Confessions of a Yagé Drinker: I Am Thirsty

And I drank yagé.
Ayahuasca!, they told me.
I didn't know what it was, but I said yes. Slowly and stealthily, like a flirt patiently waiting her turn, the serpent began to seize me, ravenous, between her jaws.
What is yagé, you ask? They'll tell you it's a plant, and that plants are natural. They'll tell you it comes from the humid, stormy soil of our Earth. They'll tell you that if you drink it, it will turn your life completely around. Those who have already drunk it will tell you everything that keeps on swiftly changing life.
So I'll say that yagé is medicine.
The first adjustments were a bit confusing. Confusion slammed doors in my face.
The yagé has entered my blood, and from inside it begins to wring me out. Suddenly every exit closes. I don't know what I feel, but everything is upside down. I have nothing to hold on to, and so I try to hold on to everything. Could taking medicine have harmed me?
No, it does me good. I rise from my vomit a little less disoriented than yesterday. But the debts of old days keep cashing their checks. I wasn't angrier after taking yagé; the rage had been burning in me since before. The energy that begins to run through my body makes itself a little more watchful each time I use it.
After a few years they start to show
No belief holds up for a yagé drinker.