Transformation Through Shadows – Two Ayahuasca Ceremonies in the Peruvian Amazon

The first time I did Ayahuasca was in 2022, near Manaus. Driven by my curiosity and hunger for new experiences, I couldn’t resist trying it. Back then, I was overwhelmed by the visual intensity of the medicine. However, afterwards, I swore to give myself a break before I’d drink the brew again. Three years later, on the first weekend of April 2025, I felt the call again to immerse myself in the medicine.

Finding the Right Place: Between Jungle Wisdom and Tourism Traps

Iquitos, an isolated city right next to the mighty Amazon River, was my goal. Located directly in the jungle, it’s famous for its proximity to ancient tribes, indigenous wisdom, and shamanic rites. A whole wave of tourism had developed around this—”Ayahuasca Retreat Tourism”—that people from all over the world follow in search of psychological and physical healing, spiritual enlightenment, self-evaluation, and growth. Unfortunately, this also led to a lot of commercialization: seven-day retreats for more than $3,000, con artists, and charlatans misusing the old traditions for financial gain. That was my biggest concern while searching for an authentic center for my retreat. This time, it would be two consecutive sessions—since I already knew what awaited me and wanted to dive even further into the transformational process.

After arriving in Iquitos, I talked to the owner of my hostel, who gave me the business card of a guy called Willy, who offered ceremonies close to the city. We talked, met, and with a red pen on white paper, he outlined the agenda of the weekend retreat. 800 soles—about €200—not at all commercialized. But I would have been the only person joining the retreat—just Willy and me drinking Ayahuasca in the jungle for three days. Not what I was looking for. I think this experience is best shared. So I kept looking.

Online, I found a lot of seven-day offers—time I didn’t have. Only a few had shorter offers. One of them was the Awkipuma Healing Center, which offered a three-day, two-night tour. After a short talk with Alfonso on WhatsApp, who explained the process and itinerary in detail, I agreed to the price of $400 and booked it.

A Journey Into The Jungle

At 10:30 a.m., I was picked up by a moto-taxi from my hotel and brought to the port. There, I met Danny and Sean—an American and an Australian who had come all the way from Austin, where they worked, just to do the ceremony. Eight hours to Lima, two hours to Iquitos—and now one hour with a speedboat down the river to Tamshiyacu. There, we had a small lunch: rice with lentils and vegetables, following our diet in preparation for the ceremony. I had avoided alcohol for 20 days and had gone without meat or any sexual or emotional contact for 10 days. I definitely felt ready to take the medicine.

From the small fishing village, we took another boat to the retreat center, located on a side arm of the Amazon, quite deep in the jungle, around 30 km south of Iquitos.

Alfonso, the person I had spoken to on WhatsApp, explained the history of the center. He is the shaman’s son-in-law, and the shaman—a man around 65—had led more than 1,000 ceremonies. His son, Vladimir, lives in Germany and has introduced the rituals there as well. “Eighty percent of the people come with serious mental and/or physical scars—abuse in their childhood, rape, war. Traumas go deep. They come seeking healing, and often they find it,” he told me. I, looking mainly for self-discovery and awareness, was rather in the minority.

“Eighty percent of the people come with serious mental and physical scars.”

We met the rest of the family and the other facilitators of the ceremony. It soon became clear that people were not making a fortune from this, as the cost was split between everyone involved, according to Alfonso. I had chosen the right place. We were guided to our rooms—wooden huts with very simple rooms: basically beds, a desk for journaling, and a small bucket for when you feel sick during the night after the ritual. There were simple showers and bathrooms nearby.

La Purga: Into the Heart of the Ceremony

The ceremony was to take place in a round hut with nothing but chairs and mats inside. At around 4 in the afternoon, Vladimir called us in for a briefing in Spanish and English. “Ayahuasca is actually just one of the two ingredients of the brew—the medicine is called ‘La Purga’ (The Purge). Why? Our body is sick, and our organs have to do a lot of filtering: stress, alcohol, unhealthy food—it all sits deep and becomes like a disease. But not just the body—also our mind, our thoughts are infused with negative emotions: trauma, insecurities, fear. La Purga clears both the body and the mind and extracts those demons in a physical and psychological process.”

It was an introduction that made the ambiguous effects of the medicine clear, but also emphasized the unity of body and mind—something I hadn’t fully understood during my first experience in Brazil.

After the short briefing, we were invited to rest during the four hours before the ceremony. I chilled in the hammock, read a book, and took a short nap. I was excited. At 8:45 p.m., they knocked on my door, and I was led into the ritual hut. In the back, there was a table, and only one candle lit the ceremonial space. The shaman, Alfonso, and other facilitators were sitting there. Around them, spaced out with enough distance between, sat the participants. Besides us, there was another German guy who seemed to be doing one of many healing sessions and some locals who had joined. Next to each small plastic chair was a yoga mat we could lie down on if we wanted, although we were recommended to stay seated so as not to fall asleep. On my left, a small bucket with water in case I felt sick.

The Inward Journey Begins

After a short chant, I was given a glass cup with the brownish liquid poured from plastic bottles. I wasn’t told to smell it, but I did anyway—and was immediately reminded of the taste and disgust I had felt last time (which had made me swear not to drink it again for a long time). Without any fuss, we were told to drink. I emptied the cup in one sip. How to describe it? A thick liquid, fermented in taste—half sweet, half sour. Looking back, horrible. In the moment, tolerable. But already five minutes after drinking, I felt a slight burning in my stomach. The candle—the only light in the room—went out. Silence and full darkness.

I could tell how much this ceremony was focused on the inward journey. We were told not to open our eyes even once, and I didn’t. The shamans began to tap rhythms on their small drums and sing chants. The icaros are traditional melodies sung during the ceremonies to ward off bad spirits that might enter through our opened minds. The lyrics are mostly in a native language—this time, it seemed to be a mix of phonetics and Spanish. Danny was sitting next to me—he was the first to throw up. Vomiting on Ayahuasca isn’t like normal vomiting. It comes from deep inside and feels like more than just the liquid you consumed—it’s like you’re turning yourself inside out and, in a spiritual sense, releasing your demons and negative energy.

My first session in Brazil had only two participants, so there were no outside sounds. Now, it was strange to hear the physical suffering of everyone around me. The music didn’t stop. More and more people started to choke, vomit, and dry heave as their bodies emptied.

Lessons From Pain: What the Medicine Showed Me

I tried to concentrate on my own altered state. My head began to fall to the side. I raised it again, trying not to lose control. What was happening to me? Soon after, my stomach rebelled. I took the bucket and vomited deeply. Eyes closed, I felt a woman standing beside me, a snake slowly crawling up. Leaves rustling in the wind. A sweet melody. My physical presence became distant.

However, the vomiting of others distracted me. I concentrated. Scattered images appeared in my mind—some clearer than others. A person guiding me, like I was opening a second room just a meter or two away from myself, where all this was happening. After another sequence of vomiting, I lay down. I pulled the blanket over me, but I was shivering. Freezing. I thought in my head to call for another blanket, raised my hand—but nobody came. Everything felt so distant and disconnected from what was going on in my mind.

The Person Dressed in White

I realized I was alone and responsible for my feelings. Then, a vision: a person dressed in white linen, bald, sitting in a bright room filled with light. In a meditative pose, with a glowing forehead. I looked up to this person and was impressed by his tranquility, his inner peace. A person who was home in every place, because he had arrived in his mind. “Mental strength is the key,” he told me.

There was a lot happening in my mind—it was hard to make sense of it all. Still, I tried to cling to some of the messages that felt important. In the distance, someone asked for water. People whimpered in the hut. As the peak faded, my mind navigated more clearly through the experience, trying to make sense of it. My body ached. I felt like I was lying naked in snow. Thoughts crossed my mind: “Why am I doing this to myself?” “Why would I ever do this again?” “I want to be somewhere else, not in this painful room.” My ego speaking.

Transformation Through Shadows

The medicine gave me an answer and reminded me of the second main vision I had that night: Take responsibility for your feelings and actions. You need to go through shadows and pain to transform. So I kept on fighting and followed the call. Alfonso tapped me—must have been halfway through. I had totally lost track of time.

At 12:15 a.m., the ceremony ended. The facilitators helped people out. Juan, the Peruvian guy, vomited on his way down the stairs—and so did I later while brushing my teeth. My brain activity was far from over, though. I lay down in the hammock and continued to explore the thoughts the medicine brought up. I wrote in my notebook until around 2 a.m., when I finally fell asleep.

The Morning After.

I woke up to a rooster crying like a human. The rain had stopped, and the sun was shining through the mosquito net of the wooden cabin. My stomach pain was gone, and I felt refreshed—somehow sharp and clear in my mind—but I couldn’t stop thinking about the past events of the night that had taken place mostly in my head. I did a short stretching session and went to the shower—it was 8:00 o’clock. When I walked back to the hut, Juan was sitting on the stairs, his head in his hands. “It was strong, amigo—I felt like I was in a different universe.” He was lost in his thoughts.

I lay down in the hammock again and tried to compare this experience to my previous Ayahuasca ceremony in 2022. It was definitely different—this one was more painful. Less enigmatic, more productive. Less someone speaking to me, and more me discussing with myself. I caught myself the night before longing for the old experience… Was the dose too low? Did the others disturb my focus? There it was again: the craving that I wanted to get away from. The tendency to blame others—something the medicine had shown me to replace with the responsibility for my own state of mind. Still, I decided to bring my earplugs to the ceremony that day and to drink a bigger initial dose.

Interpretations, River Rituals And Preparation

The Australian guy, Sean, got up last. He apparently had the worst experience and told us of demons that had been speaking inside him. When we sat together for our light fruit breakfast, everybody shared their experiences. The shaman was with us and listened to our visions. I told him what I had seen—the fight against my thoughts and the enlightened, calm person. “Your ego is forbidding you to make mistakes,” he said, “but you should let it. The person you saw was a future state of yourself—or a teacher that you will still meet in your life.” Enigmatic, but it definitely made sense.

After breakfast, we had time to nap. Although I had spent most of the night lying down, my body felt sore and craved rest. A little bit later, we walked through the jungle to the river for a purifying bath. It was a beautiful day, and the water felt fresh on my skin. I really enjoyed this and felt happy. When we returned, we had our first real food after the ceremony: rice, beans, steamed vegetables, and a hard-boiled egg.

We finished around 3 p.m., so we had a full six hours to relax and rest before the second ceremony. I had mixed feelings. To be honest, I was afraid—more so with every hour that brought us closer to the start. I tried to calm and motivate myself by thinking of all the beautiful things I had planned after the ceremony—all those things I love in life: traveling, eating, being with my friends and my parents. I read, slept some more, and walked around the village. At 8:45 p.m., there was a knock on my door—it was time again.

Round 2: Connection With Nature

The setup was the same, but new people from the village had joined the room for the ceremony. The American, Danny, was still with us, but he didn’t drink this time. The candle was the only light in the room, and a light rain was hitting the roof. We were given our cups—no blessing chant this time—and mine was full to the edge. I prayed that the medicine would be more gentle with me this time. A short sniff made me feel nauseous, and I emptied the glass in two seconds.

Oddly, the taste was bad, but the burning sensation in my stomach was missing this time. I was optimistic and calm. It didn’t take long—maybe five minutes—until I heard somebody vomiting on the other side of the hut. After thirty minutes, I felt the first effects again. My head fell over, my limbs tingled. A high-pitched noise entered my mind, and I felt as though I was no longer in the ceremonial room but in a forest, close to nature. A sudden choke rushed through my body, and the sour substance left me into the plastic bucket. I was thrown back into my physical presence—but only briefly.

The Demon Of Comparison

I lay down. I heard the sounds of nature, but I have no idea how to describe them. People I didn’t know seemed to speak to me in an unknown language. I invited someone to join me—I couldn’t make sense of the vision I was fully in again. Not stronger than the day before, but equally intense. A big river. Everything felt raw and pure. Humans, naked like animals in the forest, dancing in the mud. I watched someone—I didn’t know the person and can’t remember the face. Only the presence remained. “Comparison is evil and a hazard to your goals,” a thought struck my mind, and at that exact moment, I threw up—as if my body wanted to expel that demon. The demon of comparison. It couldn’t have felt more clear.

I saw a beggar in the street—eating, drinking, sleeping—with the face of a pig? A wolf? I thought: Humans are not that different from animals. I felt connected to nature, but not to that creature kneeling there in his shed begging for food. A subtle sense of disgrace came up in me—a thought of superiority that I immediately abandoned. Shivers ran through my body, and my stomach cramped. I saw those animalistic creatures kissing and dancing—my feet were tapping to the rhythm of the icaro. A deep wish rose in me to get up and dance with them. An inner acceptance of these animalistic pleasures that are also a part of myself.

A Long Night With Little Sleep

My sense of time was even more diluted. The icaros stopped, and Alfonso said it was already midnight. How had that passed so fast?

Still feeling insecure, I got up and walked over to the hut. This time, the effects clearly lasted longer. I lay in the hammock, but things were still happening in another world. I saw many people in the same room with me—in sequences, I reminded myself that I was actually here alone. A strange feeling. This continued for two to three hours. Sleeping that night was hard. That’s why I woke up more groggy and didn’t manage to get up until 8 a.m. to take a shower. My body felt weak, my mind kind of empty.

Heading Back To Iquitos

“No way I’m doing this shit again tonight,” Sean said as he passed me on the way back. I had to laugh. The two boys from Austin had originally booked another session, but everyone agreed on going back to the city that Sunday. I was happy that I had pulled through—although the second ceremony wasn’t even a bit lighter than the first one.

After another light breakfast, we took the boat back to Iquitos. I felt so drained that after a small lunch I slept the entire day. We had planned to have dinner together, and already on the way there I started to feel fresh again—restored and mentally clear. I don’t know why, but I truly enjoyed that evening. It felt like a general happiness rose in me—a state of contentment.

The Big Question: An Experience I Recommend?

As I’m writing this, three days later, I’m still processing the experience—the thoughts and messages that came up during the ceremonies. The Ayahuasca ceremony felt like the breaking point of something that had been building up over the last months. A change of priorities in myself, towards a calmer, more focused version of myself. A self that embraces pain for progress, that takes responsibility for its actions, and that strives for peace of mind. I’m happy I took part in both ceremonies, and I can recommend it to anyone who is looking for self-evaluation and personal development. But beware: there is work to be done. You will suffer, and you will confront yourself with your feelings and thoughts in a way you’ve likely never done before—so be sure that you’re ready for that.