Peru called to me like a memory I hadn’t made yet, as the voice of a mistress beckoning for me to find her.
After the mushroom gate cracked my identity open, I wasn’t looking for answers —
I was following something quieter than that.
A pull. A code. A whisper beneath the noise.
I landed in a small, pulsing town called Pucallpa.
Jungle heat. Wet earth.
The air so thick it felt like it was holding its breath with you.
I stayed there over a year.
Lived with a shaman.
Not a showman in feathers — a real one.
Quiet. Deep. An older woman connected to plants, times, and unseen spaces far beyond my then-narrow Western-comprehension.
We didn’t talk much.
Words felt like clutter.
Ceremony replaced conversation.
Ayahuasca became the language.
Every few nights: a cup of darkness.
A song.
Then… nothing and everything, all at once.
The plants didn’t care about who I thought myself to be.
They didn’t care about my story, my scars, my “journey.”
They stripped all of that from the edges inward,
not violently —
but with absolute precision.
What I met in those ceremonies wasn’t just visions.
It was structure.
I began to see that the world — all of it — was running on invisible code.
Light codes. Sound codes. Gene codes.
And that code wasn’t just out there.
It was in me. And the more pure my entire being, the more I could both receive and transmit.
I was being reprogrammed from the inside out.
Some nights, it felt like I was being downloaded with forgotten knowledge.
Other nights, it felt like dying.
Most nights, both.
I dieted plants I still can’t pronounce.
Sat in silence for weeks.
Stopped using my real name.
Stopped listening to music.
Stopped identifying with anything at all.
I watched myself dissolve
layer by layer
until there wasn’t much left except breath, bones, and being.
Peru was the disassembly line.
Colombia and Brazil followed — each with their own flavor of medicine, madness, and memory.
Each with teachers.
Each with mirrors.
By the time I left South America, I had been so stripped down that even my physical body had gone from my usual 70-80KG to a mere 55KG.
I wasn’t sure what — or who — I was anymore.
Not because I was lost,
but because all the pieces that used to define me
had fallen away so slowly and precisely,
I didn’t feel their absence.
Only space.
I’d come looking for love.
What I got was emptiness.
Not the void —
the canvas.
And that, I would learn later,
was the greatest gift of all.
Chapter 6: The Mushroom Gate
After everything collapsed — the label, the love, the scaffolding of who I was building myself into — there was silence. A strange, empty silence. At first, it felt like failure. But in time, it started to feel like space. And in that space, something found me. While working a [...]| Play | Cover | Release Label |
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