For me, there’s always been this point within the Ayahuasca experience, where Grandmother morphs into a dominatrix as she renders me incapable and holds me down with a force that resembles BDSM. This time was no different. Even though I was more surrendered than not when she took me, I lost the option to either withdraw or continue my compliance. She simply forced it. She made me feel the darkness. Let me explain. Think about the thing about which you most hate to think. What does it make you feel? Dread? Fear? Regret? Guilt? Sorrow?
Now imagine that even though you forgot the reason, the thought + emotion, that made you feel that way, you still have to feel it.
That’s how it is for me with Grandmother Aya. She makes me stay with the dark feeling. It’s about tolerating it and not running away from it. Under this part of her spell, I cannot think my way out of it. I can only feel my way through it. And that’s where I was after that second shot. Then I vomited again. But after that, I was gradually brought up to not just ecstasy, but the ecstasy of all ecstasies. I was one with every feeling-emotion that was desirable. It was more intense than ever before.
I could hardly breathe deep enough, to expand enough, to contain it as it filled me up. I could take it only if I emitted the noise of pleasure with my heaving exhales. But even so, it was against my will, that those sounds of ecstasy escaped my lips. I could not stop them then anymore than I could back when Tyrone and I were a thing. Then, no matter how much resentment I was holding against him, once he pleasured me to a certain point, I lost control of not only my ability to reject him, but also my ability to suppress verbal expression. And this was like that.
I was aware of this and I felt deeply embarrassed.
Except for the first time, I always maintained dual awareness when I was with Grandmother. I knew which part was able to be perceived in the physical space around me, and which part was perceivable only in the non-physical. If only I would’ve been an exhibitionist, the forced transparency would have been appreciated. Regardless, my body had become a vessel for unconditional love like a cup full and overflowing. I felt the most satiated I had ever been. And so I spontaneously burst into worship.
I pleaded with this Love, “Take me. Own me! I want to be with you forever. I’m yours. You are what I want!”
I shamelessly begged like a simp, drunk on love. Or, maybe I was, as Beyoncé might say, drunk in love. Either way, Love answered, “But wait! You said you would never be owned. You even have your song about it, remember?” And with that, Love began to play my theme song, the one I played on repeat when I felt especially rebellious. “You don’t own me,” the lyrics blared. “No!” I insisted, “I don’t care. I want you to own me. Take me. I want you!” And so Love agreed and took my soul. But that wasn’t the end, because the ceremony took an unexpected turn.
P.S. Above is the version by SayGrace, the one to which I often listened on repeat. It is the one which Love began playing for me. Below is Kyla Jade’s version. If I could change Kyla’s words to say, “Have me, own me,” instead of, “You don’t own me,” etc., her raw passion after the halfway mark would be a perfect representation of my own intensity while entreating Love to take me.