Can Psychedelics Teach Us How to Be Better Humans?

I’ve spent a lot of time mulling over whether to write a piece on psychedelics. On the one hand, it’s no longer scandalous for someone to admit they’ve dabbled in that world. Especially in recent years, the legitimacy of using psilocybin mushrooms, LSD, and DMT as viable spiritual and therapeutic tools has been re-established after many decades of either being hand-waved as “recreational drugs,” or derided as dangerous substances that turn your brain to mush. In fact, the practice of “microdosing” psilocybin is now being studied as a potential game-changer for those suffering from depression.

But on the other hand, and perhaps more importantly, psychedelics are currently illegal to both possess and consume in Canada (except in certain restrictive circumstances). And even if I had theoretically consumed such a substance, I’d probably tell you there’s something so personal, so ineffable about entheogenic experiences that it feels both horrifyingly vulnerable and downright foolish to even try and relate them.

So I won’t tell you that I’ve taken psychedelics. I won’t provide a “trip report”, or any such accounting. But I will tell you a little story about a woman named “Ann.”

Ann couldn’t say for certain when it was that she first seriously considered taking psilocybin mushrooms. To be sure, she’d always loved the visual art and music that psychedelics had given rise to: the vividness of the colours, the dreaminess of the melodies, all seemingly descended from another planet. But growing up, “shrooms” and LSD were often portrayed as substances fit for drug addicts and burnouts, dangerous chemicals that would permanently “fry your brain” or cause terrifying flashbacks years later.

As Ann got older, she realized a lot of those narratives were hyperbole, and that anyone who thought of mushrooms as “party drugs” had either never tried them, or was attending some very strange parties.

Still, a sense of hesitation lingered. After all, taking a psychedelic substance, especially for the first time, is kind of like jumping off a cliff into the ocean: you can try to gauge the water’s depth, the wind speed, to prepare yourself with flotation devices, but you can’t ever be 100% in control. Like any meaningful experience in life, entheogenic “trips” require an initial leap of faith.

Despite her trepidation, the curious little voice in the back of her head became louder and louder. Ann wouldn’t say that the mushrooms were “calling” her exactly (that would be slightly dramatic); but deep down, she knew there was a part of her that had some shit to work out, and that a psychedelic journey could be a powerful release for her tightly-wound brain.

So she jumped off the cliff. She chose a quiet, snowy afternoon, nominated her trusted partner as trip sitter, and took the plunge. She opened herself to the void, and the void had this to say to her:

There’s nowhere to stand. At the height of her psychedelic experience, Ann kept writing the same word over and over on a piece of paper: “groundlessness.” The transient, changeable nature of reality became startlingly clear to her. Everything was meaningful, but only in relation to something else: there was nothing solid anymore, no view or opinion of the world that she could take as unshakeable bedrock on which to stand. Even units of time lost their meaning: what the hell was Wednesday anyway? What was the point of a clock? Of a glass of water? Of a bed? Of sleep? The sensation was terrifying and exhilarating all at once. She was seeing the world as if through a newborn’s eyes: everything fresh and interesting, without old assumptions layered on top. Far from a nihilistic loss of meaning, her experience of groundlessness filled her with a sense of belonging, of coming home, of finding something deeper underneath the labels and judgements her mind used to categorize the world.

There’s no self, just infinite versions of you. The idea of selflessness (lack of a separate, enduring self) is certainly not a new one: students of Buddhism have been contemplating it for 2,500 years. Ann’s understanding of the concept was very theoretical — she intellectually grasped it, but still had trouble getting her head around it all. And that was just the issue: selflessness is something that can only be understood with the heart, through direct insight, not with the mind. Meditation had gotten her to that point now and again during especially powerful sessions. But psilocybin mushrooms gave her a truly startling glimpse into what a sustained realization of no self actually feels like. There was no solid core anymore, no sense of an unchanging “personality” underneath it all, only versions of her. The realization stunned her, then scared her, then made her laugh with delight: “There’s the version of me that goes to work, and the version of me that writes, and the version of me that has friends, and the version of me that owns pets…”. On and on and on, like a funhouse mirror, but with no one standing at the centre. For the first time, she had a deep understanding of her unity with all things, with the universe itself: an infinite, churning soup of atoms that she was floating around in.

If you try to control everything in life, you’re gonna have a bad time. For Ann, psychedelics quickly became a curriculum in learning how to let go. During periods of particularly intense sensation, the more she tried clinging to her “right mind,” or forcing her trip to go in a “positive” direction, the more anxiety she felt. Her trip sitter wisely reminded her to surrender; only then did she begin to release into the fullness of the experience without trying to tamper with it. It was as if the mushrooms were showing her the futility of all her striving and worrying in life: “See?” they seemed to whisper to her, “You’re in good hands. Just let go and let us take care of the rest.” She realized how afraid she was in her day-to-day life: of a loved one dying, of falling ill, of losing her job, of someone being disappointed with her, of her being disappointed with someone else. Psychedelics allowed her to confront these fears, and forced her to let go of any pretense of being in control in the first place. Suddenly, the very concept seemed almost arrogant to her: it became obvious that things simply unfolded as they did, and that most of her problems came not from external events themselves, but from her insistence on constantly trying to influence them or force a particular outcome.

It’s all play, so just enjoy the ride. For all her cosmic revelations, perhaps the message that resonated with Ann the most in the weeks following her trip was simply that life isn’t so damn serious. It became clear to her that we’re here to explore, to delight in the colours and beauty around us, and in our bonds with our fellow humans. Somehow, in her desperate attempts to grow up, find security, and learn how to “adult,” she had forgotten this. She couldn’t quite recall when her life started feeling like a boring routine, a to-do list to grind through, rather than something to cherish. Psychedelics reminded Ann that her purpose in life is to have fun, to strike out on new paths, make connections, and treat every day like the gift that it is. The trip helped her remember that she’s ultimately not defined by being the most efficient worker, or the perfect significant other, or by how clean she keeps the apartment. She realized that she didn’t need to get so serious about all her roles, that she could hold them lightly, and complete her daily tasks with a sense of play. She could bring the child-like feeling of newness she experienced during her trip to back to her daily life, and find something new to discover each day.

If you get the message, hang up the phone. Philosopher Alan Watts has been credited with saying that when it comes to psychedelics, “if you get the message, hang up the phone.” Ultimately, Ann realized that psychedelics are merely a tool, one path to inner discovery among many. They have the ability to bring great insights and revelations, but without integrating these lessons into her day-to-day life, Ann wouldn’t truly be heeding the message of these powerful substances. As eye-opening as psilocybin mushrooms were for her, the experience further solidified the importance of her daily meditation practice in fostering a sense of connection, not just through the extraordinary heights of psychedelic experience, but in each ordinary moment as well. She would go on to use psychedelics again in the future, but sparingly, when she felt the time was right for a more aggressive “push up the mountain.” She knew that at the end of the day, the most satisfying way of getting to the top of that mountain was to climb it herself, day by day, breath by breath, enjoying the fullness of the journey.

Originally published at http://equanimish.ca on May 4, 2021.