Travel

Following my first psychedelic journey many years ago, courtesy of the Amazonian brew ayahuasca, I believed nothing would ever be the same. How could it? My heart had been broken open. I had been shown the illusory nature of my fears, worries and addictions and felt their burdensome presence evaporate like fog, in real time. Everything felt fresh, new and lighter. The message had seemed clear: open your heart. I had never imagined it could be so simple. Two weeks later, I began to notice familiar patterns: resentments, anxieties, ruminations—reemerging like nosy neighbors, jostling on the crowded subway platform, honking in traffic, doom-talking on the news. My initiation into the psychedelic realm was fading. I was coming back to earth. I tried to hold on to the magic, to stave off the return to regular-human status, but eventually had to concede that I had become, once again, fully me. It wasn’t unexpected, but it was disappointing. Had I done something wrong? Was it all for nothing? Was it my fault? Was I just stubborn and uniquely resistant to change? I might have ordered my “I Drank Ayahuasca And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt And A Nice Memory” T-shirt and moved on. But instead, I cleaned my kitchen. It was a simple task I had been meaning to do but had been putting off. It felt good.   So What Had Changed? A common definition of psychedelic integration is: the process of reflecting on a psychedelic experience and exploring how the insights, emotions, questions and perspectives that emerged might become part of everyday life. Fair enough, but I would add this: Integration is the process of learning to observe and attend to your own mind, post-experience, as you resume the work of being human—and, specifically, of being yourself. Integration is not about holding on to something. It is not primarily about implementing new behaviors or creating or modifying habits. It is about noticing how we talk to ourselves and others, the emotions we experience (or don’t experience) most often by default, the stories we tell about ourselves and the world, and the process of, over time, making subtle changes to those stories. And so, in quiet ways and mostly despite myself, I began to do that. The integration of my first mind-blowing, heart-expanding, transformative journey consisted of house cleaning. I didn’t connect the dots at the time, but looking back, that action was a physical expression of something I had experienced during the journey and desired for myself. It was also very simple. I thought about the journey every day. Was it “true”? Could I trust this experience? What did it all mean? What next? The before and after gave me a reference point that I could orient around and stay connected to. There was doubt, too, and impatience and self-judgment. That part wasn’t great, but at least it was familiar. I had started paying closer attention to my own mind. It was humbling at times. I became, perhaps, a little more present and patient with myself and others. My life looked and felt the same but for these few subtle shifts. Nothing had changed outwardly. On the inside, I had become slightly more attuned to… something. And so it began. I continued the process with more journeys over the next couple of years. Maybe I was a bit reckless, maybe I was right on track, but after a year or so, the proof was, as they say, in the pudding. Little by little, I began to laugh more easily, to relax, breathe easier, have more of a sense of humor about myself and the world. I wrote to someone I owed an amends to. I became part of a larger community around medicine work. My heart opened a little. I warmed to a new perspective on the beauty and the tragedy of life: rather than seeing it as either/or, I began to accept it as both.   What Happens After a Psychedelic Experience? The integration period following a psychedelic experience can present us with clear insights or very subtle signals. These can come during or immediately following a psychedelic journey or several months or years afterward. It is the incremental work of contending with, making peace and becoming more intimate with, our deepest selves.  Integration is not primarily about changing. The notion of cause (I did a journey and had insights) and effect (I will implement changes from what I learned) is, in my view, missing the deeper point of psychedelic work, which is about attuning and connecting on a deeper level to oneself, to friends, relationships and the world around us. It is slow work, less a path to transcendence than to becoming more fully human.   Take It Slow When it comes to integration, I suggest taking it slow. Don’t storm the compound right away. Do some reconnaissance. Observe, listen, take notes. Talk to someone you trust about what’s going on. If there are big changes that want to happen, take some time to let the glitter and chaos of the journey settle first. You may owe someone a phone call. You may want to reconnect with someone or start a new practice or class. These are good things but take your time. Try to slow down and pay attention to yourself and the world around you more closely. Notice the voices and emotions that arise, the impatience, self-judgment, the accusations that it “didn’t work” or that you aren’t “open” enough.  This is where important aspects of ourselves are revealed and where the work of integration lives. The choices we make about how we treat ourselves during these moments are important: whether we tighten, contract and double down or whether we learn to breathe, relax, pay attention and begin to imagine new stories. Keep the journey you had in mind. Consider what it means and what small choices you might make to affirm and build on the experience. The most significant shifts, if necessary, come

By Twocats 5/26 The plane had sat for more than an hour on the tarmac at LaGuardia as snow began to fall, then stick, to the runway, the flight delayed. I texted my friend and host of the ceremony near Chicago to break the news: It wasn’t looking good. Maybe we try again in a few months? He replied “Just get here safe, we’ll wait for you”. I arrived around 10:30 pm and was greeted by my friend, his wife and six people I had never met, all of them dressed in white, all of them kind. I slipped on my white clothes to match and we lined up to drink the tea. Then, we sat in a circle and sang songs from a song book, in Portuguese, about lions and rain and spirits. Pretty simple stuff, I thought. A while later we took a break, then lined up for a second glass of tea, the flavor akin to vinegar and shoe polish, boiled overnight with an old man’s worn, brown leather shoe. Again, we sat and sang. I tried to sing along. As I started to feel the effects, the thoughts began: What am I doing here? Am I such a mess that I need to travel halfway across the country to sit in a circle with a bunch of strangers and get high to feel better? I feel old. I’m getting a gut, a middle-aged gut. I must look silly. I feel silly. I don’t look good in white. I don’t understand Portuguese, how am I supposed to…my posture is terrible. I’m tired. I need to exercise more. Why am I here, again? The Work A few minutes into my rumination parade, a sense of foreboding began to descend. I was going to get — was getting — very high. I did not want to get very high. I was afraid. I opened my eyes half way and peeked around the room: happy people singing. If these people are here and they’re ok, then I can be, as well, I reassured myself. Closing my eyes, I saw patterns emerging from the blackness, neon, complex, aggressive, intruding into my field of view. Deeply uncomfortable, I watched as a series of bright red, orange and white arrows, vulgar and pulsing like an early MTV logo, moved from opposite sides of my field toward the center, then pointed down toward the ground. I felt myself begin to panic and frantically searched my mind for any option for escape. My mind shrugged and shook its head. We got nothing. Do your best. The pattern repeated in a loop, at high frequency and I understood this to mean that I was about to purge, to vomit. Terrified of hurling in front of my new friends, I stood and stumbled upstairs to the bathroom. A voice said “we’re going to do this now” and I heard myself reply “ok”. I spent the next 20 minutes vomiting every demon I had accrued over the years into a toilet. The experience was violent, loving, intuitive, firm and, as I was given to believe, necessary. Most importantly, I was not alone. This was a collaboration. I had agreed, after much time, research and consideration, to come here on a plane and Ayahuasca had agreed to do the rest. We were in relationship, a team. On hands and knees, head in the bowl, defeated at last, I purged with an intensity that had me fearing I might be injured. It was delicious. Good fucking riddance. Transcendence Later, lying exhausted on the floor downstairs, I saw what I thought must be angels. I experienced what open-heartedness feels like for the first time in maybe years and understood what humans mean when they speak of transcendence. I saw the unlimited potential for my life, and was given to understand that there exists an infinite abundance of love and expansiveness available to all of humanity, directly proportional to our ability and willingness to receive it. It was, in that moment, self evident: Open your heart. Simple. Contraction Three weeks later, I was flirting with familiar patterns. Resentments resurfaced, self-soothing and addictive behaviors reasserted themselves. The experience had begun to fade into a pleasant memory the way a dream does — residual, homeopathic. I can’t say I was surprised, but I can say I was disappointed. There was a sense of something-too-good-to-be-true about it all and here was the evidence. Apparently, I was still me. Time passed, the viscerality faded — but there was the memory, which remained ingrained in my chest as an almost physical sensation, like a seed. As my life began to shift beneath me and doubt emerged, I would refer to that memory and remind myself that something had happened, a fundamental truth had been revealed. And though my life was much the same as before, I had integrated this truth as potential. Soon after, I began a relationship with psilocybin mushrooms, which became my primary modality for healing and discovery. Over the following two years, the exhilaration of the journey and the inevitable contraction that followed became a regular rhythm. I often felt lost, frustrated, self-critical, impatient with my lack of “progress”, with my stubborn and ever re-emerging addictive behaviors, my crazy mind. The Joke Below the surface, however, something profound was manifesting. I was, despite myself, being compelled to contend with this critter I call me and to make choices about how I would relate to him: would I continue to wage war on this poor creature or forgive him for being the very thing he was designed to be: a human? When faced with myself, the world, life, would I continue to hold grudges for not having my lofty expectations met or would I let myself in on the joke? It was, at times, a slog. Paying Attention I began to laugh more easily, to notice my own mind more often and, rather than responding with harshness, chose to find some humor in its

By Twocats 11/25 After careful consideration and preparation, you’ve chosen to do a psilocybin journey. You’re now in a supportive setting and have taken the “medicine”. Here is some guidance on how to navigate your experience. As you start to notice the effects, your mind may start to question why, for crying out loud, you would agree to do something like this. Is this really a good idea? It may ask. What if it’s too much? Is it too late to back out? Couldn’t we just order a pizza instead? I wonder what’s on Netflix…?  At this point, for better or for worse, you have entered the TLP zone (Too Late for Pizza). Acknowledge that it’s ok to feel apprehensive. It means you’re a normal person with a functioning nervous system. Focus on the essentials: Breathe, relax, pay attention…and say “thank you”. Breathe Inhale slowly and evenly until your lungs are mostly full. Feel your chest cavity expanding, your lung capacity increasing. At the top of the breath, pause for a moment, then release. On the exhale, let the air escape. Don’t push it out, let your diaphragm do that. Notice your chest settling and recognize that this process is simultaneously happening on its own and being supervised and, to an extent, controlled by you. At the bottom of your release, when the air is gone, pause for a moment and be still as if floating at the bottom of a pool, then inhale again. No matter how intense things may become, you will always have your breath* and therefore, a visceral connection to yourself in the here-and-now. Relax your body Notice if you’re tensing up or collapsing and attend to these. Do this in parallel with your breath. For example, you can fortify against collapse (by sitting up straight, etc.) on the inhale and relax tension (perhaps in your neck or shoulders) on the exhale. As the journey begins to intensify, you’ll notice things starting to happen. We won’t go into the details, you’ll know it when it happens. Responding with rigidity and resistance will not serve you at this point. Greeting the experience with curiosity and some degree of openness, will.  Pay attention  Don’t worry about making sense of everything. Just pay attention to it. Engage your mind but don’t get caught in your head. You don’t have to interrogate or interpret your experience, at least not yet: “Ah, that’s an interesting pattern, nice colors…oh, a dragon…no, a donkey…a man riding a don…it’s Don Quixote riding a translucent, orange donkey, how interesting…” Take it one breath at a time. Tranquilo. Say “Thank you” “Thank you for teaching me, for letting me be here. Thank you for my life, for the people who love me and want me to thrive, for my ancestors who willed me into being. Thank you for my dog, that bird chirping, my kids, the trees, that lawnmower running in the distance…”. Remember, you wanted to do this. You’ve prepared for the journey and have attended to the set (your intention or reason for doing this) and setting (the environment, your relationship with your guide or sitter). Remind yourself that the experience is temporary and will continue to shift. Stay connected to your breath, your body and the support available to you. Know that you will return soon enough, have a snack, rest and then go about your life as if (almost) nothing had happened (mostly). Do not forgo the possibility for joy Expect it. Why not? The spirit in which you attend to your journey makes a difference. You are not a leaf blowing in the wind, you are an entity with some agency, potential, desires and worth. You believe this is true. Why else would you be here? You may notice that, as the medicine gets stronger and things become stranger, you are still clear and able to observe and comment on your experience. This is important. Stay in touch with yourself. You are both astronaut and ground control. Try to be curious. Ask the “medicine” questions. You’re building a relationship and have a right to ask. You can be playful, a wise-ass even. You’re allowed. Go to your joy, to your grief, anger, gratitude. Go wherever you need to go.  Continue to track your body, your breath and your state of being. Give yourself feedback, preferably encouraging, the way you would with a young person you care about. You’re doing fine.  From this place of agency related to the breath, body, attention and spirit of gratitude, you can start to “let go” and venture further into the psychedelic journey space. You’ll be able to do this intuitively. Easy does it… If things start to feel a little “unhinged”, as they say (again, you’ll know when this starts to happen), come back home to your breath. Do a body check and notice any collapse or tension and tend to these. Remind yourself to stay present, to pay attention to what’s happening in this very moment (you don’t have to figure it out) and finally, say “thank you” again, even if you don’t mean it – though by now you very well may. Do this for as long as it takes. If you’re struggling, remember that the experience will continue to shift. Do your best, easy does it, one breath at a time. *At very high doses, it is not uncommon to lose the self altogether. This post addresses experiences that are more moderate in intensity and much more common than what a very high dose might deliver.

By Twocats 6/25 …at least some of the time. I’ve allowed this to partially sink in, against my will, kicking and screaming, over the past 10 years as my personal work with psychedelics has deepened. I am me and there is no cure. Further, the experience of being me seems to have been specifically designed to generate humility in its occupant. It’s not how I would have it, but that likely explains why I am not the designer.  In light of this truth-grenade, the question I’ve been asking has, by necessity, evolved  from “How can I create lasting change?” to “How can I stay present to what is, to who is- without  resisting, punishing, shaming or escaping? How can I not change? How can I increase my capacity for being this particular human instead? How can I stay but do it with a little less shame or self-rejection and a bit more awareness, grace, courage, patience and humor?” The shift is nuanced but profound: Don’t make me a better person, just make me better at being a person. It’s paradoxical, of course, like everything  in life: by not working so hard to change, I open myself to a strange form of grace that evolves not from seeking but from staying present. From the present moment I can pay attention to what is actually happening instead of ruminating on a future or past that does not exist. From the present, I have access to agency, the ability to make choices, which can actually lead to…change. This magical yet perfectly sensible process is activated when we commit to ourselves. It is less about working or striving as it is about the quality of attention we employ. All that’s required is having a grown-up on board, at least as a part-time employee. Child Or Adult?  Am I relating to my experience as a child would or as an adult? In one state, I am immobilized, a victim. The world, my emotions, my circumstances are happening to me, being done to me. I lack agency, awareness, clarity and am overwhelmed. In the other, I notice my thoughts and emotions as they arise. Often, they are not welcome but I’m aware rather than being blindsided. I try to keep a little bit of distance, just enough to notice that I’m having an experience rather than being the experience. If I speak to myself, (which I do, incessantly, like a ventriloquist to his dummy) I try to be encouraging the way a parent or coach who sees great potential in me would. I may be tempted to employ every trick in the book to find relief. Almost always, I’m given some bandwidth to decide how I will proceed or not proceed. I also try to keep in mind that my state of being will certainly change. “This sucks”, I say to myself, because this is how I’ve been conditioned to respond to states that I believe to be undesirable. That’s the human part. It’s supposed to hurt, some of the time. It’s a clause in the contract that has already been signed, that I must agree or not agree to live with. In exchange, I may have coffee and love and ice cream and connection and laughter and swimming. My prayer goes like this: “Please help me to get a little better at being a human, let me stay with myself no matter what.” After all, I really have no choice. I am me and that is by design, on purpose, preordained.  Stay One of the fundamental lessons psychedelics have taught me is this: I must, by necessity (because there is no other viable option), deepen into who I am now. I must build capacity for the good, the bad and the unexceptional so that, eventually, I may coexist with this guy without flinching every time I catch him leering at me in the mirror but rather greet him with acceptance, fondness and even…love. This is the starting place. It is necessary to tend to this relationship first, because I am a microcosm of you and he and she and all of creation and the empathy I cultivate in myself will surely radiate outward. If there is “work” to be done, for my money, this is it. If I’m going to change, it will happen from a place of agency, awareness, acceptance and love. It will be an expansion, not a rejection—an increase in capacity rather than a letting-go-of. A deepening into rather than a transcending. I am me, it’s a niche that has never and will never be filled again. I may as well do my best to honor that for the blink-of-an-eye that I get to be here.