At the end of February, before leaving Baja, I sat with Kambo. Kambo is a traditional Amazonian medicine derived from the secretion of the giant monkey frog. This secretion is naturally toxic—something the frog uses as a defense in the wild—but in a ceremonial setting, it is applied in very small, controlled amounts. The secretion is collected respectfully, without harming the frog, then dried and later applied to small points on the skin called “gates.” Through these openings, the medicine enters the lymphatic system.

What stays with me most is not the intensity of the experience itself, but what remained afterward. There is something powerful about ceremonial sacred medicines that continues to work long after the ceremony ends. Not just in the body, but in the subtle spaces within me, what has shifted, what has softened, and what has been left behind.

That morning, there was a quiet awareness in my body, as if something had already begun. I could feel the medicine approaching even before we arrived. I went upstairs on the terraza to drum and sing, to meet the medicine before stepping into the ceremony.

When we arrived, we were in a beautiful setting where the desert met the ocean. The vegetation was abundant, the breeze was steady, and there was a presence in the wind that felt like a teacher moving through the space. I sat on a large pillow on the patio, taking it all in, aware of the elements at play—water and fire, already in relationship.

We were given liters of water to drink as part of the process. By the second liter, my body began to respond gently, needing to use the bathroom and release. By the third, the medicine woman began opening the gates on my arms. These are small points on the skin, opened with a heated stick, creating tiny burns that allow the medicine to enter the body. I chose to work with four gates—two on each arm—focusing on the rings of power above the waist, with the intention of clearing and integrating both masculine and feminine energies. My partner sat with me in this experience as well, receiving his own set of gates based on his body and intention.

As the Curandera applied the kambo, tears rolled down my face, not from pain, but from something that felt sacred. There was a humility and reverence in the experience, a recognition that I was in relationship with something ancient and intelligent. I found myself internally offering gratitude to the medicine.

Within less than a minute of receiving the medicine, I could feel it fully arrive. My face felt like it was beginning to swell. A little freaky, I will admit. Then came the nausea—strong, immediate, and undeniable. I was guided to purge into the earth, releasing the water I had consumed and the toxins in my body. It felt like a faucet had been turned on inside of me, as if something deeper than the physical was moving through and out. The purging continued, accompanied by waves of discomfort and a growing sense of surrender.

The medicine woman stayed close throughout, singing, using the rattle and drum, and gently supporting my body by patting my back and stomach to help the release. There was something profoundly comforting about being held in that way while my body moved through the process. I was encouraged to continue drinking water to support further clearing, and as I did, more was released.

After about thirty minutes, I could feel the intensity begin to subside. I was invited to lie down, and that’s when my body began to shake. It was a full nervous system response, teeth chattering, body trembling, until, gradually, it settled. There was a sense of completion, yet still a feeling that something powerful had occurred.

The ceremony closed with Hapé, which brought a feeling of grounding and clarity. What remained afterward was not depletion, but a surprising sense of lightness and softness. I felt more open, more gentle with myself, and more present in my body.

Kambo is described as a purge, and it certainly is that. But what feels more important to me is what comes after. It is what is left behind when the body releases what it has been holding—when anger moves, when old stories begin to loosen their grip, when something dense gives way to something more spacious.

That is the part that stays with me.

It wasn’t just about what was cleared, but about the quiet, sacred softening that remained in its place.

One thing I want to share, almost as a quiet afterthought, is that before the ceremony began, I was asked if there was anything physical I wanted to release. While my intention for sitting with Kambo was not centered on my physical body—my focus was on the deeper emotional and spiritual layers—I did mention that I had been experiencing sciatica for at least a year. It had been persistent, something my body had been holding for a long time. Since that ceremony, now two months later, I have not experienced a single flare-up. Not once has the sciatica returned. I offer this not as a claim or expectation, but simply as part of my experience—another layer of what, for me, was left behind.

Aho.