The Birth Trauma of the Modern Soul

And How I Became a Creator Instead of a Victim

There was a night when Ayahuasca stripped me of all dignity. I purged violently, not just through my mouth, but through my body—on the patio, no less. It was messy, raw, and completely out of control. But in that moment of helplessness, something ancient inside me began to speak.

It whispered not in words, but in memory.

I saw myself being ripped out of the womb—a C-section baby. Taken, not birthed. No passage through the sacred threshold.

No squeeze. No pressure. No initiation. Just removal. Extraction.

Indigenous wisdom speaks clearly here: birth is a sacred rite, not a medical procedure. The natural birthing process—with its contractions, squeezes, and descent through the canal—is not only physical but deeply energetic. That passage imprints the newborn with rhythms of breath, pressure, and timing that calibrate our nervous system and hormonal cycles.

Modern science confirms this: babies born vaginally receive microbial exposure crucial to developing a resilient immune system. They also experience surges of oxytocin and adrenaline—hormones that awaken both love and alertness. Skipping this journey via C-section can leave the body's rhythms unanchored, the psyche underprepared.

To the elders, birth is not just entry. It is initiation. To be ripped out is to miss the first great teaching: struggle brings breath. Pressure births power. Without that, many souls arrive feeling out of sync, disoriented—not because they are weak, but because they missed the ceremony.

And so the soul keeps trying to complete it—in dreams, in fears, in ceremonies of release—until it finds a way to be born again.

And suddenly I understood: Many of us carry traumas not from what was done to us in life, but from how we entered it. We weren’t greeted. We were taken. And something in our energetic field never got to root properly.

This insight explained the dreams I used to have:

• Falling vertically off the bed.

• Being suddenly dropped, yanked from stability.

• That subtle terror I never knew how to name.
  

It was the echo of the moment I arrived in this world. And perhaps it was never fully mine—it was inherited too. My mother was raised in fear, smothered by overprotection. Her father, afraid of life, passed that fear into her field, and she, trying to love me, did the same.

So when I was four or five, and my grandfather dropped me off at kindergarten—and left without saying goodbye—it wasn’t just abandonment. It was a confirmation of a soul contract:

“You’re on your own. The world is not safe.”

And like that, the trauma crystallized: Fear of separation. Fear of being betrayed by love. Fear of life itself.

🌱 What the Medicine Showed Me

That purge wasn’t just food or tension. It was ancestral sorrow, fear from womb to womb.

And on the other side of that night? Lightness. Breath. Peace. Clarity.

It was actually the fourth and final night of the Yagé ceremony, held at my sister’s house. I had taken my third cup, and it brought me to a deeper level than ever before. I climbed to the third level of consciousness, and the visions intensified.

At first, I saw all the bad in people—their masks, their lies, the victimhood they hid behind. I began to judge them. And then, as if reflecting my own distortion, the group seemed to outcast me. My sister told me to go outside.

I curled up instead, in the warmth of the living room. I told myself, "It’s raining outside. It’s cold. I’m warm here. This is my womb." I didn’t want to leave.

Maybe that’s why I don’t like to wake up early, especially when its cold—it always feels like being ripped out prematurely. Like the trauma repeating each day. Many of us are missing the proper process, and the machine of society stamps us into the mold it best sees for us.

Eventually, I went outside. I sat on the wet grass, and it was cold, uncomfortable. I felt as if I was being planted—that I would become a tree. That the cycle of life would repeat again. These loops, these labyrinths, seem to return over and over.

Just like in a dream I once had—lost in a ship, in an endless series of rooms, looking for a captain… only to realize, I was the captain all along.

The Taita helped me through. He blew water and alcohol over me. He saw I was deep in it. At one point, although I was cold, naked, and alone, he asked me: "Why are you not crying?" And I simply pointed at the rain and said, "I am."

And just as I fully released, letting go of whatever ancient thread I had been clinging to—perhaps the trauma of being taken, not born—

…I heard it.

From a distant finca: the squealing of a pig, being sacrificed.

It was the death of the ego. The sound of my own mask being stripped away.

And then, as if the world itself was purging, the rain fell harder—a symbolic washing away. The inner release was mirrored by nature. The connection between the inner and outer world was undeniable. The veil was thin. And just as suddenly as it came, the rain stopped. The day broke. It was renewal, rebirth—but this time, in the right way.

I Am No Longer a Victim

This is what the world fears most: A human being who realizes that he is not a victim, but a creator. That energy shapes reality. That fear is a parasite. And that love is not a luxury—it is a technology.

From that purge forward, I became lighter. And every day since, I’ve walked closer to the frequency of truth, remembering:

“I was not born. I chose to arrive. I am not broken. I was simply misaligned. And I am not here to be safe—I am here to be free.”

That day, I stopped wearing my seatbelt in the car—not out of recklessness, but because I had released the false sense of safety that society sells us. I realized:

True safety doesn’t come from straps or systems—it comes from trust. Security is not external. It’s energetic. Just like God, just like Cause and Effect—it begins within.

The same systems that claim to protect us—insurance companies, pharmaceuticals, fear-based institutions—feed on the very anxiety they manufacture. But once you release that contract, they lose their hold.

An Invitation to Remember

Maybe your story is different. Maybe your wound took another form.But if you’ve ever felt like the world betrayed you before you had the chance to walk freely in it—you're not alone.

We are many. We are waking up. And the truth is, the path of healing isn’t about going back—it's about remembering forward.

You were never just a body. You were a soul in transit. Now it’s time to land.