I spent Saturday night rolling on the floor of a loft apartment in the Prenzlauer Berg neighborhood of Berlin. When I wasn't rolling, I was in the bathroom shoving my fingers down my throat, or sitting on the john trying to take a dump.
I cried like a mother at a wedding. I kicked my feet in the air like dogs do when they're sleeping, and on one occasion—in tandem with the feet—I let my hands dance in front of my face like the last raver in the field on the last night of summer.
For what felt like three days, I went from bathroom to floor and back again. When I finally got it together enough to wobble onto the balcony and smoke a cigarette, I realized I'd only been under for four hours. Ayahuasca, yagé, the truth vine, the madre, or whatever you call it was not only the strongest drug I've ever tried but easily the most powerful experience I've ever had.
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