First, Let’s Surrender: poems of one plant medicine journey (poems-only version)

plant medicine retreat September 1-10, 2024

Pisatahua Retreat Center — Riberalta, Bolivia

 

Hello there!

The following poems were spoken and recorded over the course of one particular plant medicine retreat, at Pisatahua Retreat Center, in the Bolivian Amazon, in September of 2024.

The purpose of the text is simple: to present and offer these poems, from my heart to yours — as healing medicine, or however they happen to resonate with you.

If you want to know about the healing experience I had over the course of this particular ayahuasca/plant medicine retreat, you can read my reflections from the retreat here. (Photos are included in that as well.)

Poetry is medicine itself, and I sincerely wish for these poems to reach you as ‘capsules’ that offer the most potent, most powerfully loving and healing energy of the retreat. The poems all came forth during the retreat — sometimes in the middle of ceremony — helping to verbalize and continue the deep processes that were happening.

Enjoy!

opening incantation

Mother Ayahuasca,

I give myself completely to you…

Lovingly, I’m Yours.

You know what I want

even before I know it,

You know my heart

better than I…

No way around what’s to come.

My head in the tiger’s mouth…

When will she bite

Wake In

‘Awakening is realizing there’s no way out.

Magic is realizing there’s a way in.’

—Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

Wake up!

Wake up, wake in, look around.

Your life is not a movie—

No — this is it. This is the real thing,

the dream you decided to dream,

or sleptwalked in to.

Notice how your eyes follow the bend

and flow of light and color…

See everything,

but follow the light.

If you were worried of being seduced

into a never-ending nightmare—

don’t seduce yourself, dreamer.

Be here.

If you’d like to wake up,

you’re better off

waking in.

Wake in to your senses,

wake in to your emotions,

wake in to your heart.

Wake in to your beauty, your love—

spill them from your heart like fingerpaints.

Dream a wild, joyful, courageous dream—

or whatever

you like.

All dreams are created equal

but only some dreams birth equality.

All dreams are born free

but only some die free.

All dreams are true

but only some know truth.

All dreams contain beauty

but only some realize beauty.

All dreams can become loving dreams

but some dreams you’re better off waking up out of.

All dreams are made of love

but only some dreams are made of Pure Love,

refined Love — supple, sturdy, true —

the kind of Love that can build a dream

so deep, so wide, so full of heart

that you’d see it were your very own life

if you weren’t already sleeping.

Wake in, wake in.

First, Let’s Surrender (1)

First, let’s surrender—

everything—

like waterfalls.

Like sitting in a waterfall.

…

Let’s surrender to silence

before we speak.

Let’s speak cloaked words

before we know them.

Let’s let ones greater than us

speak simple words

through our hearts

and throats.

First let’s surrender

our entire heart.

Let’s surrender, even,

all the hidden chambers of our hearts—

the dusty dark rooms we

chained shut and triple-padlocked,

pretending like nobody knows

what’s inside.

Let’s surrender to the majentas and fuschias

that streak through the darkness like fireflies.

Let’s surrender to every magnificent

sunrise and sunset we’ve ever seen,

and to those special nights

when we stayed up all night

and got to see the sunrise

before we went to bed.

Let’s surrender to that special

mermaid in a red dress,

who seduced us all

into swimming in the lake.

There’s a leopard who lives across

the lake, and he’s here tonight.

He has his own stories to tell.

He’s fought many battles

to the death—

It’s always to the death—

it’s always to the death.

(Except when he’s play-fighting

with brothers and sisters.)

So far, he’s won every battle—

(that’s what he’ll tell you, anyway)

—but he knows we all lose in the end.

So first, let’s surrender—

everything—

like waterfalls.

Like sitting in a waterfall.

Like being a waterfall.

First, Let’s Surrender (2)

First, let’s surrender

everything

like a wise, old, wounded jaguar

surrenders to the business

of the day.

First let’s surrender all of ourselves

to Life, as if our lives

depended on it.

Let’s surrender to our passion.

Let’s learn from our passion,

without losing ourselves

to its creeping shadow.

Let’s learn from our passion

like the wise old wounded jaguar,

who sex is also wounded,

and healing, and full of heart,

and gentle, and wild,

and whole.

The elders

taught him tantra.

Tantra is the softest caress,

the stroke of a finger down your spine,

a silent blown kiss,

the gentlest breeze you

could feel on your cheek.

Tantra is love long, long, long

before touch. Tantra is the hidden

truth of all energy, of all emotions—

how to feel them, to let them be,

exactly as they are—

how to create beauty

with the precious energy

they’ve gifted you.

Tantra is building a temple

of the purest love

in yourself, first

and foremost.

Let’s surrender to the wounds

of our hearts. Let’s surrender to

the lonely times. Let’s surrender

to the time you ran away from home

and pretended you’d never return.

Do you remember, as a baby,

how loved you were? Or,

are you the one

who must love that baby?

Do you remember the lonely times

when you cried for help, and

Mom and Dad weren’t home?

Can you surrender to that feeling, too—

with love?

(Let’s bless all the babies in the world,

with pure love,

letting them know

how loved they are

and always will be.)

Do you remember, as a child, how you

dreamed big dreams? Big,

beautiful dreams of the life you

would live someday, or the life

you did live, in your fairytale heart?

Don’t follow your dreams—

follow their roots.

Follow them all the way,

as deep as they go.

What is your deepest longing?

What is your heart’s greatest desire?

What would you die for?

Life?

(Can you find the courage

to say yes to life,

yes to death,

yes to God,

yes to yourself?)

What would it mean

to nourish your deepest longing?

To care for it, to spend time with it?

Can you surrender your deepest longing, too?

Or rather, can you surrender to it—

can you let yourself be taken all the way?

Letting yourself be taken all the way

means giving up all hope

of ever managing to surrender.

Letting yourself be carried

means giving up on going

anywhere at all. It means

turning around

to face your shadow

and going there—

feeling it all,

—even the worst of it—

in time,

with love,

gentle love,

great love.

Can you learn to hold all of yourself

with an infinite smile?

A smile with all of your cheeks,

a smile that shines your heart’s infinite love?

Because that’s all there is—

pure love…

and the shadow.

In this delicate dance,

step forward, step back—

Just when you think you’ve dodged

your shadow, there it is,

like a knife in your heart.

Your shadow is a blessing.

Your wounds are blessings.

When you pull out the knife,

light shines through.

Your shadow

shimmers.

Your wounds are shimmering shadows.

So feel them. Cry, sob, shake,

do a sad dance, scream, shout,

sit in silent sentimental surrender…

Or stretch out the nooks and crannies

of your heart

like a jaguar stretches

his front legs.

Stretch your shoulders, bless them—

bless every part of your body

down to its very roots—

every cell, every speck…

Spend time blessing

every part of your body.

I love you, body!

I love to dance with you,

I love how you look,

I love you exactly as you are.

I love you even when you feel sick, or yucky—

it’s okay, I’ll play with your hair, I’ll listen

to you… whatever you need, I’m just here for you.

Who knows? One minute I’m playing

with your hair, and the next…

who knows?

Many loves are like doors cracked open.

Some loves are too sacred to name.

Better to remain silent.

So first, let’s surrender—

everything—

like a wise old wounded jaguar

licks the wounds

of his own wounded heart.

Ho’Oponopono, Mom

a poem for my mother Sally,

and for all mothers

Ho’Oponopono:

“Thank you,

I’m sorry,

Please forgive me,

I love you.”

Thank you, Mom.

I’m sorry, Mom.

Please forgive me, Mom.

I love you, Mom.

(1)

Thank you, Mom.

Thank you, Mom!

Thank you, thank you, thank you

so much.

Thank you for giving me life.

Thank you for loving me.

Thank you for feeding me.

Thank you for for teaching me.

Thank you for the gentle lessons,

thank you even for the pain.

Thank you for my beating heart

that lets me feel it all.

Thank you for your care, your devotion.

Thank you for singing to me,

reading so many beautiful books to me,

filling our home with toys, art supplies, games…

Thank you for taking me to church.

Thank you for teaching Sunday school.

Thank you for cooking sloppy joes,

lasagna, mexican casserole,

mac n’ cheese with peas,

and so many other delicious meals.

Thank you for family dinners.

Thank you for being there waiting

with open arms when I yelled ‘Mom!’

and came running.

Thank you for making me feel safe

and letting me snuggle

between you and Dad

after I had a nightmare.

Thank you for your smile, your laugh.

Thank you for the peace in your heart.

I pray you know your peace

more and more

every day.

(Our peace is one,

our peace is one.

This Earth is one—

our pain, our love are one.

We are this Earth—

this soil, these roots.

We give, we receive.

We are stable.

We can hold it all.

We don’t turn away

from anyone.

We are one,

in the Heart.)

Thank you for your warmth.

Thank you for your spirit.

Thank you for teaching me to hold myself

in the light of my own heart.

Thank you for protecting me.

Thank you for teaching me to protect myself.

Thank you for nourishing me.

Thank you for teaching me to nourish myself.

Thank you for teaching me boundaries.

Thank you for teaching me to become a man.

(2)

I’m sorry, Mom.

I’m sorry, Mom — I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry, Mom!

Mom,

I’m so sorry.

I’m sorry for hating you.

I’m sorry for resenting you.

I’m sorry for withholding my love from you.

I’m sorry for turning away, for shutting down,

for making myself empty.

I’m sorry for blaming you.

I’m sorry for treating you like a servant,

like a doormat.

I’m sorry for violating your heart,

your energy.

I’m sorry for spilling orange soda

inside your purse.

I’m sorry for my absent heart.

I’m sorry for trying to change you.

I’m sorry for wishing you’d be different

in any way from how you are.

I’m sorry for rejecting you.

I’m sorry for my tantrums.

I’m sorry for making you feel awful

when Pokemon came out for Gameboy

and you bought me Donkey Kong

because Target was sold out of Pokemon.

You really did your best, Mom,

(and truthfully, so did I)

and I’m sorry for not seeing that.

(3)

Please forgive me, Mom.

Please forgive me.

Mom, please forgive me.

Please forgive me, Mom.

I know you already have,

but still, I must ask again,

with my whole,

remorseful, loving heart—

Please forgive me, Mom.

(4)

I love you, Mom!

I love you.

I really love you, Mom.

I love you so much.

I love you, Mom.

I love your smile,

I love your laugh,

I love all

of who you are.

I love how you brighten strangers’ days.

I love how you glue our family together.

I love how much you love and care for us.

I love how you love this planet.

I love how you love gardening, birds, trees, plants…

I love how you teach yourself about the Earth

and how to care for it.

I love you with all my heart.

I love you now and forever.

I love how you made sure everyone got a lot

of Christmas presents that they wanted.

I love how you were always Santa Clause.

I love your enthusiastic help for Halloween,

and I love how you took us to the pumpkin patches

with the hay bale mazes.

I love how you helped with school projects —

the human body, gingerbread houses, diaramas, ecosystems.

Finally I allow myself to feel the Pure

Love I’ve always felt for you,

from the very center of my heart.

I love how you care for your friends.

I love how you stay in touch

with Aunt Carolyn and Ruth.

I love how you manifested

the family reunion.

I love how much you want

the best for your children.

I love your openheartedness.

I love you in your struggles,

your closedheartedness,

your shortcomings.

I love your brightest and most

true love for Dad.

I love how you’re finding

your way.

I love how you ask if I want anything

before you go to the grocery store.

I love how sometimes I say No and

you still bring me cookies.

I love when you don’t bring me

cookies,

too.

I love how you and Dad took us to

visit Grandpa and Grandma Pfeifer

and Grandpa and Grandma Carpenter

every year

for so long.

I love how you cared for your parents

in their final years.

I love the beautiful legacy of your parents,

and I love living in the home your father built.

I love everything you’ve learned and passed on

from your parents—

the good, the bad, and the ugly—

especially the great wealth

of the good.

I love how you and Dad took us to Macinaw Island,

Sleeping Bear Dunes,

the Mystery Spot,

the Upper Peninsula,

Starved Rock, Santa Fe,

Scotsdale, Sedona,

the Grand Canyon—

fear and all—

and so many other amazing,

magical places

on this Earth.

And, I love how we stopped

at McDonald’s on the way

and played the Monopoly game

and spotted license plates

from so many different states.

(5)

I love you Mom—

I love you!

I just love you.

I love you with the warmth and color

of every sunrise and every sunset.

I love you like fields of lilacs, lavender, roses, daisies—

I love you all the pinks, reds, fuchsias, magentas, soft blues…

I love you like your favorite bouquet of flowers

in the middle of your heart.

I love you, Mom!

I love you with the radiance of every star,

I love you with the purity of Mother Mary,

with the humility of Jesus washing your feet,

with the honor of a nameless devotee.

I love you with Krishna’s bliss

and play and joy,

I love you with Shiva’s

presence in All.

I love you, Mom.

I love you like the loving gaze

of Ramana Maharshi!

That’s just the beginning

of how much I love you.

I love you with the compassion

of every bodhisattva, and with

the generosity of every buddha

who gave, and gave, and gave.

I love you, Mom.

I love you with the simplicity of

a raindrop. I love you how God

loves a speck of dust, and how

a speck of dust loves God.

I love you with an ant’s

sense of duty. I love you

with the fierceness of a

mother bear defending

her cubs, as you have

defended me.

I love you, Mom.

I love you like shooting stars

at the drive-in movie theater.

I love you like the dance of the

Northern and Southern lights.

I love you with all my heart, Mom,

I love you everything,

I love you the Cosmos Itself.

I love all that you are—

your light, your shadow,

everything.

I love you, Mom.

As long as this human heart beats

it will be full of warm, radiant love

for you — every day, every moment

for the rest of my life.

And even after this heart stops

beating, still,

I will love you, Mom.

I love you a million, a bajillion,

I love you infinity,

I love you forever, Mom.

And through loving you, Mom,

I love everything,

Because you mean the world to me.

closing incantation

It was all ‘essential’…

even though there are more and less direct paths.

She was always teaching me—

even by giving me the freedom to go my own way.

It was ‘uneven,’ unbalanced…

but it all balanced out in the end.

There is endless work, endless healing to be done…

but I am Complete, perfectly Whole just as I am.

The shadow is great, the suffering is immense…

but All is LOVE—

held in Love, felt in Love, transformed in Love

Every blessing is blown into the Heart of the Cosmos Itself…

Hallalla*

*(‘So Be It,’ ‘It is happening’)

OM GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASAMGATE BODHI SVAHA

OM GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASAMGATE BODHI SVAHA

OM GATE GATE PARAGATE PARASAMGATE BODHI SVAHA

‘Gone, gone, gone beyond, completely exposed, awake, sobeit!’

—The Heart Sutra (trans. Chogyam Trungpa, Cutting Through Spiritual Materialism)

If you want to read about the plant medicine retreat experience that birthed these poems, you can see the retreat overview and reflections here.

Take care, friend! Be good to yourself!

Will

the group of retreaters whom I love dearly