Whispers of the Vine

In twilight silence, hearts confess, A fragile truth, a soul’s distress. Step One: we yield to forces vast— The vine's soft rhythm holds us fast.

No grand hallucination’s flood, Just pulses in the inner blood. A microdose, not storm, but breeze, Unknots the mind with forest ease.

We count our wrongs in silent prayer, The Fourth Step's mirror asks, “What's there?” The caapi whispers through the haze, To light the dark with emerald blaze.

Admitting faults, Step Five takes flight, Not with shame, but gentle light. Ayahuasca’s breath is thin— Enough to let compassion in.

Step Eleven climbs the trees, Where spirit hums in humming bees. Nature, grace, and “La Madre’s” eye Draw healing from the leafless sky.

But tread with care, the path is fine— It isn’t blessed by AA’s line. What heals one soul may shake another, So walk the truth, but ask your brother.

This isn't shortcut, thrill, or game, It's sacred work, without acclaim. A new terrain, where seekers roam, To build a different kind of home.