Well hello there my Microscopic Messianic Morris Days, my Breviloquent Bacterial Buddhas, my Lilliputian Light Bringers, and my Exiguous Enlightened ones. How’s everybody's 2021 going? Feeling that shift from the stability of the Earth cycle into the chaos of the Air cycle? Even I, atop my favorite tree in a densely wooded nature preserve surrounded by small mammals, the queen of the forest, and the crowned king of all birds, can feel the shift. Things are loosening, possibilities are blooming, chaos is here, and I am here for it. It’s been all over the news so I shan’t belabor the point but I don’t think a bunch of the rowdiest members of either party have stormed the capitol since they used to beat each other with canes and challenge one another to duels during senate debates. I’m pretty sure the whole thing was staged but even still; I don’t think that sort of political theater could have taken place in the era of dry, rigid Earth.
    Things have become more fluid and flexible, fickly fluctuating forcibly faster as we move into the new mercurial mutability of the actual age of Aquarius. I am well aware that astrologically Aquarius is neither a mutable sign nor under the rulership Mercury and that Saturn is still in charge. That said, compared to Capricorn, Aquarius is the absolute avatar of all things airy and the exquisite emperor of electric exchange.
    One of the most noticeable shifts I have experienced is a loosening of linear time. Time has always been fairly malleable around me and I’ve never been even partially sold on the idea of linear time. I have for most of my life been that asshole who’s excuse for being late is, “calm down; time is an illusion”.

     Insert perfect segue here...

    Since I was very small I have been able to dream the future. Never anything life shattering or even interesting; mostly they are dreams of totally mundane activities featuring people I have yet to meet and places I have yet to go. The common features are that upon waking I am very aware that I just had a “special” or prophetic dream, which is then stored very securely in my mind-tank, that I am completely astounded, and that official reality is outright obliterated for a time upon the fulfillment of said dream. This speaks directly to the malleability of time or at the very least our natural ability to move around in the current.
    Speaking of skinny dipping in the streams of seconds and sometimes, here's a tiny piece of TEK from the sewage of the new age movement that I find super useful and which has become even more powerful since the grand conjunction. Praying or sending good energy to your past and future selves. This sounds super lame and cheesy but I promise it works and it takes 5 minutes. I try to stick to a set time every day to build up some thickness around the practice but any time you think of it is great. Just sit quietly and pray for your past self for a few minutes. You can think of a specific challenging time from your past, or a specific year or period in your life, or you can just shower all of your past selves with love and joy and comfort. The important part is really feeling the love, joy, comfort, or whatever you think past-you could use. Then spend a few minutes doing the same for your future-self. If you turn this into a daily practice then you can be sure that at any given moment your past and future selves are blasting you with love, joy, comfort, or whatever you’re into.
    A great way to get a visceral feel for the obsolescence and utter nonsensical balderdashery of the notion of linear time is to take psychedelics. (I am in no way advocating the illegal purchase and consumption of any drug… I am, however strongly advocating the use of psychedelics as a whole so find a state, province, or country in which you can safely and legally do that).
    I recently had the opportunity to participate in my third ayahuasca ceremony and the ludicrousness of linear time was one of the main things I was shown (that I could wrap my tiny mind around). Specifically, this irrationality was illustrated by elucidating the fact that everything is happening all at once by showing me what “time” was by removing me from it and folding the flimsy, static cube in on itself until it had shifted from a cube crawling with the unfathomable shifting patterns of life into a toroidal shape shimmering in the regalia of the Eternal Now.

This is a Torus

    There is only one ceremony, and it’s always happening. During this most recent ceremony I was shown that it was inextricably linked to my first ceremony in September. I would open my eyes and be experiencing my first ceremony through/as my past-self in September. This experience connected with and made sense of some of the more obscure visions I had last year apparently because I was experiencing parts of my January ceremony in September.
    Brain broken yet? Are you feeling the presence of the infinite cactus-bird king and the divine love of Ayahuasca? Can you feel its giant eye gazing upon your limited view of the world with boundless compassion? Have you given up all hope of understanding a fucking thing in this rambling, drug-addled, boondoggle of a blog post? Well let me bail you out by amending to the ending of this post which is a-wending through the time that we are spending and the veils which I am rending a small review of a book that is a-trending within the magical community I’m attending.
    Nailed it.

    Aiden Wachter’s latest book “Weaving Fate” is exactly the right book for this moment in what we’re misapprehending as linear time. Published 08/31/2020, Weaving Fate outlines three or four practices which, with all of the chaos the air cycle is set to unleash, seem invaluable at this moment. This book seems geared toward beginners in that there are a lot of definitions of fairly basic words and concepts like “liminality” and explaining in great detail why the stories we tell ourselves about our past impact our present and future, which I must admit annoyed the absolute shit out of me when I first picked it up. Full disclosure, I had done a fairly involved Mars working earlier that day and it seems likely, if not certain, that my annoyance could be attributed to the god of war and short fuses. Even with my mounting Martial malcontentment I soldiered on, spurred forward by the scads of glowing reviews from the magical community. And I’m so glad I did. The TEK in this book is well worth the asking price. Basically, Weaving Fate is a step by step manual on creating a better life by fucking with time! This is achieved mainly through a dedicated hypersigil journal (The Black Book) in which we write about future events as if they had just happened, a “visualization” or journeying process (The Corridor) in which we visit our past selves and alter the past by providing love and support and advice or sometimes just a different perspective on, or reaction to, the things which hurt us, and another journeying practice in which we uncover traumas from our past and transmute and reclaim the energy that got stuck there (The Fever Stone). My only real issue with this book is that, because of how fucked up I made my life, I already knew a lot of the practices he outlines for dealing with past trauma. Said another way, this book wasn’t written specifically for me and because I was all maxed out on Mars Milk I got annoyed (boo-hoo). Even  the heat of the Forge Master himself wasn’t enough to dissuade me from reading through the whole book in one sitting. Weaving Fate is a well written, informative, massively useful, infinitely accessible, magic book that I highly recommend to practitioners of any skill level or cosmology. Aiden Wachter’s instructions are clear and easy to follow, there is no dogma nor any specific deities necessary to this work, it comes jailbroken for the reader to insert whichever spirits or energies with whom they have an existing relationship. I cannot recommend this book highly enough. I read it before this latest ceremony through a series of nudges from my guides and, as always it was the perfect thing for right now. We have an amazing opportunity in this moment of chaos and fluidity to change our past, change our present, and change our future and Aiden Wachter’s Weaving Fate has everything we need to get started.
    I truly love magic books and books on magic, especially ones in which you can actually taste that magic is present, and as such I will likely be including more reviews of my favorites as the year unfolds.
    
    Alright y’all, we did it. That’s all for this week. Stay healthy, stay joyful, and go out and fuck with every bit of time and space that you can get your spirit-fingers on. I’m pretty sure we’re here to have a good time and explore and experience this crazy universe or universe-simulator or whatever-the-fuck this is so, I dunno, go eat some (legal) psychedelics and see what you can do.

This is a Taurus Torus

Spider Jerusalem is a close personal friend, and hero of mine

    I love Christmas. There. I said it. I fucking love Christmas. I am a Christmas unicorn. I’m not exactly sure why people automatically assume that a weirdo magical star-man with a penchant for virulently contagious vitriolic rants and SARS-potent spite for things that are outdated and oppressive, or offend his delicate sensibilities, can’t also be full of virulently contagious Christmas cheer. Well here’s hoping that you are either fully innoculated against my choleric Christmas contagion or, like me, are already suffering from crippling sugarplum syphilis because Daddy Chrimbo has come early and he’s delivered the traditional gifts of dried Amanita muscaria mushrooms, reindeer piss, and a Christmas rant about Christmas. So gather round because Santa Claus wants some lovin’.
    Usually, to celebrate the rebirth of the sun and the birth of sweet baby J, and to kindle the spirit of the season and remind folks that they have an actual spark of divine light and stardust inside them I find a reindeer, feed it powerful psychedelic mushrooms and follow it around with a jar until it begins cavorting like it’s off its face on drugs and collect the piss it sprays everywhere once it looses control of its bladder. Upon completion of this harrowing task, for it is no laughing matter to be kicked in the head by a reindeer while trying to get high, I steal swiftly out of the petting zoo and get to work.
    Firstly, I don my traditional Christmas garb by slathering my body in a bucket of goose fat. Then comes a drinking game I call “visit the local mall whilst wearing nothing but said goose fat and some giblets and have a large swig of reindeer piss every time you successfully slip through the greasy fingers of your would-be captors”. After a quick stop at home to reapply the traditional and protective Christmas grease it’s time to get to work.
    Sliding down peoples chimneys while naked and out of my tiny mind on hallucinogenic reindeer wee can be challenging at the best of times, but it’s worth it. I’m not really bothered by Santa’s whole not-being-seen rule whilst delivering joy to the world. I hope to startle people awake from their drunken Christmas dreams after sliding swift and smooth and nude down their chimneys and crashing into their, hopefully, cold fires in a mangled and giggling soot-covered tangle of contorted, gangly limbs. Unfolding six and a half feet of naked, greasy, skeletal drug-fiend amidst a roiling cloud of chimney soot and floating embers is enough to fill even the grinchiest of home owners with enough Christmas spirit to send them reeling backwards into spasms of terrible delight and Yuletide catatonia.
    While the occupants of the house are still stunned and comatose with Christmas cheer, I quickly drop off gifts of dried mushrooms, loose change, and haribo gummies, and fill all the mugs in the house with my powerfully potent psychedelic piss. Then, borrowing a move from Kurt Russel (the best film star, and Santa who ever lived), I place my index finger against the side of my nose and, in a swirl of smoke and sparks, burst into coal-dust and fly back up the chimney, with care, to continue Kringle-ing the city until dawn.

These nightly excursions go on for weeks. From the day after Thanksgiving until Christmas day and sometimes even up until Easter, depending on the ambient levels of Christmas spirit and my supplies of goose fat and reindeer wee.

    And that, you wassailing weirdos , is what Christmas means to me.

    The ceremony itself was beautiful and awe inspiring and terrifying and time-warping and healing on a deeper level than I could’ve conceived. It was also delayed because of the wildfires that ripped through the PNW in August and September. The date chosen for the rescheduled ceremony was another massive synchronicity for me as it “just happened” to fall on the feast day of one of my patron saints, the esteemed, super badass, and massively popular among occultists, St. Cyprian of Antioch; patron saint of magicians. To have the ceremony rescheduled to his feast day turned out to be amazing and this final synchronicity was the one that eased my apprehensions the most. I have been working with St. Cyprian for some time now; he was actually one of my first introductions to an organized occult practice and he has been an invaluable guide, teacher, protector, and patron to me in that time.
    Back to the ceremony.
    We arrived around 7pm, set up our nest of pillows and blankets and sleeping bags  outside and sat around nervously until 10 or 11. First we were guided through some meditations and then the ceremony leaders administered some ritually grown “hapé”, a type of tobacco grown in the jungles of South America, by blowing it up participants noses via a large wooden tube. I was told that since it was my first time I couldn't have hapé and I was super fucking bummed and wanted it even more. Then the vomiting began and I was perfectly fine with being excluded. Once everyone had their nose and throats full of powdered tobacco and most of the vomiting had stopped it was time to drink the ayahuasca. The ceremony leaders began to sing their “time to drink the medicine song” and my testicles quickly ascended up into the back of my throat, my mouth was dry but the rest of my body was clammy, I felt like a stoned and paranoid frog with his balls in the back of his mouth. I was second in line to drink and when I was given my ceremonial shot glass and swallowed my testicles back down to their usual place along with the medicine I was surprised at how sweet the medicine was: I was prepared for bitter and earthy and viscous, all of which were present in abundance, but not for the sweetness, apparently there are a lot of sugars present in the plants involved and the act of simmering them down for days of ritual silence concentrates them into a shot that is kind of like mud and opium and cough syrup but also not at all like anything I’ve ever tasted on this earth.
    Ayahuasca is, for those of you who don’t know, a potent brew of (mainly) Banosteriopsis caapi and Psychotria viridis, with other plants added depending upon specific ritual purpose or preference of the ayahuascero brewing it. B. caapi contains a powerful monoamine oxidase inhibitor or MAOI and P. viridis contains N,N-dimethyltryptamine or DMT. DMT is actually found in a ton of plants but remains inactive if ingested without something to stop our natural supplies of monoamine oxidase from neutralizing it before it gets to our brain. Did I mention earlier that I have a deep and abiding interest in drugs and pharmacology?
    About 30 minutes after I drank my shot the guy who drank before me started puking quietly into his bucket so I grabbed my bucket and waited… and waited, and waited. Nothing. I listened as the visuals began to kick in to everybody else vomiting and began to feel a bit left out again. At this point my body collapsed over my ten gallon bucket and the visions began in earnest. I had enough presence of mind left to begin silently repeating: “Mother Ayahuasca, I come to you with all due respect and supreme humility to ask that you please heal me”. This trick I learned after a disastrous run in with the plant spirit of Salvia divinorum served to ease some of the pants-shitting terror that I felt when my body turned off and left me semi-conscious and in between two very different states of being. I was experiencing sound on a level I had never known possible, as the songs began to take shape in front of my eyes and enter into my body and transport my consciousness to wherever it goes when one is being operated on by ancient, divine feminine, plant medicine goddesses, angels, and their operating assistants. At some point I managed to lie down and let myself be completely carried away by the medicine. I have no way of describing what happened beyond synesthetic snippets of seeing surreal, faceless giants made of a vibration closer to sound than matter above me as if I were actually on an operating table.
    Time passed.
    I became aware that something was poking my physical self and came back to my body by small increments as the poking turned into gentle shaking. My eyes came back into focus on official reality and I saw my love poking me and giggled and poked her back. She laughed and said it was time for the second dose. I was genuinely shocked that anyone could take more than what I was already experiencing but managed to sit up, the world around me slipping between states and morphing in sacred geometry and outlandish colors dictated by the vibrations of the sounds around me. I stood up like I had been huffing ether and wobbled my way to the altar like Johnny Depp as Hunter S Thompson in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, dropped hard onto my knees and tried to focus my eyes on the fiery-aura dispensing the medicine. I looked into his eyes and he gave me what I thought was a scrutinizing look as if judging whether or not to give me another dose and then he poured the ayahuasca. I took the shot glass thinking he must have poured me just a drop and held it to the light to verify and was shocked again to find that he had poured at least as much in this time as the last. Giving a sputtering snort of a laugh I downed the glass and melted up onto my feet throwing a “haux” of thanks over my shoulder as I collapsed down onto my nest and was immediately blasted, like a particle of psychedelic gelatin in the hadron collider, back into the medicine as my body fell over frontways into my still empty puke bucket.
    It was around this time that things began to get weird and would’ve been face-meltingly frightening if I had possessed the capacity for rational thought. A low-pitched roar, paired with overtones of amplifier feedback began to tear a hole in the fabric of my already awesomely altered reality. I found that I could “see” the vibrations of this sound combination creating a tunnel in time/space/reality/matter and this tunnel had a pull that I was powerless to resist. Someone in ceremony was sobbing: anguish made manifest bounced around unseen walls creating harmonies of echoing despair. Moments later I was aware of the sound and presence of a giant being snuffling around my physical head and was frozen with what should have been terror but was somehow too detached to be afraid: I was in the presence of something much bigger and older than myself, something that could have, with no effort, ended my existence. The thing snuffled and truffled and made elephantine blasts in deep rhythmic patterns all around the ceremony and I began to have the impression of insects or scorpions for some reason. Then came the demon. In a low growl I heard a being that I could not bring myself to look upon chanting “Om mani padme hum”. Certain that this being had emerged from the underworld, I could feel the flames curling around it like Tibetan buddhist representations of demons. Another voice joined in a much higher octave and their power was terrible and awesome and I became aware that they, as demons, were an intrinsic part of reality and were there, not to hurt anyone maliciously but to bring healing in their own way and that the fear I should've been feeling was most likely just a reaction to their levels of raw power and not any evil or negative intentions the beings were harboring. As Gordon White says: “sharks gonna shark”, they don't eat us because they’re evil or bad, they eat us because they’re higher on the food chain, and these demons felt similarly powerful and indifferent to human life. And yet they were here in a healing capacity, of that much I was sure even if I was too awestruck to look at them.
    The chanting stopped and the music took on a less menacing vibration, I felt the heavy under/otherworld power and darkness begin to lift, light began to filter into the music, my spirits brightened with the songs, and I became sure that I had shit in my sweatpants and, not for the first time, decided that I was in no position to deal with it at that moment.
    The icaros took on a playful tone and the leader of the ceremony did a dance that channeled, or made him look like, an old man stomping around the circle shouting “hey” and everyone laughed and played and the joy of shaking off all of the heavy stuff that had been drudged up by the earthbound/otherword/underworld spirits was pure ecstasy.
    At this point I felt as if I’d been in the medicine for about 10 hours and it was still going strong though my body was now capable of sitting up and shifting between official reality and medicine reality, so I was genuinely gobsmacked to hear the ceremony leaders announce that it was 3:33 and, as such, time for the optional third dose. I felt amazing and was quite sure that I had done the work that I had come to do that night so I declined and enjoyed the rest of the songs on a more superficial level. I could still feel them reordering bits of my body and energy but they were no longer slurping me through wormholes like lightspeed linguini into alien landscapes populated with scorpion demons or giant star doctors or snuffling elephant monsters.
    The rest of the ceremony was like being around a campfire with my best friends even though I only knew 3 of the other 12 folks there. I felt better than I ever remember feeling: it was like being rebuilt from the ground up on a molecular, energetic, vibrational, and physical level. Ayahuasca reached all up in me and got rid of a bunch of coping mechanisms that I had grown out of and optimized me for actually living my best life. Which sounds fucking ludicrous and if someone had said that to me on September 25 I would’ve told them to get fucked but holy shit this medicine works and it works in ways that are not understandable through the lens of official reality. I genuinely feel like I had a vibrational tune up and an energetic cleansing and a physical healing all at once and over the course of like 3 hours that felt like 12 because Ayahuasca operates completely outside of time and as the Mother of All Medicines she can do it all.
    I started this post a few days after the ceremony and, as you can see, didn’t finish it until almost 2 months later (blame it on 2020). Before the ceremony I had taken a prolonged break from any and all occult practices beyond check-ins with my patrons and some light prayer after an encounter with some spirits that left me feeling like I had grabbed hold of a high tension power line with my teeth. More on that some other time. Since the ceremony I have gotten back into some regular practices with much better results than I had been getting before; I feel closer to that realm or like it is more readily accessible and easier to communicate with, like part of my tune up was optimizing me for this work.
    There is such an amazing presence with Ayahuasca and she really does seem to be some sort of incarnation or avatar of the divine feminine spirit, the All-Mother, nurturing and healing, powerful and ancient, loving and playful, awesome and terrifying. I am so grateful to have been given the chance to experience such an incredible healing with such great people in a safe and familiar environment with experienced ceremony leaders and two great friends and my wonderful wife. I would honestly recommend this medicine to anyone; it was like being in Tom Bombadil’s house; love and magic and healing and joy dripping from the rafters. And what could be better medicine for an epoch-ending year like 2020 than that?

    Welcome children, gather round as your favorite rascal and ne’er-do-well fills your minds, and more importantly, your hearts with the AM radioactive, iridescent embers of his latest barefoot, tie-dye revelation: I am the messiah. Full. Fucking. Stop.
But then you already knew that, somewhere deep inside you you have always known that the messiah would be nearly unknown in this supersaturated, commercial plastic fuck-pile of a generation. The millennial messiah would obviously be someone who spent the vast majority of their life drawn to the filthy, degenerates of this world and would, getting lost in the wilderness of oxycontin, heroin, MDMA, cocaine, and their gratuitous intravenous application, bring light and love to those broken heaps of people at the bottom, the real people that the rest of society would prefer to ignore, before leaving most of the drugs and nihilism behind and accepting his divine birthright: the mantle of messiah.
    Now before you completely lose your shit and call my mother, ruining her perfectly fine day by imploding her fragile skull with tales of her son’s complete psychological collapse into delusion, let me say this: you are also the messiah. Not in the dogmatic sense, I’m not either (probably). WE are, each one of us the perfect embodiment of the potential redemption of the human race stuck in the bullshit we’ve been fed since we got shoved into that perfect implement of soul-destruction called the public school system. “Forget your dreams, go into debt for the potential wealth available after you pay it all off, spend the most lively, productive, potentially-dangerous-to-this-broken-system years of your life putting off all but the bare minimum of government-sanctioned joy until you’re too fucking old to be a hassle”. Sound right? Obviously the powers that be are a tad more subtle and a lot more insidious than that but it rings true to me.
    Now that you’ve accepted that you are your own personal Obi-Wan and the only hope that your life has of getting any better (you’re very welcome) let me tell you how this sentiment finally stopped being just words and really sunk in: ceremonial application of medicinal psychedelics, specifically ayahuasca. If you’ve read any other posts on this site or even the first two paragraphs of this one, you will no doubt be aware of my former propensity for using the vast majority of substances currently classified as drugs by the shit-lipped, cock-nosed, troglodytic agents of the archons, with squinty little anuses instead of eyeballs and a cold lump of shriveled, white wolf shit where a heart should go that would prefer to keep us small and NEED to keep us well away from our own sovereignty to continue living their best cyberpunk  apocalypse. Ayahuasca was, until just a few months ago, on the feast day of St. Cyprian of Antioch no less, the last great frontier of mind, heart, and soul expansion in my life. I had always pictured my first time being in the jungle of Central or South America with a wizened shaman singing his icaros (healing songs) through a haze of tobacco and incense smoke and guiding me through a life-altering healing process at the hands of a healing goddess-plant who is made up of all the medicine and compassion that the universe has to offer. However, the universe had different plans and I was lead through a series of synchronicities revolving around tiny, feathered love-warriors to a five acre plot of land run by some of the sweetest and most magical people I have ever met. An oasis covered in cedar, Douglas fir and madrone trees with wild huckleberries in abundance and, as a simple boy from Oregon who usually prefers the company of trees, huckleberries, and cats to humans and who is already well-acclimated to the environment of the great PNW I can say without any reservation that I wouldn’t change a single fucking thing. The magic, healing, compassion, icaros, loving plant-goddes, even the shaman (though certainly not what I had pinned on my vision-board) were all present with the added benefit of being around two amazing friends who blazed the trail and eased my many fears about leaping into this uncharted territory, one spectacular and incredibly badass spouse, a very cool forest cat, and all of my favorite trees. Looking back it seams clear that this could only have happened in the forests that I’ve always felt at home in and been in love with.
    Let’s get right to the heart of this thing; creating your own “Personal Legend” as Paolo Coelho puts it in his book The Alchemist which, though a bit basic, should be required reading for middle schoolers because it gives a fairly solid road map of how to follow the signs that the universe puts in front of us, the meaningful “coincidences” or synchronicities that lead us towards what you could be forgiven for calling your destiny. I didn’t read Mr. Coelho’s book until very recently but it reminded me of something in a book that I did read in middle school: Don Juan and the Yaqui way of knowledge by Carlos Castaneda. In it, Don Juan, an old sorcerer, mentions something about personal power and walking only paths that have heart and I am a firm believer that Don Juan and the titular Alchemist are speaking about much the same thing. As my favorite sorcerer of all time, that rakish chap Mr. John Constantine puts it; “surfing the synchronicity super highway” seems to be the best way to live out one’s Personal Legend; the great destiny attached to all of us at birth, letting the things we love lead us to our reward. This works regardless of what it is you focus your desire on, I’ve tried it. For years all I wanted were drugs and escape and they showed up in abundance and just kept showing up; more drugs, stronger drugs, better quality drugs, bigger drug dealers, more dangerous situations to escape from and holy shit come to think of it; even though they led me to dark, frightening, life-threatening, MRSA infected, cracked out, strung out places, they led me right back to my Personal Legend. All it took was shifting the focus of my desire from death, oblivion and escape three degrees back toward life. I had willfully turned away from all paths with even a pantyline of visible heart and yet, after a simple decision to turn away from my own destruction, here I am back on a path that, judging by the synchronicities and the way my life is going, seems to have heart to spare.
    The hummingbird synchronicities started in June. By definition a synchronicity is a “meaningful coincidence of two or more events where something other than the probability of chance is involved” and because a synchronicity, like a dream, usually holds a bare minimum of interest or meaning for those outside of the event I will spare you the details and simply say that hummingbirds were drawn to me in alarming numbers and proximity for months, one actually buzzed my hair, and another hovered within a foot of my face while I was in my backyard for a full 30 seconds which for a hummingbird is probably long enough for a 10 course meal packed with fast-paced, effervescent conversation, gravity-defying post dinner sex, a tiny honeysuckle cigarette and a glass of lilac wine. At the time I was unaware what, if anything, the hummingbirds or whatever sends synchronicities into our lives were trying to point out to me but, especially with the warp-speed winged hair tousling and the long face-to-face hover, I noticed an immediate change in my mood and energy. During the tiny-feathered tousling I was coming home from a shitty day at work and was grumbling to myself and in a Bog of Eternal Stench kind of mood and just as I was unlocking my front door, a hummingbird launched out from under the eves of the house and tousled my hair as it went. My Bog of Eternal Stench mood was immediately replaced with a shocked, grinning wonder. A similar shift happened with each encounter I had (2-5 per week) over the course of the two months that led to me telling a magical friend of mine who came into my life, as expected, through another series of synchronicities, about my string of swift and sweet hummingbird synchs. When I was done with my laundry list of hummingbird encounters he mentioned that he knew of some friends who put on legit ayahuasca ceremonies out in the woods on beautiful property not far from us and that these folks were beautiful, loving, trustworthy, amazing people and that they had some openings for a ceremony in early September. My badass wife immediately said yes. Apprehension set in immediately. “I don’t know, I always wanted to go to Peru and do a proper ceremony with a shaman. Is it safe? I’m not sure if I could get time off work” etc.. Then, almost as an afterthought, he mentioned the thing that made him incongruously start talking about ayahuasca after my hummingbird rant: “My friends that run the ceremony, they’re called Beija Flor”. Raising an eyebrow to indicate my utter confusion he cut me off as I was about to ask the question he was answering.
“It means ‘hummingbird’ in Portuguese”.
My chin hit the floor and I told him to sign us up.

To be continued...