Inspired by the experiences of Jesse Gould

Peru. The middle of nowhere. Just like everywhere else, like Thailand, like Cambodia, except this time, it’s going to be different. This time I’m going to change. This time I’m going to forget for good. The cycle ends here. One way or another, it’s going to end. Either the ayahuasca is going to work or I’m going to die here on this trail to Machu Picchu. But I can’t die because I’m a Ranger. Or am I anymore? A Ranger would have done his due diligence, would have prepared for this trek. But here I am with a couple of empanadas, freezing to death, and almost being run over by horses all because I bastardized the Ranger mentality and tried to use my grit to overcome everything, the same way I’ve tried to force my way through life lately.
I count each painful step through the switchbacks. My water is low, my feet are blistered, and all I know is I’ve come too far to turn back now. Sleep isn’t an option. If I stop to camp, I miss the shuttle for my retreat. I keep pushing, counting each painful step. One, two, three four, five, six, seven eight, nine, turn and another climb. It’s almost morning. I’m almost there. I have to get there. I need water.
I reach Aguas Calientes, the town before Machu Picchu, just as day breaks. The town is dead except for a family at their shop. I ask them to buy some water, but they tell me they won’t be open for several more hours.
Disheartened, I keep walking, weighing my options. Dehydration or drink the unfiltered tap water I found. It’s looking like it’s going to be the orange shit from the spigot.
I hear little feet running up behind me. It’s the boy from the shop. He hands me a bottle of water.
I offer him money, but he says it’s his gift to me. It’s a gift I’ll never forget. A gift that gets me the rest of the way to Machu Picchu.
When I arrive, the whole place is awake. I get some food, more water, and some ibuprofen and spend the day exploring the beautiful Incan citadel. I made it. For what? To prove to myself that I still can. If that’s what I needed to prove, I succeeded.
As the day ends, I grab my pack from the restaurant where I ate in the morning. They had been nice enough to let me stash it in the back, so I didn’t have to carry it with me all day. I head to the train station to catch my ride back to the airport.
I need to make my flight to the retreat, the real reason I was here. This detour to Machu Picchu was killing time. This was just to prove that I could. To say that I did. How many other people could say they hiked by themselves to Machu Picchu? Probably not many, and likely even fewer the way I did it, with a few supplies and no sleep. But on the train sleep comes easy. My body aches, my blisters burn, but I relish my victory, as dumb as it may have been.
I make it to the retreat by every means of transportation possible. A plane, a bus, a taxi, a motorbike, even a boat.
When I finally arrive, I find a bunch of other people much like myself, searching for something, knowing only what we’ve been told. Scared, yet hopeful. We go through some exercises to meet each other and to explain the ceremony. Food is served. The fare is light and healthy, to prepare us for the cleansing we are about to experience.
As night falls the tension rises and the ceremony, what we’ve all come here for, finally begins. I’m given the pungent drink and taken back to my area where I will experience this journey with my healer.
About a half hour passes before I feel anything and then it hits me. I begin to see shapes and colors. Geometric patterns, the sacred geometry as it’s called. Ayahuasca is a purgative substance, and my body reacts accordingly. The heat and humidity of the jungle are stifling. I feel like I’m suffocating. Like there is no escape. Why am I doing this? How is this going to heal me?
The next morning, I wake and realize there was something primordial about my four-and-a-half-hour experience. There was something ancient in the ayahuasca. Something to be respected. This wasn’t just another trip to do drugs and forget my problems. This is what I had been searching for. Even though I couldn’t figure it out yet, I knew the answers were here. I hope tonight’s journey holds the answers, but it doesn’t.
The second night is even more intense. I try my Ranger technique, counting down the seconds until the trip is over, but the ayahuasca knows my game. I am on the border of sanity. I am on the edge. I can feel it. I need to keep going. I need to trust the process. I can feel it. There is something on the other side.
The third night approaches and I’m not sure I’ll leave with my sanity, that I’ll be rendered insane. I write a letter to my family apologizing for willingly doing this to myself. I hope they understand I had to try. As the ceremony begins its hard to stomach the transformative liquid. I don’t know if it’s the pungent taste or the knowledge of what lies ahead, but I fight it down and begin my journey.
The ayahuasca hits hard and fast. I start purging immediately. Maybe it’s the medicine being built up inside me or maybe it’s my body trying to tell me to stop; either way, it’s too late. I don’t know how much more of this I can take…
I see a blue hand reaching for me. It grabs me and pulls me. It pulls me through a vortex. It pulls me from the humid jungle. It pulls me from the purging and retching.
It pulls me into a cool, calm, place. A peaceful place. I feel a breeze wash over me as I calm down. But what if I go back? The void appears around me and I begin to fall. Back into the torturous, suffocating jungle. I vomit and realize that I made myself come back here. I let my mind take me back to this place, away from the peace and calm. I still my thoughts and the hand returns. It takes me back through the vortex where all is perfect. I repeat this several more times until I am able to calm my mind. I am in control of my thoughts. This is what the ayahuasca wants me to know. Tranquility.
Night four is here. The final night. It starts like the past three nights, retching and purging, but I’ve learned now. I calm my mind and I am taken back to my peaceful place. I think this is it. I have mastered what ayahuasca wants me to know, or so I think. Really, the journey is just beginning. I wish I could tell you about it, but I don’t know how to put it into words. It was indescribable. What I can say is this.
I was a warrior. I had been to war, and I have suffered from it. That’s why I’m here after all, isn’t it? To stop the suffering. And despite all these years, from learning how to become a warrior to trying to block out the memory of it, I have never been as connected to my warrior spirit as I am right now. For the first time in a long time, I feel the integrity, the honor, and nobility of my warrior spirit. I have finally found what’s been missing. I’m finally ready. I am ready to face the challenge of the journey that is ahead of me.