Previous
Previous
Four phases with ayahuasca
Next
Next
Stories of the travels, initiations, magick, and not knowing what I was doing. In order.
Five weeks through Mexico's sacred sites — the initiations, the hitchhiking, and the places that did nothing at all.
My PM brain had absolutely nothing it could latch on to. A cave, a monastery, and a year in Asia coming to an end.
From north to south: ayurveda, an ashram crisis, a tiny temple on a building site, and a goddess who said 'this is all my temple’.
“No one's coming to save you." Two months in Varanasi — the guru disasters, the cremation grounds, and the one Sadhu whose face still shows up.
No temples. No sacred sites. Just the local beach restaurants and the 7/11. A short trip, some very strange things, and a sign that sent me off again.
I remembered who I was then. Three months across Java, following a calling I couldn't quite explain.
I stood before the mountain and tears came pouring as though straight from my heart, as lifetimes of separation melted into the vastness.
I'd given my van – complete with double bed, kitchen, wardrobe and wood burner – to a deity. Nine weeks of preparation, a circuit of the temples, and an initiation in the desert. I dozed off for most of it.
Nine articles remembering van life and my Underworld journey during Covid. What took me from London to Peru.
We all have our own curriculum. You don't need a van. You don't need to visit where anyone else has been. And you don't need to drink ayahuasca.