The Fall and the Leap (Wednesday June 11 to Friday June 13)
Wednesday, June 11
The breaking point didn’t come with a scream. It came with a whisper: I’m giving up everything — my house, my workspace, my business, my life as I knew it — and even then, I wasn’t given the camper.
A place to simply be. A shelter. A pause. Even that… was denied.
I felt exiled. From my home. From my life. And most of all: from the bonds I thought were real.
This was the fracture line. Not doubt. But the feeling that *no one was choosing me anymore*. Not my ex-wife. Not my son. Not even my lawyer.
I was empty. Exhausted from fighting. And somewhere, quietly, this memory returned: ayahuasca had saved me before. Truly saved me.
So between Wednesday night and Thursday morning, I decided. Not from hope. But because there was nothing left to lose.
I signed up. One night less, it didn’t matter. I went.
Thursday night – first ceremony
My head controlled everything. Every emotion was filtered. Let go. Feel this. Think that. And I watched. A spectator of my own movie.
But I stayed. And that “staying” mattered more than I realized.
Friday, June 13
The day began with a letter: the divorce was final.
I shared it with one of the facilitators. “Fitting,” I said, “Friday the 13th… and this.” She smiled, and said: “It’s just another day. Congratulations.”
Her words threw me off. Congratulations? Was this something to celebrate? I didn’t understand.
But a day later, I did.
She was already speaking *from a place I hadn’t reached yet*. A place of release. Of space. Of beginning again, without judgment.
And slowly, I stepped toward that place too. Not in joy. But in some kind of peace.
I remembered something Anthony had once said in an online session: “Move through life without expectations, and everything will come.”
I had heard it. But now… I began to *understand* it.
Everything. And nothing. (Friday night to Sunday June 15)
I was there, in the silence. For the first time, with nothing to prove.
Alone. But well alone. Not rejected. Not forgotten. But present. With myself.
And then… everything opened. As if I was guiding the rhythm.
I thought: *now, let there be movement*. And everything moved. People. Sounds. Music. Life.
I cried. And laughed. At the same time. My neighbor — bundled up — joked about the cold. And me, shirtless, blanketless, I was sweating. Everything and nothing. Hot and cold. Light and deep.
And I felt: something’s off.
I got up. Not in panic. But with clarity.
Outside, a storm had started. A real one. A window slammed. A vase shattered. And I knew: this is mine to do.
I walked around. Closed doors. Checked windows. Not to control. But to care. I stood in the center. Listening. Anchored.
And what touched me most: no one stopped me. The guides let me be. As if it was right. As if it belonged.
I moved between inner and outer. Sometimes eyes closed. Sometimes open. In connection.
A young woman — the night before, so quiet, so broken — came to rest in my arms. I held her tightly. And I felt: she gave me her pain. And she began to breathe again.
After the ceremony, I slept in my van. Back to myself. I played a guided sleep meditation.
And then the strange part: everything I had already done, was described after — by the voice. As if I was walking ahead. And guidance came in echo.
Saturday morning, I posted:
“My greatest wish in this new life:
that my ex-wife becomes my best friend.”
She was surprised. Even hurt. She didn’t know I would be at the party that day. But I had posted it as a *preparation*. An opening. Before meeting her again.
It was at my godchild’s party. Not our children. But symbolically… a place of passing things on.
And that day, I understood: it’s not about the camper, or the comfort, or justice. It’s about me.
What I choose. What I carry. And what I let go.
Since my burnout in 2018, I never took time. For myself. Just to be.
And now… that time is here.
🌿 To learn more about the retreat that helped me, here is their website: Inner Mastery – Benelux
1. Psychological insights
Attachment and loneliness
What this period revealed was the deep impact of attachment wounds.
Not just in relation to others, but also in the connection to oneself.
When anchors shift (a partner, a child, close friends), the pain isn’t only about loss —
it hits an older wound: the feeling that no one truly chooses you.
That you are, once again, on your own.
Overthinking and control as protection
The need to overthink, predict, manage your environment (closing windows, sensing storms, caring for others)
comes from an old survival instinct: If I stay alert, nothing bad will happen.
But it’s exhausting.
It keeps the mind on high alert while the heart craves rest.
FOMO – Fear of Missing Out
This is not just a trendy term, but a deep existential tension:
the urge to experience everything, to lose nothing, to disappoint no one.
But it draws you away from the present.
From being.
From enoughness.
Connection as a mirror
The moment with the woman in pain showed that you’re not just a feeler —
you’re also a bearer.
A channel.
But that also requires boundaries.
You are part of the stream, not the source itself.
2. Spiritual integration
Everything and nothing
In silence, you felt it:
I am everything and I am nothing.
Full and empty.
Alone and yet connected.
This paradox — when truly felt — is where spirituality begins.
Surrender as an act of trust
The true shift came not from triumph, but from surrender.
When you said: “I give up. Not out of weakness, but out of trust.”
That is faith.
Not in an outcome.
But in the unfolding of life.
Waves and balance
The waves you felt were not just emotional swings.
They were the language of life.
Yin and yang. Ebb and flow.
There is no light without shadow.
And no growth without loss.
The path reveals itself
You no longer need to know.
The path becomes visible as you walk.
And now, you’ve discovered in yourself the capacity to walk it —
without maps, without promises.
With presence. And softness.
“I am nothing… and yet everything. I am on the path… and somehow already home.”