Vipassana Meditation and Ayahuasca Retreats
My previous experience sitting a ten-day Vipassana meditation course served me well for a ten-day ayahuasca retreat. In both cases, I arrived with a backpack and a spirit of surrender, stripped down to the essentials — physically, mentally, and emotionally. I knew from experience that leaving expectations at the door wasn’t just helpful; it was crucial. I came seeking awakening, a deeper connection to the subtle and vast mysteries that pulse beneath the surface of ordinary life. I came hoping. Trusting. Willing to face discomfort in exchange for clarity, confusion in exchange for insight. I threw myself into the prescribed practices wholeheartedly, day after day, moment by moment, trusting that the results would be exactly what I needed — even if they weren’t quite what I wanted. And maybe, especially if they weren’t.
Retreat Arrival
My first Vipassana meditation course was just outside of Bangkok, Thailand. I took a carpool bus from the north side of the city, arriving with seekers from mostly Thai backgrounds. Low buildings in the front for registration and dining gave way to long, tree covered walkways. On the right, the women’s side, men on the left. I followed a volunteer to my room, unpacked my toothbrush, and sank back onto the firm twin mattress, glowing with anticipation.
Arrival at the Pisatahua ayahuasca retreat was similar – pick-up from nearby Riberalta shared with a local curandera who would be assisting the shaman. After half an hour bumping along a muddy orange road, we arrived in the magical jungle. Green trees rose up on all sides as the coordinator led me to my cabin, a spacious room with two twin beds, a desk, hammock, bathroom, and lake view. I unpacked my toothbrush and sank into the hammock, praying for a cool roommate as I enjoyed the fresh air flowing in through the screened walls.
Daily Schedules
My meditation retreat had a tight schedule – days began at 4 AM, with a loud bell to awaken the couple hundred meditators. We woke and took our places meditating on cushions in our room or in the main hall. Two hours. Breakfast. One hour all together in the high-ceilinged stupa. Two hours. Lunch. Delicious vegetarian Thai food, followed by a walk over a perfectly poetic little bridge, gazing at lotus flowers on the water. Ninety minutes in a cell or the main hall. One hour all together. Ninety minutes. Tea: a snack for beginners, a fast for the old students. One hour all together, followed by a taped discourse from S.N. Goenka, the Burmese householder who had brought this technique of Buddhism to the western world. Each day, he sat next to his wife and chatted to us from 1991, giving us fatherly support and wise words. Exactly what I needed to hear to have the strength and courage to continue.
Ayahuasca took a softer shape. Ceremony days consisted of yoga at 8 AM, breakfast at 9, chill time until lunch at 1, then rest until meditation at 6:30. Ceremonies started anywhere between 8 PM and 10, and could last as late as 4 AM. The darkness mattered, even the timing of the retreats with the new moon. It’s as if the twelve of us are entering a womb, a darkness in which Mother Ayahuasca can reweave our broken parts. Days after retreats consisted of breakfast, a sharing circle at 11, lunch at 1, and dinner at 6:30. We ate food following La Dieta, a strict program of rice, lentils, certain vegetables and fruits, and plantains – all without salt, seasoning, or any oil whatsoever. Occasionally we’d all go for a walk in the jungle or a boat ride during the afternoon, but mostly we had autonomous time to relax and process. I read a bit, slept a lot, and enjoyed moving at a slow and peaceful pace.
Medicinal Magic
Goenkaji says the ten day meditation courses, complete with a vow of silence and a commitment to stay until the work is done, are like open surgery for the subconscious. You wouldn’t leave a hospital before they stitch you back up. In the same way, stay with the technique through the pain, through the discomfort. Maintain perfect equanimity through hours and hours of sitting still in silence. The space of these hours leaves room for deepest sankaras to arise – habit patterns of the mind forged in times of youth or stress. The sankaras may appear as pain in the chest, tingling in the toes, numbness in the legs, or any number of sensations. Continually, Goenkaji reminded us to remember the impermanence of all sensations. Anicca, anicca. All will pass. Maintain equanimity, refraining from the old habit patterns of craving and aversion. Let the meditation work its magic.
Wara, our shaman at Pisatahua, said Mother Ayahuasca is like a medical team of specialists and surgeons. She sends out her team to analyze and treat each and every one of our conditions. Always working with love and gentleness, she tends to our wounds like a compassionate grandmother. Acknowledging that we would want to leave, Wara encouraged us to stay. It’s normal to question why you’re here, to feel that you want to go, to run away from this experience. This is your pain, your sickness crying out because it knows that this medicine will diminish it. Let Mother Ayahuasca work her magic.
End Result
By the end of the ten days of silent meditation, I felt brand new. Slowed down and sorted out. I experienced my mind completely quiet for the first time in my life. The green of the surroundings had nurtured my soul, and every hour of work had led to an inner freedom that I only hoped I would be able to maintain after the fact. The last day, silence was lifted, and all the English speakers sat around a table sharing what felt like war stories of our days meditating. We had done it! Sweet victory, and a feast to celebrate. We traveled back into the city, clinging to one another like children fresh out of a womb as we once again met the noise, smells, and overall chaos of urban life. Back to reality.
After ten days of ayahuasca and rest, I felt brand new. I had seen visions I’d never hoped to see, felt revelations from the Divine that I only could have dreamed of, and felt life breathed into the animal of my body. I felt tended to and cared for, so loved and held and nurtured, ready to grow into the visions of the future I had seen. For our final meals, we broke our faithfully held dieta, feasting on salty foods, breads, oils, coffee, and bubbling conversation of future plans and shared memories. Some of us stayed to volunteer, others traveled in the city together, and all of us slowly made our way back into the real world.
Both of these experiences are gifts outside the realm of normal. Quiet retreats to reconnect with what we’re made of. Meditation was active work, requiring a steady commitment to sit up and scan the sensations of the body. To keep going, to keep working, even when it felt miserable. Ayahuasca worked gently, inviting us into night visions on a magic carpet and feeding us realizations and rest in the intervening hours. Both retreats come with the challenge of reintegration. The hope that all this magic won’t be lost when we reenter our lives. Motivation to work on certain aspects of ourselves, to care for our peace or our wildness. In both cases, a consistent mediation practice served me well in the transition.
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