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I glanced down at the journal I’d brought for the weekend. So, there I was, 1,095 days and 26 health practitioners later, sitting on a porch, staring at the face of a ripped-sweatshorts-wearing-hippy, who claimed that a vomit- and diarrhea-inducing hallucinogen from the forest might help. And after years of always being a tiny bit off-kilter, causing me not to be fully present with myself or anyone I loved, I began to accept that I would never get better and I contemplated whether living a life like this, constantly distracted and tilted to one side, was worth living at all.
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Had MRIs that showed a swollen left inner ear, specifically my utricle (a crystal-filled straw that tells the brain which way is up and which way is not), but no one had been able to tell me why the utricle was swollen or how to permanently make it not. I’d seen ear doctors and neurologists, acupuncturists and ayurvedists.
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Every moment that I’d been awake, on a first date or a job interview, on a run, or in a chair, drunk at a concert or sober in bed, standing up or upside down, I’d been mildly dizzy. And if I’m wrong, and my dead relatives do exist, I have no desire to hear from them-loud Jews from the world beyond, floating around my bedroom, judging me for the gay-leaning porn I consume when I believe I’m alone.īut regardless, I, at 31, came to this retreat because of a vestibular balance issue I’d been dealing with for three years-something wrong with my left ear. When we die, we turn off, at least I think so. I’m not depressed and I don’t believe in ghosts or God or an after-life. Neither of those possibilities interested me. Others who’ve had their depression instantly cleared. “But I’ve seen people speak with their deceased loved ones. “I can’t promise that,” said Kapétt/John III, moving his left leg to cross under his right. The man went by “Kapétt,” a name he picked up while studying indigenous culture in a Peruvian forest, though his legal name was John Thomas Caldwell III, and he was raised in Greenwich, Connecticut. “Do you actually think this can fix me?” I asked him. Six months ago, I sat outside, on a wooden deck in the mountains, across from a white dude with a man bun. They have all been changed so as to protect their identities. A Note From the Author: Everything you read here below is true, save for the names of my fellow retreat guests and leaders.