into that strength of spirit. I felt awake, aligned, healthy, capable, and alive. I didn’t want to sleep. I moved, danced, did pushups and squats, played the charango (a small string instrument), and just let the energy I was feeling flow freely.

As the sun rose, I stepped outside to witness the first sunrise of the new year. I felt overwhelming gratitude — for life, for the jungle, for the sheer beauty of existence.

Mosquitos bit me, but I didn’t mind. I let them feed and move on. Every creature I encountered — spiders, ants, butterflies, frogs — filled me with awe, and I so strongly felt the presence of Life in them.

Returning to the maloka in the daylight, I saw the aftermath of ceremony: messy beds, dirt on the floor, belongings scattered everywhere. I felt inspired to clean the space. It felt like a way to give thanks for ayahuasca, the ceremony, and this beautiful feeling I was carrying.

I swept every inch of the hut, made everyone’s beds, and organized their things. As I moved from space to space, I felt each person’s energy and a genuine sense of love and care toward them.

By the time I finished, it was about 9 a.m., time for breakfast and the standard lemon and garlic drink that we would have the morning after each ceremony. Surprisingly, I still felt no tiredness. I just felt energized, strong, fit, heart-centered, present and ready to help — I am not sure with what, but I just felt like using my energy to be of service in some way.

Thankfully, I found ways to channel that. I helped one of the locals carry in heavy planks of wood from the boat, and later, numerous 5-gallon water jugs. I found more things to clean. I did a lot of pull-ups outside on one of the wooden beams. I just had so much energy I didn’t know what to do with it, and amazingly, with no sleep. I just so alive and healthy and grateful for life, ready to participate and engage.

A major theme of this retreat for me was empowerment. In my first ceremony, I saw how often I unconsciously look outward for validation or permission, and how limiting that is.

I decided that I want to take full responsibility for myself and my life, and that I would use these ceremonies as a way for me to face myself and the intensity of the ayahuasca experience directly.

This ceremony felt like the culmination of that first insight. Like it had finally landed in my body.

I am capable.
I am responsible for myself.
I don’t need permission to be who I am.

The day after the ceremony is usually very mild, with the main activity being a sharing circle where each person gets to share about their experience. Otherwise there was a lot of time to just be.

I spent a lot of my day just walking around and looking at things. I was so in love with the jungle and the beauty of the rainforest. It is so full of life. There is always something to see, something going on, some kind of National Geographic-like moment.

Birds singing in the trees, beautiful plants growing in unique ways, frogs hopping along the ground, strange insects I’ve never seen before, ants cleaning up any dead insects or animals — and of course mosquitos and little flies trying to get a meal from me. It is all a part of a beautiful ecosystem. Truly, the Amazon rainforest is a special place, and I felt so grateful to be there.

That night, I slept early, grateful for the day, the retreat, and the life I get to live.

The intensity gradually faded, as all experiences do. But something deep remained.

That seems to be how the medicine works. It cleanses a lot during the ceremony, and there are profound insights that can come through, some that can have a deep and lasting impact. However, the experience, like any experience, fades, and life goes on.

What matters most is how we live afterward — how we embody what we’ve seen, how we carry it into ordinary moments.

Life itself is the real ceremony.