The Calling To The Medicine

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Chapter 7 or Part 7 She was calling me to the forest © Copyright of Star Weaver

How did I come to partake in this sacred ceremony? It was by a chance meeting at a fire ceremony that I had been invited to. I was very nervous about attending this fire ceremony. Social situations had always been uncomfortable for me, and this was certainly something I would normally avoid without hesitation. But for some reason, unknown to me at the time, I felt a strong compulsion to go.

When I arrived, there were around thirty people there, and they all seemed to know each other. Feeling like an outsider, me and my friend, the very one who had suggested the fire in the first place stayed in the kitchen, tucked away in the quiet corner, until we were all eventually called outside to start the fire ceremony.

The shaman holding the fire began to explain the process and what we all needed to do, what to expect and they mentioned that at some point, we would all be asked to sing a song around the fire. This completely triggered me. The very thought of singing in front of anyone was utterly alien to me. Suddenly, all my insecurities flooded forward. All those old fears of being looked at, judged, misunderstood. I could almost hear the imagined negative thoughts spinning around me like a harsh wind. Overwhelmed, I recoiled, retreating to stand quietly in the background, trying to become invisible.

Then came the moment we had to do a share around the fire. The very thing I had been avoiding was now unavoidable. Everyone had to explain what they were letting go of. As we went around the circle, I felt a little bit less nervous as people were really opening up and sharing very personal stories of things that they wanted to let go. When it came to my turn, I had quite a lot written down. I had been preparing for the fire ceremony for about two weeks, so I had time to think deeply about all the things I wanted to let go. It was a long list. I did not mention every single thing to everyone, but I really felt heard when it came to my turn to share. I opened up, and it felt amazing, like a weightlifting from my chest.

We carried on sharing around the circle, and then the shaman lit the fire. We all had to sing and drum or rattle along to a song that the shaman had given us. At first, I was very self-conscious, and hesitant to let my voice be heard. But as the energy built up and everyone started to join in, I began to just let go enough to sing along. As I did this, my body started to move, like a native Indian dance of some kind , Very spontaneous and free. I felt amazing, like I had completely let go in that moment, not caring what anyone else might be thinking about me. And still, to this day, I can clearly remember my spirit guides dancing around me. They were really excited that I was here, that I had come to this fire. Their joy was palpable, and I too felt that happiness radiating all through my body.

A little bit of background here I feel is important. I have always seen spirit since I was a little girl. I used to see them all the time up until I was about 14 years old. Then for about five years they disappeared. Or as I know now as an adult. I got preoccupied with boys and being a teenager, that I didn’t have the connection I once had. The shimmer of the unseen world, so familiar to me as a child, was overshadowed by the noise of growing up. But the spirits never truly left, they simply stepped back, patiently waiting in the wings.

They stepped back not to punish or forsake me, but to give me space to stretch and stumble, to explore my own voice amid the noisy rush of becoming. It was as though they were waiting, watching from the veils, knowing I would one day return and be more whole, more ripened by the raw beauty of life. That pause was part of the path. A cocooning. An honouring of my human story. And in time, as the years passed and I began to remember, they returned as if they had always been there.

Everything really started to all come back when I was around 30 years old. It was as though a curtain had been drawn open again, the veil lifted slowly, and the whispers I had long forgotten returned, soft but unmistakable. I believe that spirit let me grow up. They let me have life experiences. They gave me space to live, to stumble, to fall in love, to break open, and to gather the wisdom I would need to carry the weight of what they would ask of me. Before they were ready to work with me again on a deeper level, they gave me time to become the woman who could meet them in the realm between worlds.

Around this time, I started to train to be a medium. Giving messages to others from spirit. It felt like remembering something ancient, something I had known before I was born. I did many courses, and I practiced regularly until I had a strong connection to my guides. I built that bridge with devotion, with prayer, and an open heart. So, by the point I had arrived at the fire, I deeply trusted my guides. Especially my main guide. A North American Indian. Their presence was my compass; their voice my voice and their light was a lantern in the dark.

I attended many courses, each one peeling back another layer, opening my awareness more fully to the subtle realms. I updated my skills with discipline and devotion, not just learning techniques, but surrendering to the art of listening with my whole being. I practiced regularly, sitting in circle, offering messages, opening the channel again and again. Slowly, steadily, I deepened my connection to my guides, learning to trust their wisdom and presence as I had as a little girl. Noticing the subtle, not just when it was easy or obvious, but in the quiet spaces too, in the stillness, in the places where doubt once lived.

Their guidance became an anchor and a compass, reminding me that I was never alone in this work, that I was part of something far greater than myself, a weaving of spirit, love, and unseen threads moving through every part of my life.

By the time I arrived at that fire ceremony, I had developed a strong, intimate relationship with my guides. Their delight at my presence that night was obvious to me. They conveyed clearly to me: “This is where you are meant to be.” At the time, these words felt like a gentle reassurance, a warm welcome. Yet, I had no idea how profound that moment truly was and just how pivotal it would become on the path of my transformation.

Looking back now, I realize there was no coincidence in my being there. The fire, the people, the ritual, it was all intricately woven into a divine tapestry. This was not just another night; it was a threshold, a sacred gateway that would open me to the mysteries I had long forgotten and to the destiny that awaited me. Spirit had waited patiently for my readiness, and that night, there was a reunion which was both powerful and insistent.

After the fire, we all gathered around, sitting together under the evening sky. People began sharing food and stories, weaving lots of conversations about spiritual connection and I felt the warmth. Yet, there I was, my usual awkward self. Finding this whole situation really hard to deal with. The social aspect was challenging for me, and I felt out of place, unsure of how to engage. I felt like I was on the outside looking in, quietly observing while everyone else slipped so effortlessly into conversation and laughter.  I am great when there is something to do or focus on but when there is a silent expectation of conversation. I struggle with everyday conversation. I find it fake and boring if I am honest.

Luckily, my friend who had invited me was very talkative and at ease. She was deep in conversation with a large group of people nearby. I quietly took a seat beside them, letting myself listen in on their discussions. They were sharing their personal experiences with the plant medicine, this mysterious and powerful entity everyone called AYA. Or Mother.

As I listened, my fears stirred up immediately. I had never taken anything psychedelic or drug-related before. In fact, the only substance I’d ever used was alcohol. These stories that they talked about the medicine sounded extremely scary to me. Far from sparking curiosity, they put me off right away. I found myself not wanting to hear any more about this plant medicine at all. The fear and uncertainty settled heavily in my chest, making me retreat inward, hesitant to open further to this world that everyone else seemed so deeply immersed in.

It felt so far from my world, so vast, strange, and untamed. I wasn’t sure I was ready for it, or if I even belonged in the same room as those who spoke so openly and vividly about it. A part of me wanted to turn away, to slip quietly back into the shadows of the firelight and pretend none of it had reached me. But even as the fear rose, something deeper was also listening. Something was stirring beneath the surface.

Somewhere beneath the fear, a small spark of curiosity flickered, quiet but insistent. It whispered that maybe, just maybe, there was something here worth facing. Something that could change me, even heal me, in ways I had not yet dared to imagine.

As the evening went on, the group also started to talk about something else. The Medicine Wheel. It still sounded like drug taking, but as I listened, and my guides almost pushed physically, like a shove pushing me closer to the group. I was listening to them all talking about how the Peruvian Medicine Wheel training was a great path that they had embarked on and that it did not involve any of these trippy experiences. It was a gateway of initiations to be an Earth keeper. A luminous warrior of light.

I could feel the energy in my body shift, just slightly, as if the words themselves were activating something dormant within me. My guides, very firm, nudging me forward with that subtle inner knowing that they often speak through. I didn’t fully understand it, but I trusted it. The knowing as I call it.

This is when the lady who held the fire ceremony came over. She explained that she has a mailing list if we want to be added so we can hear about more fire ceremonies or other teachings and courses that were available. I signed up and never really thought much about it until days after the fire ceremony.

I was still buzzing.

Something inside of me was encouraging me to do some research about this Medicine Wheel. I looked into it, and it sounded like something I would really benefit from. The teachings spoke to a deeper part of me, something that wanted to wake up, something that had always been there, waiting patiently. But it was too expensive, and the thought of having to be around people and share stuff was still alien to me. That idea of sitting in a circle, exposing the deepest parts of myself I had never spoken aloud, felt uncomfortable, unfamiliar.

My ego was fighting to hang on to all that it had ever known, and this new thing might be a little bit too much for you. It whispered doubts. It reminded me of all the reasons why I should stay safe, hidden and small. But somewhere beneath that voice, something was beginning to stir a longing, a call toward transformation that I couldn’t quite ignore. The pull of the unknown called louder than my fear, promising a path that could lead me home to myself, in ways I had only dreamed of.

About a week later, as if the universe were keeping its promise, I received the shaman’s newsletter. Nestled within it was an invitation to a beginner’s 10 week course on shamanism. It was an accessible gateway for those starting on the path. The price was only £5 a week. I counted my pennies, and though my budget was tight, I could just about manage it. Without hesitation, I signed up.

Even more magically, the hall where the course was held was only a three-minute walk from my house. The synchronicities were undeniable, like the very cosmos was aligning to welcome me into this new chapter. Every week, I found myself eagerly anticipating the two-hour sessions, hungry to absorb the ancient wisdom being shared.

Each week brought a new subject and rituals, journeying, spirit guides, plant medicines and each was more fascinating than the last. I was in my element, completely captivated. The shaman herself told me I was a natural, gifted with the ability to journey with ease and this was not something everyone could do. “You can journey at the drop of a hat,” she said, eyes sparkling with certainty. The words filled me with quiet pride and encouragement. But also with some embarrassment.

Then came the invitation that pulled at my heartstrings: “Do you want to train as a shamanic healer? she asked. “There’s an introduction to the Medicine Wheel coming up next month and I really think you’d get a lot from it.”

I felt my heart leap, then sink. When I asked about the cost, my hopes wavered as my budget simply couldn’t stretch that far. Every fibre of my being knew this was the next right step, but the numbers just did not add up “Not yet.” I told her I’d let her know as soon as possible, though inside I felt the ache of wanting to leap but being held back somehow.

The 10-week course came to an end, and suddenly the weekly gatherings left a quiet hole in my week. I missed the warmth of connection, the exchange of stories, and the deep resonance of shared experience. The conversations often circled back to the plant medicine, Ayahuasca—AYA, as it was affectionately called. Though it wasn’t part of the Medicine Wheel teachings, it seemed to weave through every story, a powerful thread binding the group’s collective journey.

I felt that pull too. A strong, urgent, mysterious whisper. My heart was pounding, wondering when and how I’d be able to take the plunge.

The more I delved into the Medicine Wheel and the lineage of the Peruvian Q’ero shamans, the more surreal it all felt. Who was I to even consider stepping into the sacred role of a shaman? I was, after all, a mess, a tangle of loneliness, confusion, and low-wage struggles. My life was a far cry from the luminous path I was thinking of stepping on to. Yet, despite all the self-doubt swirling inside me, something deep in my spirit was shouting at me.

With no money saved for this journey, I made a bold choice: I put the cost of the introduction course on my credit card. It felt reckless and sacred all at once. A step into the unknown fuelled by faith alone.

The introduction course unfolded over two intense days. We learned about the Four Directions—each a profound archetype and gateway to healing. We practiced journeying to meet our guides, exploring inner landscapes I had practiced these techniques before and although I had already cultivated a strong connection with my spirit guides, the teachings about the directions opened a doorway to something far greater. Like a spiritual force that was not one guide but a whole army. It was as if my soul was remembering a forgotten home, a place of belonging that transcended time.

For the first time in a long while, I felt deeply at home within myself and the universe. The Medicine Wheel was not just a concept but a living, breathing map of my spiritual landscape.

With my heart alight and my mind swirling with possibility, I made a sacred commitment to myself: I would embark fully on the training to become a shamanic practitioner. The next step. The First Direction of The Medicine Wheel course, rang loudly to me like a alarm clock.

The practicalities weighed heavy. I had no clear way to afford it. But the knowing was undeniable. I needed to do this. So, once more, my credit card bore the cost, a silent witness to my courage and desperation, my trust and fear intertwined.

This was the moment I truly stepped over the threshold and into the wild, sacred unknown of becoming the healer I had always been meant to be. The training for the First Direction began, unfolding around the powerful archetype of the Serpent an ancient and wise, the guardian of transformation and shedding. She was the one who urged us to shed all that no longer served us, to slough off the old skins of stories, wounds, and identities we had clung to for far too long. And I had many stories and burdens woven deep into my being, stories that shaped the way I saw myself and the world.

The teachings captivated me utterly. Each lesson, each ritual, each breath felt like a thread being pulled loose from the dense fabric of my past. I consumed every word and every experience with hunger and respect as if this serpent was unravelling my very core, preparing me for something beyond comprehension.

Even in the simple moments during the lunch breaks when we gathered in circles, sharing food and laughter the conversations spiralled inevitably to the medicine everyone whispered about with a mix of reverence and awe: AYA. The plant medicine. Ayahuasca. It was everywhere, like a soft yet insistent current tugging at my soul.

Curiosity bubbled within me. I started asking questions, cautiously at first, then with growing urgency. The medicine was already calling me, though I didn’t fully understand it yet. I could sense Mother planting the seeds with subtle nudges, signs, synchronicities, and they all were pointing toward a gateway I had never imagined stepping through. Everywhere I turned, someone was speaking of it, sharing stories, inviting me deeper. It was as if an invisible thread was pulling me into a whole new world of a mysterious, sacred realm I had never dared dream I’d be part of.

But then the weight of reality pressed down hard. I had already poured so much of my resources into the introduction course and the Serpent’s direction of the medicine wheel. My credit card bill had swelled to a mountain I wasn’t even sure I could ever climb down from. The debt I was in kept me in fear and limitation.

With a heavy heart, I told myself that this medicine world wasn’t for me or not yet. That plant medicines was meant for others who were braver, more deserving, more ready than me. I resigned myself to watching from the side-lines, still aching with the longing, to meet with this plant medicine.

One day, unexpectedly, my teacher reached out to me. Her voice carried a gentle urgency, as if she were the messenger of something greater than herself. She explained that during her recent plant medicine ceremonies, she had received clear and unmistakable guidance from the medicine itself. The spirit of the plants had spoken directly to her, conveying a message that was meant especially for me.

The medicine revealed that I needed to partake, to step into this sacred journey, which was already calling my name. But it also acknowledged a truth I had been wrestling with, the financial barrier that stood between me and the medicine’s embrace. It was a truth laid bare. This was all shown to my teacher.  Moved by this message, my teacher offered me a gift to me from that deep wisdom. The opportunity to receive the medicine at just the cost of its production with no profit, no added burden. Because she understood the constraints I faced, she generously opened the door for me to pay in instalments if needed. What the medicine most wanted, what it truly emphasized, was that I needed to be present in the next ceremony.

My heart thundered with a mixture of fear, excitement, and awe. The familiar voice of doubt whispered urgently, reminding me of all the reasons to hesitate. But beneath it all, a deeper knowing stirred and the whisper of the medicine’s call, insistent and unyielding. Helped me to compose myself.

With trembling breath and a courage, I didn’t know I possessed, I found the words. I said simply and clearly, “YES.”

And in that moment, everything shifted. The doorway to transformation creaked open, inviting me into a new realm where fear and healing would dance together.