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For years, I’ve been hearing people talk about the whole experience with so much awe and reverence that, at first, my inner skeptic screamed, “Ignore them!”

The line between “life-changing, inner-exploratory, and soul-healing experience” and “party drug” is often very thin.

The ceremony started around 6 p.m.

The ritual space was set up with mats, blankets, cushions, empty bowls (an uplifting view), lots of water, and what I can only call “shamanic instruments”: drums, gongs, rattles. The space was suddenly transformed into a shamanic den.

She started pouring out my dose of medium-dense consistency, brown-reddish drink into a cup. And I drank it, like tea.

After drinking, the lights were turned off. I was in full darkness (“like the Amazon at night”).

At first, I started to fall into a relaxed and heightened dream-like state. That was at first. From one moment to the other, I wasn’t so relaxed. It was like having the flu tenfold.

Thing is, the flu, I can live with, but what came after was intense.

It wasn’t until the last hour that I finally began purging. That’s a fancy word for vomiting. It was actually really close to being comforting. I wasn’t just vomiting (sorry), I was leaving the pain behind.

From what I understood, once you try it, it’s like you’re connected to the the network forever and, from time to time, you get messages and the occasional download into your life’s software.

I believe this to be true.

To all of those people who kept telling me it is “soul healing,” I hate to say it: “You were right.”