I am cold, cranky, and covered in leaves. It's nearing 10 p.m. on a Friday in November, and I'm lying outside on the ground in a flimsy sleeping bag. Around me, people are wailing and throwing up into mini plastic trash cans. One woman dances in front of the fire and beats a hand drum. They're feeling the effects of ayahuasca, a potent plant-based psychedelic tea. But despite drinking two cups of the foul-tasting muddy brew, I feel nothing. I'm impatient for it to kick in. I'd come to the three-day all-women ayahuasca retreat expecting nothing less than total transformation. |
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