Our greatest battles in life will always be with ourselves.

Although my life looked good from the outside – I was happily married, had a beautiful son and successful restaurant business in Cornwall – inside, I was at breaking point. I couldn’t even look at myself. If I saw my reflection in a shop window I'd feel such intense self-loathing, I’d actually have to curse at myself in disgust.

Chronic insomnia and anxiety had plagued me for my entire adult life. I’d struggled with alcoholism in the past but, in recent years, I mainly coped by staying relentlessly busy. It worked, to a point, but I knew I wanted more out of life. I wanted more for my family. So I eventually found my way to the medicine. This is my story.

Night 1:

I can’t control my breathing. Deep, fast breaths – they keep coming. I’m worried it’s stopping me from engaging with the medicine. Then, ever so gently, I connect with her. Suddenly, I feel open, calm, strong, and ready to face anything.

I understand, “There is no threat. There is no judgment.”

Still, I can’t slow my breathing. I ask her if we can make an exchange: If she can help me slow my heart rate, I can focus on the work without fear. It happens instantly and I feel myself sink into a deeply tranquil, meditative space.

We begin with her showing me answers to some of the questions I’d come with. Nothing terrifying. All incredibly grounding and necessary. I feel so much respect and praise for the medicine. Little by little, I allow it to work its way to the core of my being.

Now that we trust each other completely, she starts to find her way into my pain. Flashbacks of my rape. The scents, colours, temperature. All the while, crucially, identifying the space between then and now. Actually feeling the distance. There is no threat.

A small voice says, “I’m sorry for being so scared”.

Something shifts in me. From that moment onwards, I feel pure compassion for myself. A deep reservoir of quiet, caring sadness for blaming myself. I see how misplaced these feelings have been, and how close I am to realising this pain has no place in me.

Simultaneously, I’m given confirmation of my place in this world and what our plans are, but I have to start applying my moral compass more. It’s a powerful tool, one that we all have, but we have to act upon what we know is right.

A moment later, I feel a powerful force wash over me. It’s a different energy from the medicine and I recognise a friend who’s no longer with us. She praises me for my courage and asks me to check on her children. I feel so humbled to have been open enough to witness her presence.

Witness is a big word for the whole evening. In and out, waves of tenderness move through me. There’s no room for fear. I feel so much love for my wife, my son and my unborn child that the space required for fear cannot be made. There’s no room for it.

Q: “Why doesn’t my son like to go to sleep?”

A: “Because he wants to see the world, so show him.”

I know I can be a vessel for this medicine and its teachings. If I can commit myself to this role and keep focused, I know I’ll be able to leave behind the fear of my trauma. Where is its use? I’m certainly worth the love and compassion required to dissolve it.

This isn’t only a personal transformation now, it’s spreading far back into my earlier life and far off into my distant future. Sitting parallel to those far-reaching roots is the present. The ground I sit on right now. The place where I can change both the past and the future.

A sentence keeps repeating in my mind:

“Feelings are the language of life.”

Is that corny? It’s bloody true! I see that all the anxiety I built up in the weeks before this retreat is just a language – a language that’s hard for us to interpret. I feel so much gratitude and give thanks for everything I’m being given. Each time, I’m blessed with yet more.

I’m reminded to look after my body. I know how to do this but I haven’t been doing it. I feel overwhelming gratitude for the ayahuascero who guides us through ceremony. For his bravery. For his knowledge. I feel a deep debt of gratitude and I shall honour it by trusting him fully and following his advice.

Rapé is served – a powerful shot up each nostril – and it blasts clarity into everything I’m seeing and feeling. Tears roll down my face as I feel the loss of my friend who came to me. The tears continue to flow as I feel the weight of my sorrow in life up until this point – all the pain I’ve been unable to express.

Then, in an instant, I feel joy for the future ahead of me. I finish the ceremony with sananga and it seals the lessons of the evening deep into my mind. Later, I’m outside the yurt, gazing up at a full moon, with a bowl of hot soup in my hands. It’s cold outside but beautiful.

As I climb into my bed at the end of the night, I receive one final suggestion:“Don’t hesitate tomorrow. Trust yourself and trust me.”

I’ve turned up to work and that’s what I’m going to do.

Night 2:

“There is no threat, only joy.”

This is my mantra as I head into our second ceremony. I know tonight will be longer, and more intense, and will take me further into my pain. I’ll need something familiar to hold onto if it gets too hard. After all, I’ve come here to face my largest obstacle. I respect its weight. It will take a lot to shift it.

I listen to the advice from one of the musicians/ helpers:

“You can make the choice to be happy in this space.”

I hear the same message echoed by the ayahuascero:

“There is only joy.”

Like the flame from a candle that flickers with the music throughout the night but still has only one task, I begin to feel the intensity of this medicine once again. But this time, I don’t hesitate. I don’t surrender, or give in to the medicine, I join it.

We work in harmony to let go of that which does not serve me anymore. It asks such difficult questions and requires such deep trust as it heads easily into every part of me. I remind myself, almost constantly, there really is nothing but joy.

It asks me to relive everything just one last time. It’s such a big ask. I admit, I struggle with this for a moment. Then, a huge wave crashes over me. I take in the chants, I breathe in the energy from them, and I let her into everything.

We work through it all slowly. It hurts so much to confront my rape in such detail and clarity, but she’s asking this of me to make sure there’s nothing left behind. She takes all of the power out of these memories – only joy is left.

She offers me distractions; mind-bending colours and shapes take over my vision, like an anaesthetic almost. She pulls everything apart and replaces it with the truth. You can’t argue with the truth: it stands up to any questions because it’s the truth. And the truth is: there is no threat, nor should there be any fear. Only joy.

I want to be present, to show willingness, and support her in her work. I refocus my vision back into the room and breathe deeply to give her more space to work with. We are one. The ayahuascero’s chants stretch into the night far longer than normal. But I’m smiling through it.

Big connections are made. I see my unborn child is being brought into this world by the very spirit that’s with me right now: the spirit of the rainforest. Absolutely no question about it. My wife and I are responsible for this living descendant of the rainforest. Such an honour – such joy.

Oh my, what colossal respect I have for my wife; her bravery, kindness and endless compassion. She’s a divine soul. I must fully support her through everything needed to bring this child into the world. I also feel proud of myself. For facing uncertainty with a full heart and replacing anything scary with happiness, understanding and joy.

These waves have been crashing for some time now, but why would I want this to end? Let’s explore: I meet all manner of people, old and new. I see them and they see me. I see ways to help the ones I love –band the ones I don’t. I see the beauty in everything.

I understand I’m being given the power to navigate my way through all of life's problems. It’s complex simplicity. (You can’t get more simple than knowing that the answer to all questions is only joy.) This is the key to the human heart and I’ve just found my key.

That’s why these beautiful souls are here, dedicating their lives to heal others. They’ve travelled with the medicine far, far inside themselves, repeating the same thing to us as we commit ourselves to these ceremonies.

Q: As this new version of myself walks back into my old life, how do I keep these lessons fresh?

A: Make time for it. Focus on the joy. Above all else, let the lessons guide your life with a sense of purpose. Remember, you have the ability to change your perspective on even the most difficult (seemingly impossible) experiences.

I feel the energy of these lessons circulating around my body – only joy. I see that my son is a constant, powerful source of happiness and love. He arrived 6 years ago to this night, bringing with him joys that were previously unknown to me.

He shows me how to be tender and kind. He embodies the lessons of faith in the unknown – which is exactly what we all need to not be scared. He teaches me all this by purely existing. Do not resist.

Know that we all have the ability to view everything with as much wonder and happiness as a child. He’s the walking representation of the lessons I’m being given. Brought into this world by none other than myself and my wife’s love for each other.

Hours pass by. The chants swap from one host to another. I very slowly start to return to the space. I want to feel the cold air on my skin, so I go outside and meet the ayahuascero at the entrance of the yurt.

I explain the difficult time I’ve been having; the flashbacks and rewriting of emotions. I realise my fears leading up to the retreat were never about the medicine – I feared the source of my pain and my ability to confront it.

He hugs me. He says how proud he is of the work I’m doing. He calls me a legend (and he doesn’t use language like that unless he truly means it). He loves me, truly. I’m not here to seek his approval, but it means so, so much to me that he believes in me.

I respect him with my whole being. He’s seen everything that I am and holds me as a close friend, pushing me to heal more and trusting that I’m powerful enough to handle this journey. A great change has taken place and I spend the rest of the night embracing it and thinking about my wife, son and unborn child.

Only joy.

How reassuring it is to be in a room full of people who are all pushing themselves to be more open, and more loving, to everything and everyone. Given the choice, I think everyone on this planet would come to the same conclusion if they connected with the medicine. We all have trauma, in various weights and sizes. Forgiveness is the tool of kindness.

At the end of the ceremony, we’re presented with the opportunity to release unwanted energy memories into a small log that’s burnt. I don’t hesitate. I think of the man who raped me, and all of the pain and confusion he must have had inside of him to be able to justify his actions against me.

In this moment, I realise I can start being the man I need to be. I have everything I need. He most definitely did not. I place his pain in the log, for him, not for myself, because I am full of joy. The log is taken from me. It’s burnt, gone, dissolved – forever.

A simple but powerful agreement has taken place. The weekend's work has been etched inside my mind, my heart and my soul.

Haux Haux.

The day after the retreat:

I’ve arranged to meet my mum to make sure she knows I’m OK. We walk towards each other, from opposite ends of the London park, an area I used to pass by regularly 25 years ago.

We walk and talk for a while, then part company. Without a plan for my day, I keep walking; just going along with what feels right. Then a strange thing happens. I see a small bracelet on the floor, and I feel the impulse to go to the place where I was raped.

It’s really odd because I never walk around these parts of London. No one I know lives here anymore. I have no reason to be here. But it's very close by, so I breathe in deeply, walking slowly along the roads that are all part of my trauma.

Geographically, this place has tormented me for too long. But now, there’s only joy. So I carry on, careful not to push myself too far too quickly, but this all feels naturally very good. No fast breathing.

No fear. Only joy.

I walk past a large bay tree, and don’t know why, but I remove a leaf and apply it to the bracelet – a token of my place within the place, from then until now. The smell of the bay is beautiful.

I locate the spot where it happened. It's not hard to find; I’ve thought about this place every day for 25 years. Still no fear, only joy. I find a log to sit on, in the place that I was raped, and I close my eyes. I meditate on everything I've been taught.

I sink deep into myself. I thank the medicine. I thank everyone who’s helped me get here and I’m smiling. The sun is breaking through the clouds and it warms my face. I’m in complete harmony with myself and my life. Only joy.

I open my eyes and realise this place has no hold over me.

I step onto the log, and carefully reach up to a branch to attach the bracelet to the tree. It’s an offering of love and happiness, to slowly filter into this small patch of what I considered hell for so long. I’ve just sat in hell and smiled. I realise our greatest battles in life will always be with ourselves.
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