I decided to spend a summer in New York as part of a reconnection between past and present. I had not lived there in years, although I typically made an annual pilgrimage just to keep in touch with friends, family, and colleagues. As synchronicity would have it I was able to connect easily with a group offering a shamanic bufo ceremony to performed by a reformed Mexican addict, M, who had found the path of spiritual healing. Although I had not heard of him, I looked up his website where it was written that he is not a shaman, but that each person was their own shaman. That alone might have convinced me that he was the real thing, but after talking with the organizer, a woman I had only spoken to over long distance and whom I had accidently bumped into at the Chapel of Sacred Mirrors not a week prior, gave me the feeling they would provide a safe environment for additional rebirthing.
Despite my previous encounters with the medicine, I was somewhat nervous the week before, the mantra “each time is the first time” – “cada vez es el primero” echoed in my head. I practiced yoga and deep meditations all week and instead of going out with friends, like I had been nearly every night, I stayed home and got a good night’s rest. Thus, when I arrived in suburban Connecticut I felt largely at peace despite the new people and the new environment – a lovely house and pool surrounded by an verdant abundance of trees and plants of all varieties, with a small pond to boot. We sat outside in a circle in the shade on the hottest day of the year and I awaited my turn, while the first-timers went before. People of all ages and stripes were there – and while some took the medicine and more or less relaxed into their nirvana, others struggled, twisted, and turned in what seemed to be their own pain and agony. One large and very muscular fellow went into deeply contorted twists and rolls on grass, coupled with shouts, and required a little restraint by the facilitators to keep him from perhaps hurting himself or rolling into the pond. While ultimately peaceful at the end, it took four of them to keep him safe. I was impressed in how smoothly they did that and realized how professional they were just to keep space for him, and yet allow him to go through his journey.
When it was my turn, I came forward to accept the medicine peacefully. I had practiced my breathing beforehand and was ready to go. I held the pipe in my hands for several minutes, prayed for a safe journey, and then looked into the eyes of M as he lit the pipe and the material vaporized. I breathed it in slowly, counting until ten, until none was left. Arms raised, mouth agape, I went under and as my mind wouldn’t easily relinquish control I let out a loud roar. This seems to be my way to let go, at least sometimes. Then after everything exploded into sheer white light in my mind, I faced (or more matter-of-factly, became) a crystal clear, perfectly symmetrical, circular geometric matrix of radiant color – a beautiful mandala.
I, mandala
I was the mandala, a circular fractal of different colors and overlapping geometries, and the mandala was me. Not intricate, nor greatly detailed like elaborate Tibetan mandalas, it was quite simple yet beautiful and most pure in color, though I admit (somewhat sadly) that I’m not able to recall the exact details. Jung noted that the urge to make mandalas occurs during intense personal growth, an idea that did not escape me. Others have denoted its ability to create a mystical state of oneness with ultimate unity consciousness. The bodhisattva, Avalokitesvara, said that those who see the mandala are ready for the truth. At that moment, the unmanifested source appeared to me as a great mandala of love, of pure perfection, truth and beauty. Nothing matches the grandeur of what I felt, for it was not me, and yet it was me.
Again, I find that thou art that.
As I began sliding back into my normal mode of consciousness, I sensed my presence back in the body and found myself rolling on the ground, grasping the warm wet earth and grass. It was so good to alive – so delicious to be back in form! How lucky we are to be in form consciousness! I suddenly realized that the others were watching my little rebirth show and I enjoyed letting them watch. I suppose the ego-self wanted the attention, and I indulged it. After all, one doesn’t go straight from the waking state to ego death and back every day. Yet, as I recovered on the lawn in the sun I felt free and laughed deeply at my own silly egoic existence, but also embraced myself and the fact I have this fantastic body and mind that lives in this amazing world of opportunity and form. I am so lucky I said to myself – and say it every day – gracias por la vida.