When I was 27 years old, I found myself alone in the Amazon, drinking a potent tea that made me see demons. It was unquestionably one of the most harrowing experiences of my entire life. It’s only upon reflection weeks, months, and years later that I have made sense of the experience and what it taught me about loneliness.

Ayahuasca is a blend of two plants native to the Amazon, which, when consumed individually, do not produce any special or psychedelic effects. However, when combined and ingested in a tea-like cocktail, the result is a profound hallucinogenic experience.

Given there about 80,000 plant species in the Amazon, the chances of someone randomly picking these 2 plants alone are about 1 in 3.2 billion. Not to mention making them into a tea. This probability is so unlikely, that it is widely believed there was some divine guidance at play, which helped the Indigenous settlers discover this immensely powerful combination and elixir.

I was in Peru for a wedding of one of my best friends. At the end of the wedding ceremony, my friends were planning the rest of their trips throughout Peru or in some cases to Argentina to make the most of their time in South America. I began to prepare my mind for leaving all my childhood friends, and embarking on my own journey, which I reasoned would be less fun but more enlightening.  

I met Edgar, my psychedelic guide and shamanic interpreter, at the edge of Cusco. He called us a taxi, and I trustingly got into a car with him and the driver, handed them $250, and drove 90 minutes from the edge of the city into the countryside.

We arrived at a remote looking farm near some mountains, where I was greeted by a group of friendly dogs, free-range chickens, and spotted some cows and horses in the distance.

I remember being struck at how many dogs had nipples here in Peru. Dogs are so often neutered in American cities that I hadn’t ever considered female dogs should have nipples. I felt pity at how disconnected I had become from nature.

The taxi driver got out of the car and went inside the hut to change out of his suit-jacket. When he emerged from the bathroom, I was surprised to see he was in traditional shamanic robes. I quickly learned that while he drives taxis to make additional money for his family, his true artistic calling is in leading plant ceremonies.

The shaman spoke a local dialect similar to Spanish but unintelligible to me. Edgar and I spoke in Spanish about what my intentions for this journey were, which he translated for the shaman.

As I began to take in my environment, I noticed that there was no one else around. I reminded Edgar I had paid for the group experience and was curious when everyone else would arrive.  He informed me that no one else signed up and suddenly I got nervous.

As soon as I got wind that I would be alone, I became hyper-vigilant. Was I going to get robbed? Kidnapped? I realized literally no one on earth knew where I was. I looked at Edgar and then at the floor. I took a deep breath and reaffirmed my trust in the universe for putting me exactly where I needed to be. “Vamos, pues”.  

The shaman began the ceremony outside, by placing flowers on my feet, head, and shoulders. They smelled great. It was nice. What followed was less pleasant, as he reached into his burlap sack and took out the carcass of a baby alpaca, which he then shook somewhat violently and began tapping it along my feet, legs, and circled around my torso and head. This had a purpose of course, which Edgar explained, but it didn’t register, as I was honestly taken aback by the dead animal.  

What followed was a slow and beautiful process of preparing the ayahuasca leaves. The two plants are stripped of all leaves, blessed with unadulterated tobacco smoke, and eventually brewed into a tea. I drank a full cup and ½ of a second cup. It tasted abhorrent.

I then settled into a bunch of blankets and pillows and began to relax as the shaman played traditional Amazonian flute music, which warmed my soul. After about an hour I began to doze in and out of consciousness. I felt sleepy, floaty, and remember thinking this experience is what I would expect an opium den to feel and look like.

I sat up slightly and noticed beside me was the shaman, Edgar, and a nurse who they had brought in to check my vitals every few hours. At some point during my half slumber, I came to and realized the music had stopped. I looked for the shaman and realized he was not there.

“Donde está el señor”? I asked with as much effort as I could muster.

Edgar informed me that he had left to do another ceremony (I found out later that they had apparently double-booked ceremonies — why I couldn’t have joined the other one I still don’t know). At first, I was in disbelief, but soon I became extremely distraught. The shaman represented the paternal energy in the ceremony, and I felt as if I had just been abandoned by my own father and protector. Panic began to set in.

Edgar was encouraging me to lean into my discomfort, and I wanted to punch him in the face. I looked over at the nurse and I swear to God she was fast asleep. What in the actual shit am I doing here?

What followed for the next 2 hours was the most neurotic, twisted, negative self-talk that I have ever experienced. I began to wonder about all my friends from the wedding and what they were doing. Why was I not with them? Did they miss me? Why do I continually pave my own path when others are willing to help me? What is wrong with me? Why do I live so far from my family? Why am I so alone? I’m so alone. I’m so lonely. God help me.

Then, the purge happened.

The purge is what happens to almost everyone who drinks ayahuasca, which is a violent throwing up of everything in your stomach (there are certain diets and fasting that is encouraged for the weeks prior). What came out of me was black, it was violent, and it was in large quantities.

Once that black liquid had left my body, I felt all the darkness and heaviness lift off my body. I felt every bit of neuroticism that had plagued me for the last 2 hours immediately leave my consciousness. I began to cry tears of joy as I felt more lightness and more relief than I have probably ever felt.

I recognized that I was not currently nor was I ever truly alone. Despite my initial hesitation about Edgar, he was with me and led me safely through this remarkable and treacherous journey. I also felt the connection to so many important people in my life: the many friends just 45 miles east in Cusco, my parents 4000 miles away, and my grandparents and ancestors who have passed on many miles from earth. Those feelings of love gave me all the evidence I needed that I was not alone after all.

I gave Edgar a big hug and probably let out a guttural yell. All I wanted was a hot shower, but of course, there was no hot water, and so I took a cold shower, and prepared for sleep.

About 6 months later, I found myself at home in Denver, alone on a Friday night. This was a situation that had in the past, triggered feelings of loneliness. However, this time, something was different. I recognized I was alone, but I felt remarkably okay. I began to write down some of my thoughts about the experience and its connection to feeling lonely:

1. Those negative feelings and thoughts I endured during my dark night of the soul were so intense that any subsequent moments of being lonely have been dwarfed. My pain barometer for loneliness was effectively reset with a higher threshold.
2. My loneliness was really a longing for connection that I had banished and ignored. By acknowledging that truth in ceremony, I was able to slowly integrate and accept that part of me with less resistance.
3. I chose to move a lot in my twenties but loneliness never got easier through repeated exposure. It was only lessened through the perspective shift of acceptance without resistance.
4. Feeling lonely is not that different from any “negative” emotion: It is self-centered, and presumes that I am different from others and therefore hard to know, it is fleeting, even when it feels like it might be permanent, and it is an emotional signal that something should change.
5. Feeling lonely may be an invitation to connect with others, but in the instances where that is not possible, it is an invitation to connect with myself. Writing, meditating, and being alone in nature seem to be the best ways to transmute loneliness into something I can feel proud of.

I have come to know through listening to others that everyone’s experience with Ayahuasca is uniquely their own. Some people claim it was the most supported they’ve ever felt by friends and the universe, others have reconciled with their enemies, and some have even had visions of prophecy.

I can only speak to my own experience with this powerful medicine, which is not something to be taken lightly. I knew going in that it was going to be intense, but I didn’t know what I didn’t know. And I certainly didn’t expect to be blessed with a dead baby Alpaca.

Although I felt exhausted and mentally drained leaving Peru, I now wouldn’t change a thing. Instead of the harmonious social journey I’d imagined, I was plunged into a darkness that opened my eyes to what I was ignoring. Through that, I was able to uncover a more complete version of myself – a version that is stronger and more confident.

Next, I’ll have the chance to test my understanding of loneliness even more, as I prepare for another solo adventure — moving to Australia to continue my soul’s desire for growth and fulfillment.