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My Sinchi Runa Ayahuasca Experience: A journey of Discovery, Healing and Stillness
I entered the ayahuasca retreat with the weight of unresolved issues—family wounds, fears, regrets, and guilt. One of my core intentions was to explore my relationship with my son. I wanted to break the generational cycle of trauma passed down from my parents and theirs, and make sure I wasn’t repeating the same patterns.
Over the course of three ceremonies, the experience unfolded in three distinct phases: discovery, healing, and stillness.
Ceremony One: Discovery
The first ceremony was powerful. Almost immediately after the journey began, I felt something shift. Without any intention or prompting, I just knew—I no longer needed alcohol or recreational drugs. I realized this was the experience I’d been chasing all my life. That need for excess, the constant search for highs—it all fell away. Since that night, I haven’t touched a drink, nor felt the urge.
The experience was emotional in every sense. I moved through shame, joy, sorrow, fear, compassion—every feeling, every nuance. I relived moments with my son—times I could have responded with more love but chose frustration or anger instead. I cried deeply. I also experienced pure joy.
For the first time, I truly forgave my parents. I had been trying to do this for years. But in that moment, it finally released. What I learned was simple but life-changing: all I need is to create space—space to respond with compassion, space to be present. That is my truest self.
After the ceremony, walking back to my tent, I felt so light I was almost skipping. Then I burst into laughter—uncontrollable, hysterical laughter—at the absurdity of my old ways. I realized how exhausted I was from constantly leading, deciding, performing. I just wanted to be, to rest. And for the first time in a long while, that felt okay.
Ceremony Two: Healing
Going into the second ceremony, I was apprehensive. The first one had been so intense, and I didn’t know if I was ready for more. But what I received was very different—gentle, powerful healing.
As the medicine took hold, I saw something at the edge of my vision—geometric patterns, colors, dimensions. When I finally turned my attention to it, we locked eyes. It was her—Mother Ayahuasca, or maybe Mother Nature, or God—however you want to define it. She knew I needed healing. She wrapped herself around me, held me, protected me, and told me: Even if you can’t see me, I’m always here. And when you need me, return to nature.
Through that ceremony, I practiced going in and out of deep meditation. Every time I dropped back in, she returned with another message. At one point, I felt like a little boy again—laughing, crying, wanting to be taken care of. That’s what I needed. To just be loved. And that’s exactly what I received.
Ceremony Three: Stillness
My intention for the third ceremony was clear: stillness. I wanted to stay in deep meditation and silence.
And I did. For the first time in my life, my mind was quiet. Truly quiet. I was at peace—completely, effortlessly. No fear. No stress. No noise. Just pure stillness and an overwhelming sense of love emanating from within.
I was honestly shocked by how peaceful I could feel. That this kind of inner calm was even possible—especially considering how fast-paced and demanding my life is. And it came from within me. That was the most profound realization.
Integration: Carrying It Forward
Coming back into the real world, I felt fragile—open, vulnerable. I worried about slipping back into old patterns. But I’ve been using the tools I brought back: the music, the chants, daily meditation. Even if I’m stuck in traffic or standing in a queue, I’ll put on the playlist, breathe, and recenter.
One of the biggest lessons came from that second night—the experimentation. It showed me that staying in this state of peace takes work. Practice. Intention. Stillness. The truth is, all the answers are already within me. They always have been. But accessing them requires quieting the noise of the world, again and again.
Ayahuasca didn’t give me anything I didn’t already have. It just reminded me of who I am—and who I’ve always been beneath the noise. A man capable of love, of compassion, of peace. A man healing for himself, and for his son.
Over the course of three ceremonies, the experience unfolded in three distinct phases: discovery, healing, and stillness.
Ceremony One: Discovery
The first ceremony was powerful. Almost immediately after the journey began, I felt something shift. Without any intention or prompting, I just knew—I no longer needed alcohol or recreational drugs. I realized this was the experience I’d been chasing all my life. That need for excess, the constant search for highs—it all fell away. Since that night, I haven’t touched a drink, nor felt the urge.
The experience was emotional in every sense. I moved through shame, joy, sorrow, fear, compassion—every feeling, every nuance. I relived moments with my son—times I could have responded with more love but chose frustration or anger instead. I cried deeply. I also experienced pure joy.
For the first time, I truly forgave my parents. I had been trying to do this for years. But in that moment, it finally released. What I learned was simple but life-changing: all I need is to create space—space to respond with compassion, space to be present. That is my truest self.
After the ceremony, walking back to my tent, I felt so light I was almost skipping. Then I burst into laughter—uncontrollable, hysterical laughter—at the absurdity of my old ways. I realized how exhausted I was from constantly leading, deciding, performing. I just wanted to be, to rest. And for the first time in a long while, that felt okay.
Ceremony Two: Healing
Going into the second ceremony, I was apprehensive. The first one had been so intense, and I didn’t know if I was ready for more. But what I received was very different—gentle, powerful healing.
As the medicine took hold, I saw something at the edge of my vision—geometric patterns, colors, dimensions. When I finally turned my attention to it, we locked eyes. It was her—Mother Ayahuasca, or maybe Mother Nature, or God—however you want to define it. She knew I needed healing. She wrapped herself around me, held me, protected me, and told me: Even if you can’t see me, I’m always here. And when you need me, return to nature.
Through that ceremony, I practiced going in and out of deep meditation. Every time I dropped back in, she returned with another message. At one point, I felt like a little boy again—laughing, crying, wanting to be taken care of. That’s what I needed. To just be loved. And that’s exactly what I received.
Ceremony Three: Stillness
My intention for the third ceremony was clear: stillness. I wanted to stay in deep meditation and silence.
And I did. For the first time in my life, my mind was quiet. Truly quiet. I was at peace—completely, effortlessly. No fear. No stress. No noise. Just pure stillness and an overwhelming sense of love emanating from within.
I was honestly shocked by how peaceful I could feel. That this kind of inner calm was even possible—especially considering how fast-paced and demanding my life is. And it came from within me. That was the most profound realization.
Integration: Carrying It Forward
Coming back into the real world, I felt fragile—open, vulnerable. I worried about slipping back into old patterns. But I’ve been using the tools I brought back: the music, the chants, daily meditation. Even if I’m stuck in traffic or standing in a queue, I’ll put on the playlist, breathe, and recenter.
One of the biggest lessons came from that second night—the experimentation. It showed me that staying in this state of peace takes work. Practice. Intention. Stillness. The truth is, all the answers are already within me. They always have been. But accessing them requires quieting the noise of the world, again and again.
Ayahuasca didn’t give me anything I didn’t already have. It just reminded me of who I am—and who I’ve always been beneath the noise. A man capable of love, of compassion, of peace. A man healing for himself, and for his son.
