My healing journey with Psychedelics
My healing journey, cultivated over the years, has been paved with healing tools and ethical healers: gifts from Mother Nature herself. Since childhood, I sensed that there is more beyond the conditioning of society. My indigenous female lineage has given me an intuition and a knowing that gently guide my steps on this Earth.
Communing with Ayahuasca through ethical ceremonies led by wise shamans has helped me heal past traumas and receive guidance and visions for my writing. Some call her Madre, some call her Mother, most call her Ayahuasca. To me she is Madre: ancient, wise, and compassionate. I hold reverence for her.
In my ancestral shamanic tradition, Ayahuasca is seen as a teacher and ally who can reveal cures, memories, and insights. My experience is dialogic: I hear, feel, and sense guidance from ancestral beings, spirits of the forest, and the medicine itself. She is a teacher, a messenger.
Ayahuasca: A thick, dark brew brewed from the Banisteriopsis caapi vine, sometimes simmered with other rainforest leaves. It carries a deep, bitter, earthy aroma—ancient and medicinal, with a complexity that shifts from resinous sweetness to a woody bite as it settles in the palate.
The vine (Banisteriopsis caapi): A woody liana whose inner bark and stems contribute beta-carboline alkaloids that interact with the DMT in accompanying plants. In traditional contexts it is revered as the conduit, the “vine of the spirit,” guiding me through altered states and visions
The leaf (often Psychotria viridis, chacruna): green, lance-shaped leaves that carry DMT. When paired with the vine, they unlock the plant’s spirit-vision, inviting me to perceive realms beyond ordinary sight.
As I sit with these teachings, I am invited into a dialogue that feels ancient and intimate. The voices I hear are never distant: they press closer, threading through memory and presence, soothing old fractures and naming the tenderness I’ve carried. This is not a spectacle but a homecoming and an invitation to trust what hums in my chest, to honour the lineage that carries me, and to write from the centre where earth, breath, and memory meet. My healing is ongoing, a quiet practice of listening, tending, and returning to the rhythm I’ve always known that I am held, that I am worthy, and that healing can be a shared, sacred journey.