Fourteen years sitting with ayahuasca — what I know about preparation, dieta, the ceremony itself, and integration after.
When we were building the temple at Casa Arkaana, before a single stone was laid, we held a Vedic ceremony — an offering to Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, asking for clear passage and blessing for the space. We were not improvising. We knew what we were building and why.
During construction, a large boa appeared in one of the old trees behind the structure. She came not once but several times. The local builders — men who have worked with the jungle their entire lives — recognized it without hesitation. The boa, the anaconda, is woven through ayahuasca traditions across South America. A symbol of transformation, renewal, fertility, abundance. In many lineages, she is the medicine itself. Her arrival felt like confirmation that our prayer had been heard.
The floor of the temple is embedded with quartz. The walls carry amethyst and rose quartz. Every stone was placed with intention. That is not decoration. It is the foundation of a container.
I have been sitting with ayahuasca for fourteen years. The first three were with the Sacred Valley Tribe — a medicine music format, cantos medicina, Spanish songs and mantras, a different container than the Shipibo tradition but a real and meaningful beginning. It was through those years that I began to understand what this medicine actually was. In my fourth year, a friend told me about dieta. Another friend — a Peruvian — connected me with Maestro Gilberto Mahua. Maja and I went to diet with him for the first time together, before we were married. That was eleven years ago. We are still learning.
This article is written from that seat — the seat of a participant, a witness, someone who has been inside the ceremony many times and watched what happens there. Not from the other side of the cup.
What Ayahuasca Is — and Where It Comes From
Ayahuasca — sometimes called the grandmother, or simply the medicine — is a brew that has been prepared and used by Indigenous communities of the Amazon basin for hundreds, probably thousands, of years.
The Shipibo-Conibo of Peru are among its most well-known keepers, but they are not the only ones. The Yageceros and Taitas of Colombia’s Putumayo region carry their own deep relationship with it. The Yawanawá and Huni Kuĩ of Brazil carry theirs. Every group has its own lineage, its own songs, its own way. Maja and I have been trained within the Shipibo tradition, through our relationship with Maestro Gilberto Mahua and his family.
The brew is made from two primary plants: Banisteriopsis caapi, a vine that grows in the Amazon — the grandmother, the one that guides and holds — and Psychotria viridis, the chacruna leaf, which is what opens the inner eye and brings the visions. Together they create something neither produces alone.
Ayahuasca is not recreational. It is ceremonial. The chemistry is inseparable from the container — the prayer, the preparation, the lineage of the person holding the space, the intention of everyone in the circle. To reduce it to its compounds is to miss everything that makes it what it is.
What Happens Before — The Dieta
The dieta is not a list of foods to avoid. That is a small part of it.
The dieta is your entire environment in the days before ceremony. What you eat, yes — but also what you watch, what you listen to, what you think about, who you spend time with, what energy you allow around you. No news. No social media. Presence. Breath. The cleaner and quieter you are before you arrive, the more space the medicine has to work.
Here is why it matters: when ayahuasca enters the body, it scans. It finds the blockages — the places where energy is stuck, where grief is held, where old patterns have calcified. To do that work it needs room to move. The emptier you arrive, the easier it can flow through you.
That emptying often happens through the ceremony itself — through purging, through tears, through shaking, through release. These are not side effects. They are the work. But the cleaner you have prepared, the more gently that work can happen.
Most facilitators ask for a minimum of one week of preparation. Stricter lineages ask for longer. Follow the specific guidance of whoever is holding your ceremony. What cannot be improvised or rushed is the internal readiness — and that is entirely yours to build.
Screening — The Most Important Safety Protocol
The medicine is not for everyone. This is not gatekeeping. It is care — for the participant, for the facilitator, and for the integrity of the space.
Before any ceremony, a responsible facilitator will send a preparation document and a detailed health questionnaire, and will have a real conversation with you — a phone call, not just a form. They need to know your health history, your mental health history, your medications, your intentions.
Ayahuasca is not appropriate for people taking antidepressants or MAOIs — the physiological interaction is serious. It is not appropriate for people who have had recent surgery, who are pregnant, who have heart conditions, high blood pressure, schizophrenia, or active psychosis. A facilitator who does not screen has either not learned or has decided something else matters more than your safety.
If you are ever told your contraindications “don’t matter” — walk away.
What Happens During a Ceremony
Ayahuasca is traditionally drunk at night. We wait for the sun to set.
The group gathers in circle. Before anything else, there is an introduction — the logistics of the space, how to move around it, where the bathroom is, what to do if you need to step outside. And then the agreements: no shouting, no touching, stay in your place. If you need to leave the temple — to use the bathroom, to smoke tobacco, to look at the stars — that is fine. But come back. Don’t stay outside too long. The circle holds better when it stays close.
Ceremony typically begins between seven and eight in the evening.
Once the foundation is laid and the space is settled, the facilitator prepares to serve. Before pouring the medicine, they will blow an icaro — a healing song — directly into the ayahuasca. This is the encantamiento, the enchantment — the facilitator presenting their own energy to the medicine, asking permission. Protect me. Protect this group. Guide me in what is needed. It is not performance. It is an act of asking, and of trust.
The medicine is served. Effects arrive somewhere between thirty and sixty minutes after drinking — and when they do, they arrive differently for everyone. Some people begin to purge. Some need the bathroom. Some sit completely still and go entirely inward. All of it is the medicine moving. Once it activates, energy moves — through the body, through thought, through emotion. The geometric patterns begin. Things that have been held down begin to rise.
The icaros. This is where the lineage lives.
The icaro is the language of the plants. It is how a trained curandero communicates with them, navigates the ceremonial space, protects the participants, harmonizes what arises. Through years of dieta — through building a relationship with each plant over time — a practitioner learns its songs. The icaro is not background music. It is a precise energetic tool. Harmonizing. Regulating. Protecting. Cleaning. Aligning. When I hear Maestro Gilberto sing, I understand something about medicine that cannot be explained in words.
The peak of the experience can last three to four hours. The medicine then slowly begins to release — a gradual softening, a coming back. Some people are invited to drink a second time. When the ceremony closes, the facilitator brings it down with prayer and song.
What follows is rest. And then something the medicine always seems to offer on the other side of the storm — a feeling of being held, of warmth, of extraordinary quiet.
In the morning, the group gathers again. Not to compare visions but to share, to speak, to anchor. That morning circle is where the ceremony starts becoming something you can actually carry. It is the first step of integration.
What Ayahuasca Can Offer — and What It Cannot Promise
Ayahuasca can offer clarity. A key that opens a door within yourself — to your own value, to your own light, to the weight you have been carrying that does not actually belong to you. It can help you see that you are not your experiences. That beneath the decades of conditioning, disappointment, guilt, bad guidance — there is something intact. Something sacred.
We are energy. And we are more capable of directing that energy than most of us have been taught to believe.
What the medicine cannot do is change you in one night. One ceremony does not undo decades of pattern. What it can do is show you that change is possible. It can give you the feeling of possibility — a light at the end of the tunnel that you can actually aim toward. That feeling, held and worked with, becomes a foundation.
The ceremony is always a beginning. Never an end.
Who Should Not Attend a Ceremony
Ayahuasca is not appropriate for:
- People taking antidepressants or MAOIs — serious physiological risk
- People with recent surgery
- People who are pregnant or nursing
- People with heart conditions or high blood pressure
- People with schizophrenia, active psychosis, or severe bipolar disorder
A facilitator who tells you these contraindications do not apply to you is a facilitator to walk away from.
How to Choose a Ceremony Worth Sitting In
Training and lineage — and what that actually means.
A genuine facilitator has spent years — more likely decades — in deep training. Not a week in the jungle. Not ten days and a certificate. The training is the medicine itself: going to dark places, finding your way out, going again, going deeper, finding your way out again. That is how you learn to help someone else through it. That is what you are trusting when you sit with someone.
Music matters in ceremony. But a musician who knows beautiful songs is not the same as someone who has spent years dieting plants and building real relationships with them. The icaro works because of the relationship behind it, not the melody alone.
And lineage does not mean nationality. Lineage and training matter more than where someone is from or what they look like — assumptions about either direction will lead you wrong. What matters is the depth and honesty of the training, and whether the person can speak to it clearly when you ask.
Ask directly: Who did you train with? For how long? What does your dieta practice look like now?
Screening. We said it before and we will say it again: a facilitator who does not screen is not taking responsibility for what they are holding. A proper process includes a preparation document, a health questionnaire, and a real conversation before any deposit is made.
Group size. Ceremony is a living thing. When a group gets too large, the energy becomes difficult to track — there is too much process, too much happening at once. It is less a question of number and more a question of feeling. Ask the facilitator how they think about this. The answer tells you something.
The space. A ceremony space carries history. A purpose-built temple on land that has been worked ceremonially is different from a rented room. At Casa Arkaana we are deliberate about who we allow to serve medicine in our temple — not out of exclusivity, but because we work with energy and we take that responsibility seriously.
Preparation and integration. A ceremony with no preparation and no follow-up is just an experience. Ask specifically what is offered before and after the ceremony nights.
Integration — The Real Work
The ceremony is not the destination. What you do with what arose in ceremony — that is the destination.
Integration is not passive. It is the phone call you finally make. The pattern you begin to notice and interrupt. The rest you allow yourself. The honesty you practice. The slow work of letting something actually change.
The morning circle after ceremony is where that work begins — speaking what came up, hearing it in your own voice, feeling it land. Without that anchoring, the visions fade. The teachings become memories. With it, they become something you can actually live.
At Casa Arkaana, the days after ceremony are built for this. The land helps. The jungle, the cenote pool, the quiet, the food, the circle. We encourage guests to protect that time — to not rush back, to not fill the space immediately with the noise of ordinary life. The medicine is still working. Let it.
A Note on Where to Find Upcoming Retreats
If you are considering sitting in ceremony, you can find upcoming retreats at Casa Arkaana at our retreats page.
To understand more about the landscape of plant medicine retreats in Mexico: Plant Medicine Retreats in Mexico: A Practical Guide.
This article is for informational purposes only and does not constitute medical or legal advice. If you have health conditions or take prescription medication, please consult with a qualified healthcare provider before attending any ceremony.
Frequently Asked Questions
How long does an ayahuasca ceremony last?
Most ceremonies run from early evening until sometime between midnight and dawn — roughly four to eight hours for the full arc. The morning integration circle the following day is part of the process.
How many ceremonies are in a typical retreat?
Most retreats at Casa Arkaana include two or three ceremony nights across a five to seven day stay, with preparation, integration circles, and grounding activities woven between them.
Can I attend if I take antidepressants?
SSRIs and MAOIs present a genuine physiological risk in combination with ayahuasca and require a supervised washout period before attending. Speak with your prescribing physician and communicate openly with your facilitator before making any decisions.
What if I have a difficult experience during ceremony?
A well-held ceremony has experienced support throughout. The key is not avoiding difficulty — difficulty is often where the real work happens — but having people around you who know how to hold that space when it comes.
Do I need prior experience with plant medicine?
No. What matters more than experience is genuine readiness: a stable foundation, clear intention, willingness to prepare, and commitment to what comes after.