Burning the bridges to joy

Last weekend was a puzzle. Every piece of the puzzle was there to remind me how I have shut out joy.

I was in a huge old farm house in the middle of nowhere, somewhere in the Alps. 

People from all around the world had found their way there to drink plant medicine. To drink Ayahuasca. The people who were more experienced, called it: seeing Grandmother.

There were a lot of participants from Slovenia.

A reminder that the last time I was happy was in 2007 when I was studying Slovenian. A language I’ve been ignoring for almost two decades, because there wasn’t any money in it. Nevermind that from all Slavic languages it’s my favorite. It brings joy. Burn it.

There was a young man with a cancer.  A reminder of how one of my best friends died of cancer at 24 and the slots of joy he took up in my spirit I never gave to someone else.

There were several men being very supportive and kind to me. A reminder that I don’t allow men to be kind to me, past a certain degree. A reminder also that I can’t stand being vulnerable in front of people, especially men. A reminder even that I suspect men will attack if they see weakness in me. Imagine my surprise when they didn’t see me as weak for talking about what was hurting, but as courageous.

While drinking the plant medicine there was live music, non-stop.

A reminder that when my father left to another world I cremated his corpse along with the joy of music. My father collected vinyl records. Why enjoy music with my father gone? 

I described my childhood to one older man. I said I had a happy childhood, all in all.

The man said it sounded like a horror movie to him. Something so crazy and full of contradictions it could be a Netflix series.

There was a lot of love in my childhood.

I came up with the idea that I lived Between Love and Horror back then.

Of course, at least half of the experience was about my son. How I basically strive to surround him with love and as little horror as possible.

Based on how excited and curious and jumping for joy he usually is I may have halfway succeeded.

Ayahuasca, or Grandmother, showed me how I have hurt some people. The people who deserved it the least.

It was a brutal experience.

At a certain point I was sure I was about to die.

Me nothing having healthy borders also ensured I drank all of it I could get.

My visions went on for about 5 hours longer than most, which was terrifying at first, but kind men, strong men, talked me through it.

The most essential message I got was that I choose to hang on to the bit of negativity in my life and block out all joy, except for my son. My son is the only light I allow in. Something Zuzana had already told me years ago.

I could write a good one hundred pages about this weekend and maybe I will.

But those wondering now have some idea of what was going on.

Aho.