In the weeks leading up to this retreat, I had a persistent feeling of my mother’s energy surrounding and supporting my preparations. Randomly, or so I thought, I dedicated this retreat to honor her memory. It had been a long time since I had a palpable exchange with her. She died in 2007, and throughout the immediate years following I would occasionally feel her presence, often inspired by a cardinal landing nearby, as well as the time I broke 80 on the golf course for the first time (In our last conversation when I crawled into bed with her, I asked her to put a word into the golf Gods for me). The last visit I recall was in 2011 when she came to visit my bedside when I was recovering from knee surgery. She just wanted to let me know everything was going to be ok.
Then it was silence until March of 2023 during an intense psychedelic-assisted therapy session*, I was blessed with the vision of seeing the moments immediately following my birth and revisited the first time I looked into my mother’s eyes. There was nothing but 100% pure love. I could see it, feel it, hear it. And now I know it. If there were any lingering doubts about the depth and purity of love in a mother’s eyes when she first sees her newborn child, they were dispelled immediately.
In March of 2024 I entered Rythmia Life Advancement Center for the third time. Like my previous two visits, this would be filled with a series of truths unveiled, each in its own perfect timing.
Amongst the visions of the first night, leaning in with the intention, “Show me who I have become.” I was led down a path thinking about my mother and our relationship. While she was always proud of my accomplishments, I’ve always carried with me the sense that it just wasn’t quite good enough. I was shown how I had carried with me the notion that in addition to doing good things, it was important for me to understand how my actions affected others. What felt initially like conditional love, I came to realize, was really a call to practice more compassion and empathy in my daily life. For all of my life, I believed I was raised in the spirit of pre-engineered codependency. I was about to know in the deepest possible way just how wrong I was.
The third ceremony, designed to call on and celebrate the divine feminine, is historically my most powerful of the 4 ceremonies during each retreat at Rythmia. With the intention, “Please heal my heart” I drank the first cup. The feeling of nausea kicked in immediately. I fast-walked back to my mattress and sat down, hugging my plastic puke bucket atop my crossed legs. Nausea is part of the ayahuasca experience, and my own history has shown me that a ‘good purge’ is simply me releasing some emotion or energy that no longer serves me: A gift of a great release accompanied by a great truth.
I didn’t get sick. For two hours I was writhing with intestinal pain that would ebb and flow, but never go away. I was able/compelled to purge diarrhea, but none of that provided any relief from the persistent nausea. The following day the men at nearby mattresses commented that I seemed to be, “really going through it” with the moaning and rolling around.
After about two hours I heard the call for the second cup. The nausea had ebbed a bit, and I told myself that “maybe ¼ cup” could push me over the edge so I could vomit to get my big surprise. I forced myself up and walked towards the back of the line. After 30 seconds the nausea kicked into another gear, thus compelling me to return to my mattress for a rest. A few minutes later I was back in line, this time with my bucket in hand. As I moved to the second position the assistant shaman asked the questions, “Do you feel the medicine? Did you have visions? Did you purge?”
I leaned over with my hands on my knees, my bucket held by my pinky finger, and whispered in a guttural tone, “Light visions, bottom purge, crazy nausea, but no vomit.
“Then suddenly, from the deepest part of my gut, the nausea kicked in a little harder. By this time snot and tears were free-falling from my face holes onto the floor when suddenly out of my mouth came the words, “I need my mommy’s forgiveness”. Sobbing and snotting ensued, the assistant shaman had his hand on my back, gently guiding me closer to Shaman Maria. He took my bucket. She took my cup, turned around to fill it to the brim, and blessed the medicine. The assistant helps me stand upright and as Maria turns around with the full cup, I say to myself, “Fuck me. I never told them just ¼ cup”.
I have no idea where that guttural longing plea for forgiveness had come from, but it was deep, and clearly, it was time to come out.
Trusting the process, I gulped the cup down and took my bucket back from the assistant, fully expecting it to trigger a massive projectile vomit before I could get back to my mattress. Unfortunately, I made it back to my mattress without puking. The nausea continues. Explosive diarrhea continued. But there was no vomitous relief. For another 4 hours or so this repeated itself. The agonizing nausea teased me but never got me that full-throated, empty bellied release I was desperately seeking.
Around 1:30 AM or so, six hours into the ceremony, the song “Akaal” (Ajeet ft. Trevor Hall) was playing. I felt an easing of the nausea. Then the vision of my mother’s face appeared next to mine, her sweet face from the 70’s. I could feel her breath on my cheek, as clear as a bell she said in her most gentle and loving voice, “Of course, I forgive you, Patrick! You are my son.”
Then the download from the universe stamps itself onto my soul, “There is no mommy. There is no me. There is only forgiveness”.
The nausea subsided, a broad smile graced my face, and I fell asleep.
There are two lessons I’ve learned from the Shamans experienced with this healing work that prepared me for this unexpected reveal. The first is that the medicine’s intelligence will know where the highest priority of healing is for me. I just need to remain open to the process. The second is I need to be willing, “To forgive the unforgivable.” These two lessons availed themselves to me again during this ceremony.
Following the retreat, I spent a couple days at the beach in Tamarindo, then headed home. The day I arrived I received a check in the mail from the IRS, my father’s 2020 tax refund that we had been wrestling over for years. While my father died in 2021, it was as if the check was his way of saying, “Thank you for doing the work!”
Carolyn Myss once said, “Forgiveness is the currency of healing.” Forgiveness from Mom, and gratitude from Dad. Not a bad night’s work.
*20 Grams Albino Penis Envy (Psilocybin)
tongonpig 