A Ceremony Night, Hour by Hour
Updated: Oct 14
Most of the anxiety before a first ceremony is not fear of the medicine. It is fear of the unknown structure — not knowing what happens, when, or what you are supposed to do.
So here is the shape of a night, as it actually runs in our ceremonies. Details vary between traditions and centres, and the Colombian yagé timing differs from the Peruvian model, but the arc is recognisable.
Times are approximate. No two nights run identically, and yours will not match this exactly.
Late afternoon — the last hours before
You will not have eaten since lunch, or since the night before. There is usually rest time, a shower, and a strong instruction to stay off your phone.
This is when the nerves arrive. Almost everyone experiences a stretch in the late afternoon of wondering what on earth they are doing, and a smaller number seriously consider leaving. It is so common that we treat it as part of the process rather than a warning sign.
Practical things that help: warm layers, because temperature swings in both directions during the night. Something to lie on that is genuinely comfortable. A jumper you do not mind ruining.
Around sunset — opening
The room is prepared. In our ceremonies this means candlelight, the space cleared and cleansed, and the taita and musicians settling in. Everyone finds their place — mattress, blanket, water, bucket within reach.
There is usually an opening: words from the taita, prayer, sometimes hapé or sacred tobacco. Instructions get repeated, and it is worth listening even if you heard them earlier, because they are the ones you will need at three in the morning.
The two that matter most: raise your hand if you need help, and tell someone before you leave the room.
Drinking — usually somewhere from 8 to 10pm
You are called up one at a time. The dose is decided by the taita, not by you, and it is smaller for a first night than people expect.
The taste is unpleasant. Bitter, earthy, thick. It is over in three seconds.
Then you return to your place and wait, and the waiting is its own experience. Nothing happens for what feels like a long time and is usually twenty to forty minutes.
Onset — roughly 30 to 60 minutes in
The first signs are physical: a heaviness, a change in the quality of sound, a shift in how the darkness looks. Often nausea. Frequently a strong sense that you have made a mistake.
This is the hardest passage for most first-timers, and it is short. The threshold — the moment between "nothing is happening" and "everything is happening" — is where resistance peaks. What helps is the opposite of what instinct suggests: soften, breathe low and slow, stop bracing.
The first two hours — the deepest passage
This is where the work is heaviest in the Peruvian model, and where it begins to build in ours.
What happens varies enormously. Visual content for some, almost none for others — and visions are not a measure of depth, which is worth knowing in advance. Emotion arriving in waves, often without explanation. Memories with unexpected clarity. Physical sensation moving through the body. Purging, in one of its many forms.
Around you: music, singing, other people in their own processes, facilitators moving quietly. You are alone and not alone, which is the point of ceremony rather than solitary use.
What to do: lie down, stay with the breath, and let it come. If it becomes frightening, raise your hand. Someone will be there.
The middle of the night — the long stretch
In the Colombian yagé tradition, this is where the ceremony builds rather than fades. The hours after midnight, and particularly from around three until sunrise, are held in the tradition as when the deepest work is done. There may be a second cup for those who need it.
By now you have usually stopped fighting. People frequently describe this stretch as the most meaningful part of the night — not the most intense, but the clearest. The medicine is no longer overwhelming and something quieter can be heard.
It is also long. There will be periods of tedium, of discomfort, of wondering when it ends. That is normal and rarely mentioned.
Toward dawn — closing
The effects thin out. The room warms. People begin to move, drink water, speak quietly.
There is a formal closing — songs, words from the taita, sometimes a shared moment of thanks. This matters more than it seems: it marks the end and gives the nervous system a boundary.
Most people then sleep, though not everyone can. Wakefulness after ceremony is common and not a problem.
The next morning — sharing
Breakfast, gently. Then a sharing circle, which people underestimate and which is often where the night becomes usable.
Hearing other people describe their nights does two things: it normalises what you experienced, and it frequently gives you the words for something you could not articulate. Speaking your own is the first act of integration.
The ceremony ends at dawn. The retreat lasts up to 5 hours.
Three things nobody warns you about
You may feel nothing. It happens, particularly on first nights, and it is not a verdict on you. Sometimes the body has other business first.
You will need the bathroom, in the dark, disoriented. Know where it is before the ceremony starts. Genuinely, walk the route.
Other people are loud. Purging, weeping, occasionally shouting. It is disconcerting for about ten minutes and then it becomes strangely companionable.
If the structure is what you are anxious about, the preparation session before your first retreat walks through all of it, and the plant medicine FAQ answers the practical rest.
Ritshi Zenati, Speaker & Life Coach
Founder at Holistika Center.
Holistika Center holds plant medicine retreats across Barcelona, Málaga, Mallorca, Switzerland, Germany, Norway, Colombia and Mexico.
Also, different programs like Microdosing, Life and Spiritual Guidance, etc.
Visit Holistika Center to explore upcoming programs.
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