The Breakdown

The Peru Chronicles | Season 1 | Part 6

I came to Peru to save my life. On September 18th, I found out what that actually meant.

New to the series? Catch up on the first five dispatches HERE.

The morning started with San Pedro. I drank the medicine around 11:45, and for a while, everything felt fine. Light. Manageable.

Then the director gathered everyone for a talk. He was saying something about children. How until the age of sixteen, they think everything that happens to them is their fault. How they carry that belief into adulthood.

Something inside me broke open. The walls started crumbling.

I had to leave. I walked out of the maloca, down to the lake, and let myself cry. When I was composed enough, I came back.

But the medicine wasn’t done with me yet.

The breaking point didn’t happen in the dark. It happened in the middle of the afternoon, under the roof of the main hall, while the sun was still high.

I’d been feeling off all day. Shaking. Freezing cold despite the jungle heat. My stomach churning. I tried to eat some soup but I was too weak to lift the spoon. I was exhausted. My body had been holding onto 40 years of tension, and it finally decided it was time to let go.

I collapsed into a hammock in the common area, shivering. And then, without warning, the floor dropped out.

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The Denim

It wasn’t a visual hallucination like the others. It was a physical memory.

I felt the distinct, rough texture of denim wrapped around my neck. The sensation was so real I clawed at my throat.

And then I wasn’t a 40-something man in Peru anymore. I was standing there, watching a little boy. He was beautiful. He was innocent. And he was terrified.

I recognized him immediately. He was me.

I started to cry. Not the polite crying of a therapy session, this was guttural, animal. I sobbed for him.

I saw the abuse, the confusion, the shame. All the things I’d buried under layers of addiction and toughness.

I spoke to him out loud, through the tears. “You poor little beautiful boy,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry this happened to you. It’s not your fault.”

Then a surge of protective anger rose up. The kind of anger I should have felt decades ago but was too small to express.

I looked at the phantom figure of the abuser, the man with the denim, and I screamed at him.

“Shame on you!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “Shame on you for doing that to him! You don’t even realize the pain you caused him!”

I was exorcising a ghost that had been living in my marrow. The shame I’d carried, the belief that I was bad, that I deserved the pain, was finally being ripped out by the root.

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The Lemonade

I was a mess. Shaking, sobbing, curled in a ball in the hammock.

That’s when the director appeared.

He went to the kitchen and came back with a glass of lemonade. Real sugar in it.

I took a sip. It tasted like Christmas. It tasted like safety.

He sat there while I drank it, letting the sugar crash into my system, grounding me back into the present.

In that glass of lemonade, I felt a profound sense of gratitude. In my darkest moment, he handed me a lifeline.

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The Bliss

The breakdown lasted a while, but eventually the waves subsided. I felt hollowed out, but lighter. The ceremony was scheduled for that night, and part of me wanted to skip it. I felt like I’d already run a marathon.

I asked Daniel what he thought. “I feel like going for selfish reasons,” I told him, meaning I wanted more healing.

“That’s exactly why you should go,” he said.

So I went. I walked to the maloca, Daniel lending me his moonstone for strength.

I lay down on my mat. Part of me was still worried my energy would affect everyone else’s experience. That I’d brought too much heaviness into the room.

But as the ceremony started, I could feel it. Love, coming from every direction. The group was holding me.

I was tired of fighting. Tired of the toilet paper, the armor, the fear. When the medicine came on, I didn’t beg for it to stop. I didn’t negotiate.

“I can feel your love, guys,” I whispered. “I get it.”

I relaxed my body completely. Okay, I said to the medicine. Fine. Bring it on.

And she did.

But she didn’t bring monsters. She didn’t bring denim. I was instantly catapulted into a space of pure, unadulterated bliss. I was floating in gold.

Wait, I asked, confused. This is what I’ve been resisting?

Yes, Love answered.

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The shaman was singing. I sat up and felt such joy, such peace, that my body couldn’t stay still. I started to move on my mat, shaking love out of my hands like I was flinging water.

I thought about each person in the room. Daniel. The group. The director. How each one had given me a gift.

It was like I had all the energy in the world. Okay, I said. Now it’s time for me to give back. I sent pure, unconditional love. The kind I’d never known before. Now I knew what it felt like.

When the shaman came around with prayers, I felt every note he played, every sound he made, as if it were being sung directly to my spirit. More tears. Happiness. Gratitude.

I lay back down, exhausted. I put my hand on my stomach, where the discomfort had been for days. The pain drifted away.

I wanted to stay there forever. “I don’t ever want to leave here,” I said.

You don’t have to, Love replied.

And I realized the bliss wasn’t somewhere I visited. It was something I was returning to.

I rolled over on my mat, tears of joy streaming down my face. I sent love to Daniel, to the group, to the director, and finally, to the little boy who didn’t have to be afraid of the denim anymore.

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— R. Michael

If you have thoughts or questions, I’d really love to hear from you in the comments. I read every one.

Want to keep going? The Peru Chronicles.

Quick note for context, since this topic can bring out a lot of strong opinions.

Everything I’m sharing here is just my personal experience. I’m not speaking for the medicine, for a tradition, or for anyone else’s ceremony. I know firsthand that people can sit in the exact same setting and walk away with completely different experiences.

My goal isn’t to make a claim or start a debate. It’s to tell the truth about what happened to me, as honestly as I can.

Author’s note: The next morning, I realized I hadn’t had a single negative thought about myself since the breakdown. Not one. For the first time in my life, I felt at peace.

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