The Rebirth Of A Child

"It's time. Alright, everyone, down the hatch!"

I picked up my cup from the Shaman and settled onto the cushioned bed laid out on the floor. Glancing at the man on my right, I gave him a nod, signaling the commencement of our shared journey.

"Take a deep breath and contemplate your intentions. What do you seek to learn from this experience?" the Shaman spoke as his assistants created a harmonious and peaceful sound bath melody that filled the room.

As I raised the cup to my lips, the woodsy, pungent taste hit me—a flavor as earthy as the soil beneath our feet. Without dwelling on the taste, I tossed it back like a seasoned drinker. The Shaman's questions invaded my thoughts, prompting me to delve into the depths of my intentions. Why had I traveled all this way for a spiritual ritual? My inner thoughts raced, questioning my motives and seeking answers. What was I trying to heal from?

Screams and cries echoed around the room as the effects of the "medicine" began. The man to my right (the one I had nodded to earlier) lay face down on the bucket next to his bed, vomiting in between cries and shouting, "Why Clara? Why did you go!" 

Although I wasn’t feeling any boisterous effects, I could sense a dark energy surrounding his painful loss. I recall on our first day at the retreat, during a healing circle, he had shared his struggle with the death of a loved one, unable to cope with her absence.

In my sick mind, I thought to myself, "Lucky him. At least he knows the source of his pain." Riddled by the Shaman's questions, I decided to step outside for a walk and practice some of the breathing exercises introduced to us on the first day. The overwhelming weeping, interwoven with the assistant's healing sound bath melodies, made it hard to find serenity and reflect.

Strolling through the courtyard, I pondered my reasons for being here. What was the goal? My footsteps led me to a stone bench beneath a leafy tree. Sitting down, I closed my eyes, attempting to silence the noise of thoughts within. "Why was I really here?" I thought. 

Other than the constant anxiety and feeling like an outsider in my own body, I considered myself a fairly functional adult. Sure, everybody has issues with depression, but isn't that normal? Aren't most adults depressed?

The moon was full, casting silvery glow shadows that seemed to dance with the secrets of the universe. Tears welled involuntarily as the distant sight of a six-year-old boy laughing by the TV set became clear. I was in the room with him, watching as he sat alone, comforted by the TV for what seemed like hours. 

Images from my childhood flashed before my closed eyes like a fragmented film reel. The laughter of the six-year-old boy, the loneliness that hung in the air, and the flickering glow of the television screen all merged into a bitter image. I could feel the ache of that distant time, the yearning for something lost.

During those days, I was often alone as a child; my parents worked two jobs to pay the bills. I was frequently left alone after coming home from school, a period of my life I had few memories of, up until this point. As memories continued to reveal themselves to me, my mouth released an intense weep, mourning the vulnerability of that child.

I began to fear the next set of memories, knowing what I would be left to confront. I saw the young child playing outside as an adult male figure approached him. The man gifted the child with a toy and the attention he craved. Eventually, the man guided him inside a large brown door with the promise of snacks and movies. And there it was—a moment suppressed and buried so deep in the corners of my mind. 

As soon as the door shut behind him, I felt it—a sharp sorrow took hold of me. I experienced involuntary guttural cries, tears rolling like a river from my eyes as if mourning a loss (similarly to the man who sat to my right). A child's innocence destroyed in one foul sweep.

The courtyard around me seemed to dissolve, replaced by the darkness hidden within my consciousness for far too long. The sound of my weeping blended with the distant cries in the room behind me, creating a symphony of catharsis. It was as if the universe itself wept with me, owning the profound release of a burden long carried.

Unknowingly, I too mourned the death of someone I didn't realize I had lost. The weight I had carried for years, haunting recollections that lurked in the shadows, were now exposed in the gentle silver moonlight. As the effects of the medicine waned, I felt newfound strength within. The darkness that once clung to my spirit had been confronted and released. I wasn't just mourning the loss of innocence; I was reclaiming it. The child within me, silenced for too long, is now resilient and unbound.

A gentle hand rested on my shoulder. Startled, I opened my eyes to find the Shaman standing beside me, his eyes reflecting understanding and compassion. Together, we walked back to the room where the others were still navigating their experience. Unsure of how much time had passed, the room had bore a sense of serenity, what was once loud yelling, was now a collective energy of compassion and understanding for every being around the room.

As our retreat came to an end, I carried with me the echoes of that transformative night. For the first time, I truly felt connected to myself, and my body. I left with a sense of wholeness—an integration of the fragmented parts of myself. The journey had not just been a quest for healing, a reunion with the core of who I am. Stepping into a new chapter of my life, I embraced the scars of my past as marks of resilience and the promise of a new dawn.