~ Pele. Oct 2022

We were all already very high, deep in the psychedelic expansion of our forest medicine journey, when all of a sudden, I felt a strong tag inside of my being, calling me to pray. A fear arose in me for the safety of a woman friend of mine, who lives in a fundamentalist Islamic country, and I had to pray for her right now, in the most powerful way.

When my senses are open beyond the ordinary perception, and I can feel how the whole universe is magically connected, how everything is actually “here,” and I can energetically touch the dark-light strings that tie it all together, what I often do is pray.

For several years, whenever I drank Ayahuasca in Israel, I was immediately taken by Spirit to pray for women and men in the Arab countries around us. I had to feel through them, cry with them in the dark, and pray for the healing of their Yonis, Lingams, and hearts. It went on for hours at a time. I didn’t really want it to happen, but the medicine didn’t seem to care. Time and again, as the medicine was starting to flow in my veins, I was taken to feel the domino effect of suffering that sexual repression creates in general, and than specifically in the Islamic world. Seeing how repression creates suffering, which in its own turn creates more repression and even more suffering, was sometimes throwing me into despair.

I want to make it clear: all religions that I know create a chain of suffering that starts with cruel sexual repression. This is by no means unique to Islam! In fact several times I tried to argue with the medicine, claiming things like: “why don’t we focus on the sexual repression of the ultra-orthodox Jewish world, which I know so well first-handed?” but the medicine didn’t care. My visions were always wandering above the middle-east, viewing the Islamic world and feeling the unspoken suffering. That was the prayer I needed to pray, and you, the reader – please pray for all the rest if you are moved to do so, but not only from the mind. It needs to come from your whole being.

This Ayahuasca phenomenon was going on for several years until I started having individuals from the Islamic world join my seminars worldwide. They came to study with me despite the fact that they knew of my Israeli origin. I respected that a lot. Maybe they knew that I did not serve in the Israeli army, and maybe they did not. Nevertheless, they opened up so beautifully and deeply with us, like a slow-motion video of a sprouting seed reaching to the light of the sun or a butterfly spreading its fresh wings for the first time.

It took me a while to realize that since I started seeing those women and men in my Sexual Shamanic workshops, my medicine journeys were no longer sending me in the same direction. All of a sudden, I could have more diverse experiences and more fun.

In any case, that night, in the forest, I felt the urgency to find a sacred place to pray for my friend.

An ex-lover of mine was there, tripping high, sitting by the fire, and enjoying the music and the mesmerizing view of the hot embers. I came up to her and whispered in her ear: “listen, beloved, I need to pray! Would you be so kind as to open your legs and let me pray through the temple of your yoni? You can keep your jeans on, of course”.

“Sure,” she said. She then turned around and opened her legs wide.

I laid down on the ground between her knees, put my face in front of her yoni, bowed down, opened my hands, and started to cry: “Please Havaya (=existence, and a kabbalistic name for the Divine), please keep my beloved friend XXXX alive, I fear for her, please save her, please keep her safe and secure…”

I prayed and prayed, imagining the dark-light web of power going through the yoni to where my friend lives and surrounding her with a ring of safety. After a while, I felt this unique feeling in my heart that all people who pray deeply know. This feeling that says, “it’s ok. Your prayer was received”. I bowed down again to the Yoni that was the sacred portal for my prayers, thanked my ex-lover from the depth of my heart, and went on to my seat to play and sing with the amazing group of musicians that we were so fortunate to have there with us.

The next day I sent a voicemail to my friend, telling her about what happened and asking to know how she was.

“Actually,” said my friend, “last night was pretty scary… in the middle of the night, a man broke into my apartment. I woke up, and he was there, in the dark of my bedroom, staring at me. At first, all I saw was a beard and two white eyes, but later on, I realized it was him, a young man who was my friend years ago. He seemed very confused and troubled, speaking about me and what I am for him, but thank god, I found the courage and confidence to order him to leave, and he did. It took time until he left. That was a bit scary, but I'm okay.”

Two weeks later, I got another voicemail from her:

“Do not ask what happened!” she said. “I am in total shock… we all are… Remember the man that broke into my apartment two weeks ago? So last night, the same guy brutally murdered his ex-girlfriend… he raped her, she was trying to escape and jumped from the second floor, but he caught her, pulled her back to his place by her hair, cut her head off, and mutilated her body. It was the date of ‘Eid’ (the Islamic holiday of sacrifice) and when the police took him away he said that he did nothing wrong, as she wanted to be sacrificed…”

Let’s take a pause here and mourn. Let’s shed tears. My heart mourns for this poor woman that I have never known. Rage is rising up in me, and it screams – “this should never have happened!” yet, unfortunately, it is a true story. It all happened in 2021.

While men’s lives are disposable in common culture for the aggression that rises in national conflicts, women’s lives, in particular, are too often taken brutally as a result of society’s sexual repression. My friend, who is a women's rights activist in her country and was constantly under a threat, told me of many other women she knew that were murdered there for “the honor of the family,” usually by their own brother or father.

So, let’s pause here, take a deep breath (appreciate the fact that we can still breathe), and feel the pain.

You might ask why I tell you all this.

Well, maybe because I want people to realize that there are no better temples for prayers other than the Yoni. As a matter of fact, many ancient temples try to resemble in their architecture the shape and form of the yoni and the womb – the sacred and the only place on earth where life can be created.

Maybe because I wish that people today will realize what the devotees of the Dionysian Mysteries already figured out thousands of years ago: medicine journeys combined with the free flow of eros can lead us not only to some ecstatic fun but also to the depth of devotion, prayer and a direct connection to the sacred fabric of life. Those sacred ceremonies are far more than just another hedonistic party.

***

Epilogue:

Thank goddess, some days ago, my friend succeeded in emigrating from her country of origin (where, as a free woman who didn’t submit to patriarchy, she was constantly under a life threat) to a new and safe place.

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