I dug up this photo the other night. It is from January 26, 2016. For those who know my story, this post will be meaningful, for others not so much. Three years, 30 Ayahuasca ceremonies, months of water-fasting, colonics, enemas, meditation, yoga, therapy, and 60k in supplements had brought me to this date. How can a man work so hard and receive so little in return? It was the loneliest winter of my life. It was cold and dark. I felt like the only person in the world suffering. I contemplated suicide hourly. The only thing keeping me alive was the prospect of traveling to Africa to take Iboga, a super powerful hallucinogen. I began checking things off my bucket list in case I were to go back to spirit-land. One of the things I wanted to do my whole life was build an igloo. I had no idea how to do it, but I’ve wanted to build one since seeing them in movies as a child. The usual doubt crept in. Would I start this project and leave it unfinished like so many of my other life ventures? Was I even healthy enough to physically build one? The morning of January 26 I woke up in a nauseous panic, the same as every other morning. I put some warm clothes over my emaciated and depressed body, and built an igloo. It wasn’t a good one, but I built it. For anybody out there in pain, I want you to know that I have been through it and I am on the other side. I no longer remember the Josh of two years ago. I can’t tell you exactly how to escape your suffering, but I can tell you that you are capable of it. Peace and joy are your birthright on this planet, I don’t care what circumstances you are in. It’s going to get chilly out soon. When the snow falls, build your fucking igloo!
