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I really didn't expect to have to write about my experiences - yet alone have the language and the self-awareness to actually explain it all.

I didn't know what to expect - so I arrived quite open-minded, though admittedly I did arrive with the pre-conception that I'd be hanging out with a bunch "Indigo Children" doing drugs together and receiving teachings in Dharma.

I was the last person to arrive, and the lowered voices and handling of the payment, the seating arrangements, and what to take into the room all seemed officious yet smart. I was given San Pedro in the kitchen - a heaped pile of coarse green matter. I took it nervously - and wondered whether it would make me vomit. I was led into "the room" - it was dark and it took some time to make out about ten people sitting along the walls on pillows, with Sayree sitting on a chair at the end of the room - next to his glowing laptop.

I was feeling quite sleepy and worried about my skin (excema) flaring up and making me itch all over. I was a bit annoyed too that we were sitting so close together - I had hoped for us all sitting quite far apart to give enough space to stretch out in. I was aware of me being in contact with my neighbour's knee. I thought back to my friend's report of how she went to some sort of Hindu meditation meeting, where she was struck by the sudden thought that somebody might be rifling through her handbag left in the adjacent room. My skin was feeling fine. I kept on thinking about the plastic bag I had to bring in case of vomiting, and imagining everybody at some point leaning over and throwing up into their bags. Would I have to be quiet during vomiting? What would I do with the bag afterward? Would it smell? And every now and then I would feel my self slip off into some recess of the mind. And I'd awake from the thought again and tell myself to keep it together to try and analyze what was going on. I listened to the singing again and thought how quite beautiful (in its simplicity) it was. Then I also realized how effective the music was to refocus the mind - as I had started slipping off quite a bit. I was getting a little bored and disappointed, and thought that the San Pedro wasn't particularly strong. But I reassured myself that it had only been an hour - I can't remember how I knew for sure - and that there were at least another five hours to go - so I was looking forward to the hours ahead. Maybe I wasn't feeling anything, though, because I was the last person to arrive - and to take San Pedro. I was concerned that Sayree would be out of tune with me, and I would lose out on the journey - or fall off the precipice and have an embarrassing freakout. The guy next to me burst into vomiting. I felt the nausea rise in me - just hearing the sounds - the semi-solids hitting the plastic - the rising smell. Though I couldn't smell anything and felt comfort in the gentle breeze coming from the window - like a silk gown - brushing down on my face. I told myself it's all in the mind - I'm not really nauseous - that it was just a reaction to the guy next to me throwing up. I eventually succeeded in fighting it. I blamed him for some time. After he finished - and I was again safe from being sick myself - I felt empathy for the poor guy (and that he may have lost out on some portion of the plants).

I wondered how everybody knew each other. I first assumed that we were all strangers in this house - paying our R700 entrance fee - and be guided in a trip by Sayree. But it occured to me that everybody may actually know everybody else. I felt like an outsider. Suddenly Sayree said it was break time and we were going to do some exercises after the break. I stepped outside and people started chatting and laughing with each other - and I felt alarmed that I might have to socialize now. That's the last thing I wanted to do - I was getting very drawn into myself. Some guy introduced himself and said we hadn't met yet. I felt he was too friendly and chatty under the circumstances, and rudely broke off the conversation (I know how to protect myself and work within my means). It was unbelievable - others were socializing too. I didn't know what I needed to do now. What were we doing? What was the plan? If I were to have a conversation - what would its purpose have to be - what was expected of me?

I moved away onto the empty lawn and a minute later the same guy joined me. I looked back onto the house and pondered it. It looked foreign - maybe even fairy-tale-foreign. That's what I wanted to talk about. So I mentioned my house observations to him - and after I insistently repeated again - tuned in - and agreed, saying it was Tudor. It was a Tudor Architecture house. I said right I didn't know that, and he said do we even know ourselves. That statement jarred me - and thought it was unnecessarily forward.

Everybody started forming a circle, and we began physical exercises. I first thought Sayree was joking when he announced break and exercises. The exercises had a great way of warming me up, and getting me back into my body. I felt I needed to get more fit as my body was taking strain. I was disappointed with my body. I thought the girl leading the exercises was really great at keeping people focused and telling them "enough now" when they were being silly. I admired her strength at keeping herself together - as I was struggling to pull myself back into me to try and be able to observe the situation.

After the exercises I asked Sarita whether she thought it ok to wee in the garden. She was unsure. Her reaction jolted me back into rational thinking - and of course I took the alternative option and went up to the toilet - though still a bit hesitantly as now I had to face the uncomfortable situation of potentially bumping into somebody and having to make conversation - which then happened. One of the "organizers" was waiting outside the bathroom and I asked her whether she was the girl that had led the exercises outside. She said she was. I thanked her and said it was really nice. I became self-conscious of my compliment and left. And my voice was sounding all tinny.

People sat outside and chatted - so I remained inside instead and sat back down on my spot, listening to the music - trying to latch onto the music, as I was beginning to feel paranoid, and had no idea what to do with myself, and trying not to make others uncomfortable. There was talk of us all painting our faces and going to a tribal party. Well count me out I decided. The idea reverberated around the room, and people were disappearing into the kitchen and others returning painted and laughing. I accepted that I may be the only one not having his face painted - but in return I could remain here sitting and listening to the music. Sarita approached and called me to have my face painted. I followed her into the kitchen where others were having their faces painted too. It was my turn and I mentioned that I didn't feel entirely comfortable doing this. I was told it's fun and everybody else had had their faces painted and anyway, that we're going to a tribal wedding and you need to have your face painted for that. I agreed reluctantly, but felt surprised at the ease of this whole transaction.

I joined the others back in the room and sat down. Sayree was laughing and singing Row Row Row your boat, gently down the stream ... My spirits lifted again and I didn't feel so withdrawn. I was relieved that I could sit back again and didn't have to talk to anybody. At this point I thought that San Pedro was actually quite strong - it took more and more effort to remain present; to haul myself back from being lost in thought. I found myself clapping softly to the music. I noticed that others came prepared with shakers, but I liked the sound of my own clapping. The softness and hollowness clearly audible above the music and chanting. I still felt like an outsider, and wanted to contribute positively. I wondered whether my clapping was a good contribution - it emanated from being caught up in the music, so surely it couldn't have been amiss. But my clapping stopped flowing at one stage - it became too self-conscious. My head was heavy and I let it hang down for a bit. Everything quietened down - even though the music was carrying on. All details slowly faded to black - like the clearing mist exposing a dark cavernous abyss. I felt a calming stillness - one that could put the faintest of smiles on your face, though my face was completely expressionless and heavy - my lips, jaw and cheeks sagging under some immense gravity. I could have quite easily rolled over and snuggled into a sleeping bag and disappeared. I was in need of some human touch - to be held a bit; warmth on warmth. My head was hanging so heavy, I might as well have started drooling. So I picked myself up, discovered the chanting was still going on, and joined in again. I heard Sarita harmonize - it was very beautiful and I was astonished at how focused and able she was. In between the singing, Sayree planted some words: To be mindful in everything you do, for your actions to have intentionality - a positive outward intentionality. I was beginning to like the structure of the whole evening. There seemed to be a reason for everything Sayree was doing. Even the face paint - that I so reluctantly put on - seemed to have purpose.

I started clapping softly again and started to enjoy myself. I was still uncertain whether the clapping was a contribution, or whether it was unwanted. I wish I had been more musically inclined, then I would have been able to add something special. Sayree got up and rummaged through some cupboard, and dropped a shaker into my lap. I suppose that answered my questions about my clapping. I did the shaker thing, but felt it limp and unexpressive.

Before I could slip off again into some far recess of the mind, we were all told to get up and dance. To let the San Pedro flow through the body. Suddenly the San Pedro seemed to be this entity - with a will to want to flow through my body. Most people left the room, so it was only a few of us struggling to get into a rhythm. The music was a bit soft, and the room cramped - so the dancing felt a little constricted. I was seeking comfort and to connect with somebody, so I raised my concern with Sarita that I felt like an outsider, and whether she was able to hear my clapping earlier on. She hadn't heard the clapping, and she said I was wearing face paint like everybody else - how could I be an outsider? (Bless her). I also confided in her that I felt like a shaman. She laughed and replied that that was not advisable, and that I should rather concentrate on letting go. Others were noticing that we were getting on well - there were hushed whispers and knowing nods - which didn't really help my dancing. Sarita made a point to let one of the guys know that we used to be boyfriend and girlfriend. I felt a great melancholly pinpoint the moment. There was talk that we were going to go to a trance party and paint people's faces. There was no way I was going to do that. Anyway, I needed to go home, as my uncle and aunt were visiting from Germany - I was jolted by this touch of reality. Again people wanted to sit down and socialize, and I was just trying to maintain some sort of outer peace - while inside everything felt continuously churned up.

There was lots of restlessness as people were trying to get it together to move to Hout Bay. Guys walking in and out of the rooms, packing bags, and repacking bags, and walking in and out, and then talk about the trance party happening in Hout Bay, and who was going to drive - and reconfirming that and walking in and out. The evening started losing its specialness, and started turning into a house party where everybody is on drugs, trying to organize a party somewhere else. I talked to Sarita a bit about my visiting family. It felt good to connect a little, but wondered what the point of it was - I was still unsure of what I was meant to be doing, and my immediate concern was to hang on and keep it together. I was impressed at Sarita being able to talk so freely about her emotions - she must have felt really comfortable with the San Pedro.

Stepping outside to leave, Sarita asked me whether I had said thank you yet to Sayree. I said no - I hadn't. She suggested that maybe I should. I remembered Sayree dropping the seeds of mindfulness during the trip, and was a bit embarrassed that I hadn't thought of thanking him for the evening. There were still so many moments where I didn't feel present - I kept on getting lost in my thoughts. I asked - who I thought to be the owners of the house - where Sayree was. They asked if I was going home, and generously offered for me to stay over if I didn't feel comfortable driving and being on my own at home. That was the very last thing I wanted to do - I would have felt too irresponsible, and I imagined the "morning-after" to be stark and uncomfortable, and was looking forward to the familiarity of my bed and being able to dig deeper into my thoughts. I asked again where Sayree was, but then realized how unnecessary the question was - where else was he supposed to be other than still inside - nobody had left yet. I felt like telling him that I thought he had done a good job - I had really enjoyed the structure of the evening.

As I entered the room I was suddenly overcome by nervousness and self-consciousnes. I made an immediate u-turn, and told myself to be mindful and that I cannot leave without saying thank-you, so followed my first u-turn with another u-turn. I compromised by addressing the room-at-large and saying thank you to the remaining people from the doorway, and said that it was a really great party. I thought it was an odd term to refer to the evening as a "party", and hoped that I had not devalued the experience by saying that. Everybody responded positively and waved back and said it was great to meet me. Rituals of hosts and guests and friends saying goodbye were unexpectedly edging their way back into the present. I wasn't prepared for that and felt the urgency to leave as I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it up much longer. Goody-bye's are intensely uncomfortable for me - they don't come naturally. I don't know how to give proper closure to an evening - being genuine, yet not being overly sweet. What is the right amount of goodbye? Why do I struggle so much to make my voice sound genuine at these moments?

I stepped outside again, and Sarita was excited that I had shared the evening with her and realized that she wanted to say something to me. By that time all I could think about was leaving - I had had enough stimulation for one evening and needed to be on my own to process the night, and to try and relax a bit. It was tricky to reverse out of the driveway and when I finally managed it, I felt a sense of relief in the quiet car and felt a lot lighter already.

As I parked the car outside my house, I remembered that my face was still painted in ridiculous day-glo colours. The inside of the car suddenly became very silent. I could almost hear a clock tick. I snuck into the house as quietly as I possibly could, so that I wouldn't wake up my housemate Frank, who would have given me a real hard time about the face paint. I didn't feel equipped enough to defend myself. I carefully washed off the paint and prepared myself for bed. It was impossible to sleep. I became conscious of my skin troubles again, and sat in bed - worried that I might do great harm to my body by scratching. It took immense mind power to tell myself that there was no reason to scratch - no matter how much I would justify it in my mind that I do needed to scratch. I'd often find myself scratching again, and it took some time to gather my thoughts to reason with me not to do so. Mindfulness surfaced again, and I texted Sarita to thank her too for the evening, and to again thank the others, as my leaving must have seemed a bit hasteful.

I didn't have any appropriate "trance-like" music handy, so I first listened to M. Ward as he is a genius and my mind would be able to latch onto his music. I followed it up with Pink Floyd - as I suspected those fellows were up to something back in the days. Sometimes my face - in my mind's eye - would contort and grimace into horrible ghoul like features with bulging eyes and weathered skin, and other images foamed up like slow motion fireworks, or paraded themselves in front of me like a puppet show. I thought about how much Sarita had changed over the past few months - she had gained an enviable strength and conviction - and told myself that pulling myself together to go back inside the house to say good bye to everybody (such a small thing, yet so difficult at the time) was a tiny building block - a tightening of the core - toward a similar strength.