The Pre-Purge Diaries:
What It Takes to Prep for Ayahuasca
For the first installment— Read A Skeptical Rabbi Walks Into the Jungle
1. The Vine of the Soul: Ayahuasca, often called the 'vine of the soul,' is a traditional entheogenic brew originating from the indigenous cultures of the Amazon basin. For centuries, tribes such as the Shipibo-Conibo have utilized ayahuasca in ceremonial rituals aimed at healing, divination, and connecting with the spiritual realm.
These ceremonies are deeply embedded in the social and spiritual fabric of these communities, serving as rites of passage and communal healing practices. Done in sacred ceremony, this was a practice done with preparation and reverence. I heeded the advice to approach it in the same way. I began preparing my body and soul six weeks prior.
2. Lettuce Pray: The Culinary Commandments: Preparing for ayahuasca means more than an open mind—it requires disciplined eating. Traditional guidelines advocate avoiding red meat, dairy, and fermented foods weeks before the ceremony, known as the dieta, to enhance spiritual clarity.
In a personal twist, I gradually said goodbye to animal proteins—first red meat, then chicken, and eventually fish, leaving me subsisting solely on vegetables and tofu. Dairy also vanished from my diet—except for butter. (I'm no saint, after all.) The dieta was supposed to reduce the infamous ayahuasca purge, though as I'd soon learn, the medicine often has its own plans.
3. Caffeine Fiend to Serene: The Beverage Battle: Giving up caffeine was the cruelest joke of the dieta. My Diet Coke habit put up an admirable fight. Rabbis, apparently, aren’t immune to the siren call of caffeinated addictions. Still, surrendering caffeine was meant to clear the mind—and maybe offer a subtle reminder that the only real addiction allowed here is introspection.
4. Mind Over Matter: Meditation Meets Withdrawal: Meditation, my usual grounding practice, quickly became an existential wrestling match. Initially, I hoped the retreat would purge residual grief from my bones—especially after discovering my ex-husband’s hidden identity, which cracked open older wounds I had naively assumed were neatly sealed. I envisioned a dramatic, cinematic purge, a spiritual exorcism with all the flair of a blockbuster redemption arc. Instead, my meditations had other priorities: halfway through profound moments of supposed insight, my inner voice whispered, "Diet Coke. Diet Coke. Diet Coke." Apparently, enlightenment and withdrawal take the same bus route.
What actually became clear was that my intuition had been onto something. Beneath the surface, a heavy, wordless knowing settled in. It wasn’t just the turbulence of work or the political climate of 2024, though both were wreaking their own kind of havoc—especially as DEI consulting became an easy budget cut for nervous clients. The On Being Social Healing Fellowship was also ending, a project that enlivened me with no promise of renewal. But even those anxieties felt like background noise compared to something deeper, more primal, thrumming beneath it all. I couldn’t name it yet, but it was demanding my attention in a way that neither politics nor job insecurity could match.
5. Control Alt Delete: Surrendering the Illusion: Accustomed to guiding others, I struggled profoundly with surrendering my own need for control. Approaching the retreat, I felt uncertainty gnawing at my carefully cultivated rabbinic persona. The looming unknown became a mirror, highlighting how uncomfortable I was with uncertainty. True surrender, it turns out, often starts exactly where understanding ends—a terrifying proposition for someone who plans life around High Holiday schedules.
Traditional shamans speak of ayahuasca as a bridge to ancestors. Imagining my own ancestors—stern-faced Eastern European Jews—I could almost hear them warning, "Forget the ayahuasca. Stick to borscht and matzah ball soup." And yet, here I was, hoping my skepticism wouldn’t undermine my chance at a genuine spiritual encounter.
6. Purge Prep: Conversations and Cautions: My friend Uri’s tales of physical and emotional purging painted vivid images—sometimes humorous, often horrifying. His omission of certain key details (strategically?) ensured I would arrive at the ceremony with curiosity rather than dread. Uri knew me well enough to anticipate my reaction: concern, skepticism, and eventually, laughter at the absurdity of voluntarily drinking a tea known primarily for making people vomit.
7. Fashionably Late: Wardrobe Woes in the Wilderness: My personal style hardly fits the bohemian-shaman aesthetic. This inevitably led to a fashion crisis: how many suitcases could I justify packing? If I was going to face a dramatic purge, I wanted at least to look good while doing it. Apparently, surrendering my ego did not extend to my sartorial pride. Packing, in this case, was a spiritual exercise all on its own.
8. The Peanut Gallery: Friends, Fears, and First-Class Flights:
Revealing my upcoming ayahuasca journey to friends and colleagues unveiled a spectrum of reactions—from genuine concern to overt skepticism. As a rabbi, I grappled with the fear of judgment, aware that such an unconventional path might clash with traditional expectations and potentially impact my standing within the community. This internal conflict highlighted the delicate balance between personal growth and communal responsibility, challenging me to reconcile my spiritual aspirations with the potential costs to my vocation.
Realizing their skepticism stemmed from a lack of understanding rather than judgment allowed me to relax into my choice fully. Embracing that clarity, my anxiety softened into quiet determination. The unexpected first-class upgrade on my flight only added a delicious irony. I couldn’t help but laugh at the luxurious send-off into an adventure renowned for its discomfort. A rabbi flying first class toward spiritual humility—who said the universe doesn’t have a sense of humor?
9. The Airport Arrival: Meeting the Cohort: Stepping off the plane, I was prepared for a moment of quiet anticipation, a private adventure with just Uri and me embarking on this next chapter together. But as I approached the baggage claim, I quickly realized that our supposed duo had multiplied—I was about to pile into a packed van with six other participants. My new purge buddies.
Sizing them up felt like a necessary, if slightly judgmental, survival tactic. Who among them would be the stoic warrior? Who would unravel on night one? Who, if any, would I trust to hold my hair back should things get truly volatile?
And then, in a moment of cosmic absurdity, the van’s radio crackled to life with the unmistakable opening of Pet Shop Boys’ 'It’s a Sin.' One of my formative coming-out songs.
So I look back upon my life Forever with a sense of shame I've always been the one to blame...
I sat there, stuffed between near-strangers, suddenly questioning if I had just entered a meta-commentary on my own existence. Was this the universe winking at me? A divine joke at my expense? Or just an unhinged coincidence that, given the circumstances, felt more like an omen? Either way, I took it as a sign: damn, that was a harsh message. And then, just as abruptly, Uri and I started laughing—a foreshadowing of what was to come. Because if there was one thing I would soon learn, it was that surrendering to the absurdity was half the journey. Actually, it has always been.
10. Gateway to the Unknown: Arrival at The Pendulum Ranch:After an hour's winding drive into the lush Mexican countryside, the gates of Finca El Péndulo—the Pendulum Ranch—opened, revealing a place suspended between comfort and mystery. Arriving felt like stepping into a carefully curated retreat, a sanctuary dedicated to transformation and self-discovery. The ranch stretched across acres of vibrant greenery, with colorful bougainvillea climbing stone walls and an inviting pond.
The design of Finca El Péndulo was a fitting host to the retreat as it seemed to pay homage to the traditional settings of ayahuasca ceremonies. The central 'Oracle' structure, an architectural marvel of glowing columns spiraling upward, gently illuminating the surroundings and setting an inviting yet mysterious tone. The ‘Osho Hut’ was reminiscent of a traditional maloca—a communal hut used by indigenous tribes for spiritual ceremonies—served as our gathering place. This intentional architecture fostered a sense of connection to the ancient practices, grounding our modern journey in timeless traditions.
The staff and volunteers greeted us warmly, a reassuring canvas of hospitality that hinted at the connections to come. Over the coming days, I would experience firsthand their kindness, compassion, and gentle support, fostering an intimate atmosphere conducive to personal growth.
In the distance, the primal howls of the ranch’s two resident wolves added a hint of wilderness, reminding us that this space, serene as it was, remained connected to something wild and deeply authentic. Each element of Finca El Péndulo—from the thoughtfully arranged communal spaces to its subtle nods to ancient wisdom—signaled it was more than just a retreat. It was a thoughtfully designed sanctuary encouraging surrender, introspection, and renewal.
Final Reflections: Preparing the Soul's Canvas: The meticulous preparation for the ayahuasca retreat encompassed physical, emotional, psychological, and spiritual dimensions. Each step—from my reluctant farewell to Diet Coke to confronting the illusion of control—was its own quiet ceremony, a way of signaling to my body, mind, and soul that something sacred and transformative awaited.
"In the stripping away of the familiar—food, habits, control—we begin the journey long before we take the first sip," my diary reminded me. Preparation wasn’t just about what I gave up; it was about the vulnerability I was willing to accept. Often, sacredness lies not in the ritual itself but in the readiness to meet the unknown with openness—and, always with a bit of humor.
Stay tuned for the next installment: "Purging with the Pros: How I Won Gold in the Ayahuasca Olympics."
Thanks, buddy!
> "Purging with the Pros"
:: howling ::