I want to share with the reader testimonials and the kind of experience that’s possible in working with me. The scientific and theoretical information surrounding psychedelics is phenomenal, but what is truly magical—and I use that word without diminishing the grounded scientific rigor that is both possible and necessary—is conveying just how mind-blowing and unexpected these paradigm-shattering experiences can be.

I have had the privilege and honor of leading more than 750 ceremonies at this point in my life. Each has included preparation and integration sessions totaling ten hours or more per ceremony. I have worked with many of the same individuals over the course of years. Often, what first initiates one into this work is pain. Most arrived struggling with depression, anxiety, PTSD, or some other form of deep internal suffering. Something in their lives had been hurting—sometimes for years, sometimes for as long as they could remember. Nearly all had already spent years in therapy, yet the underlying source of their suffering remained an ache they continued to carry within them.

In my practice, I have often worked with people who were in the realm of suicidality—individuals who had already tried therapy, medication, and other forms of treatment and had lost hope that anything could truly help them. They came in hopeless. I understand this deeply, because early in my own life I was there myself, as shared in the About Me section.

I want to be clear that the cases I am referring to here are ones in which meaningful progress was made. Most experienced breakthroughs during their first journey, and their trajectory of healing and development continued through additional ceremonies over the course of years. The hardest part of my work has often been managing expectations. These medicines do not work for everyone. No treatment is 100% guaranteed. Yet in more than twenty years of studying transformation and consciousness, I have not encountered anything as consistently effective.

Whether clinical studies have focused on treatment-resistant depression, PTSD, end-of-life anxiety, or addiction, the results have generally shown success rates of around 80%—dramatically higher than most existing treatments. In my own practice, I have seen roughly 90% of clients improve greatly, and about half undergo profoundly life-changing experiences in a single journey—experiences that permanently altered their sense of self and worldview.

At the same time, my heart breaks for the people for whom this work does not bring relief. I believe it is important to approach psychedelic medicine with both hope and humility: these experiences can be extraordinary and transformative, but they are never guaranteed.

Often, I think of the word “gospel” when people first learn about and experience psychedelics. The term originates from Greek through Old English and means “the good news.” There is often an immense sense of excitement afterward—almost as if someone has discovered the holy grail and wants to share it with everyone they know. I remember feeling that way myself at eighteen, after a mushroom experience profoundly changed the course of my life. I felt I finally found the holy grail and wanted to shout from the mountain tops. 

The truth, however, is more nuanced. Clinical studies have shown that even in optimal set and setting, only around 65% of participants report having a mystical-type experience. And even then, the forms and degrees these experiences take are infinitely varied. Yet follow-up studies consistently show that such experiences are often regarded as among the most meaningful of a person’s life.

Though the positive potential of psychedelics may seem limitless—because psychedelics affect consciousness, and consciousness affects everything—I have also seen expectations and comparisons interfere with people’s experiences. I have come to believe that every experience is unique. There can be a certain hubris in assuming that a profound breakthrough or mystical union—the penultimate experience of communion with the cosmos—should happen immediately, even though it certainly can.

Sometimes people undergo years of personal work and many ceremonies before a true breakthrough occurs—even though I have most often seen breakthroughs in the first ceremony in my practice. For others, differences in neurobiology or psychology may mean that certain types of experiences never arise. Each person has their own path.

I’ll begin the testimonials by sharing about Bryan. When Bryan came to work with me during Covid, he was in his mid-forties. As with almost all my clients, he was referred by people he trusted who had previously worked with me. He worked as a computer programmer and led teams in his field. By most conventional measures, he was successful—fit, in a relationship, owned a home and a boat in the Bay Area, and was financially secure. Beneath that surface, however, there was anxiety—and as we will see, a well of emotions buried underneath. Bryan shares his experience from his first ceremony with me:

“I looked down as I screamed. A cavity appeared in my abdomen and a beam of pure energy poured out of me. It felt like every negative emotion I’d ever felt leaving my body. I knew where I was, but I felt I was being directed by an ethereal force. I could feel the guide’s hands gently supporting my shoulder blades. Later, after the return from the medicine, he would tell me I released a mountain of stored pain and trauma during the session and another psychedelic journey would be useful for me. “Of course,” I replied, the idea resonating deeply within me.

I was previously terrified of psychedelic “drugs.” I had never taken psychedelics before and was in my mid 40s. I grew up during the “war on drugs” era, where psilocybin mushrooms, MDMA, and similar medicines were condemned as Schedule 1 drugs. I was here, at this psychedelic ceremony, to heal at the suggestion from someone close to me. Throughout most of my life, I struggled with intense bouts of anger, wandered aimlessly through cycles of isolating depression, and attempted to exert control over every part of my existence. By the end of that single 6 hour session, things were changing deep inside of me. Contrary to their “drug” status, those little mushrooms were medicine from the cosmos.

It took weeks to recover physically and mentally from that first trip. I thought I would feel free, happy, and relieved of my burdensome character flaws. Instead, the next few weeks were filled with waking nightmares each night and a feeling of constant dysregulation. I would cry sporadically. I felt pain in various parts of my body which would vanish seconds later. My dreams would present stressful life situations with no resolution. I woke myself up a few times with the sound of my own scream. My regular therapist explained, “Your being has been dismantled. It needs time to reassemble.” While I had released massive amounts of sadness, grief, shame, and pain during and after the journey, I would come to realize the healing power of a challenging psychedelic experience. After some time and two integration sessions, I felt lighter, more at ease, and less anxious—as if a part of me had died and what remained had a new lease on life.

I was no stranger to other therapy, mindfulness, and self-introspection. I had been in and out of talk therapy for 20 years and regularly practiced meditation and yoga. I had been in Al-Anon, a 12-step support group for friends and family of alcoholics. I even had a spiritual awakening as indicated in Step 12—or so I thought. It was only after consuming a tea containing magic mushrooms, followed by the right integration work, that I experienced my genuine spiritual awakening.

Those first few ceremonies revealed many mind-opening visions. The geometric patterns and sparkles would give way to intense visionary scenes wrapped in emotions, bodily sensations, and music. I became my mother when she was a young woman. I became my father when he was a child. I could feel them holding me as a baby. My body would be enveloped in a blue healing light force and my being would separate from itself, float above, and look down at my physical form lying on the bed in the ceremony room. Weeks and months later I could call upon the sensation of blue light to alleviate stressful moments. My body disintegrated and reformed many times. I was nothing but a thought one moment, and I was everything the next.

A particular vision seemed to correlate with the exfiltration of pain, fear, and trauma leaving my body. It began with a scene of the ocean and old sailing ships. A Viking captain appeared at the helm of a ship while gazing into a distant battle. I could feel his emotional state change as his eyes glowed with different colors. Blue was calm and serene, and red was protective and enraged. It would take me years to understand this vision and its link to my history with anger.

As I continued traveling on psychedelic journeys and integrating the experiences, I noticed my level of empathy rising. Fear was being replaced with love. My subconscious desire to control outcomes was diminishing. I was craving more connection with other humans in my life. I was reparenting myself. I was becoming my own best friend through a deep connection built from self-love. I finally trusted myself completely. One thing seemed to be healing more slowly though: my anger. The men in my family are well-known for their displays of anger. Our family has always wondered where it comes from. I’m convinced it didn’t start with our modern family and is the result of centuries of trauma, violence, and abuse. The anger seems connected to my visions of Vikings.

I had never been very inspired to look into my family ancestry. When it came up in integration after one journey, I was skeptical this vision was unique to my experience, assuming the music would sound like Viking music to anyone. The guide explained calmly, “I’ve held hundreds of journeys for people with this soundtrack and not a single person has mentioned Vikings. Have you ever considered having your DNA analyzed?” Before this moment, I had thought my lineage was isolated to Germany and Russia. My DNA sample revealed nearly 30% Scandinavian and 50% English. I was floored.

At the start of 2024, after being laid off from work, I made an additional stronger medicine journey with my guide. This was my first experience with this medicine, and I was bursting with creativity during and for months after the ceremony. Ideas flooded in—creating videos, opening my own business, and pursuing various personal projects. A desire also formed to deepen my relationship with mushrooms. I began holding monthly ceremonies for myself at home. I built a ceremonial container very similar to that of my guide’s, including the right set and setting, limits on dosage for solo journeying, meditation, pre-planned music playlists, safety guidelines, and psychedelic support hotlines I could call if I needed help.

These ceremonies eventually started including other people—close friends with whom I share core values and principles of healing. Now that there were more loving and connected travel companions, we could hold space for each other and experiment with higher doses. This led to journeys with incredible breakthrough experiences, deeper understanding of ourselves, the importance of the connections we build, and a self-reliance and self-love that feels unbreakable. The result has been an abundance of strong euphoria, contentment, and happiness. “I never knew a human could feel this happy,” I mumbled through tears during an integration session.

I remember during one journey I was fiddling with my eye mask. The guide noticed and inquired, “How’s it going?”

“There seems to be light getting into the mask. It almost seems like it’s behind me.”

“Maybe you’re the light,” he said softly.

“Of course,” I chuckled.

The light is in all of us. We just need a way to connect with it.

I still see Vikings, ships, oceans, and waves each time I take mushrooms.”

Bryan’s journey over the course of several ceremonies greatly portrays a typical arc of working with these medicines over time. It’s important for the reader to note the beginning of his process—it surfaced surprisingly difficult emotions. During the first ceremony with him, he had a deep and loud scream, expressing a profound pain he had been holding and indicating unmet needs emerging into awareness. Even after the ceremony, once the psychological defenses had softened, there were turbulent experiences as his body and mind processed repressed material. Sometimes the weeks after a ceremony can be unsettling—though often it is quite the opposite. Still, it is wise to approach this work—especially for those new to it—with awareness that there may be hidden material that surfaces and requires integration, and that a period of destabilization can follow while the psyche begins to self-organize and integrate what it has learned.

I have been working with Bryan, who is now in his early 50s, for a few years, and I can affirm his statements. Bryan presents as deeply masculine—a large beard, a Viking-like appearance, a background in collegiate wrestling, and a current passion for sailing and repairing other people’s boats—and I have seen him weep several times while sharing that he never knew life could feel this joyful, how beautiful the world is, and how deeply he feels love.

Our second story is of Ramilya. Ramilya was working as a marriage and family therapist when she came to me. She had migrated to the US from Russia many years earlier. She had been married, and together they owned a retail business, but the marriage had dissolved. Ramilya felt emotionally stuck because of the trauma she carried. She shares:

“After the end of my marriage, I found myself standing at the threshold of something I have been longing for: finding a partner. These long years of being on my own had dismantled me in significant ways, as all my meaningful identities shifted out of existence. I had survived the unraveling of my marriage, the unexpected death of my beloved mother, the loss of a cherished pet, the collapse of a business I had poured my heart into, and a breast cancer diagnosis. Grief had rooted deep in my being leaving me emotionally homeless and ungrounded And yet my longing for a partnership set me on a courageous path of seeking love, connection and intimacy. What I truly longed for was fun and light heartedness. So, when I met someone who offered this, I welcomed them into my life. And then my father died. The person I was dating had no capacity to support me in the depths of my grief. My anxious attachment tendencies exploded into a full-blown panic attacks and somatic response of pain, anxiety, bouts of anger and despair. My old and deep wounds of abandonment and emotional neglect opened once more. The more I was reaching for support, the less it was available to me. I intuitively understood the solution was not in the hands of the person I was dating and yet I couldn’t do anything to escape this tremendous pain.

The only thing that was somewhat helpful was daily walking. And it was during one of these walks, on advice of my close friend, I reached out to Jahan to explore whether a ceremony might help me to ease my pain. He responded quickly, kindly, with grounding presence—something my nervous system had been starving for. Our first two Zoom conversations felt like entering a soft container where all of me could exist without being censored or minimized. He listened - attuned and steady. The taste of hope was palpable – sweet, tangy, warm and comforting.

On the day of the ceremony, Jahan welcomed me into a warm, beautiful space. I brought photographs of my family. I felt apprehensive and vulnerable, but also hopeful that something inside me might finally open and release this unbearable burden. We began with a 30-minute meditation. Within minutes, my body softened and my breath deepened. When the medicine entered my system, I felt a profound threshold open—an unmistakable choice: to hold on or to let go. Letting go felt like dying. And it also felt like the only way out. The moment I surrendered, something ancient tore through me. A primal scream erupted from a place older than memory. I shifted into my native language as pre-verbal trauma surged to the surface—the infancy wounds of being passed between multiple loving caretakers, bonding only to lose each bond again. Each separation had been a collapse in my tiny body, and now—decades later—it all came roaring back. I screamed. I shook. I released. The abandonment wound that had shaped my adult relationships, including my anxious attachment challenges, cracked open. Something inside me began to reset. Through all of it, Jahan remained anchored. He did not flinch. He held my feet to keep me grounded, witnessing every wave of terror and release. His presence was a lighthouse in the middle of my inner storm.

When the storm passed, peace washed through my whole being. Silence, spaciousness, light. I turned toward the mirror in the room and saw myself with a clarity I’d never experienced. My softness. My beauty. My worth. My essence. My soul. For the first time, I recognized myself without distortion. The music—Jahan’s impeccable, intuitive curation—flowed around me like a current. Even now, years later, I still return to those songs. They remind me of the day my heart cracked open and everything inside me poured out—terrifying and magnificent.

Three hours later, I took the second substance and descended into a dreamlike realm. Imagery unfolded like myth: a sweet five-year-old version of myself holding marbles, surrounded by gentle, otherworldly creatures who tended to me with reassurance and care. They invited me to explore my grief, my desires, my hopes, my shadows—without fear. I felt my own vastness.

My own possibility. My power. My strength. For the first time in years, relief entered my body. A shallow breath I had been holding for years finally released. The relentless ache that had lived in my chest softened. Afterward, Jahan offered me nourishing food, and a close friend stayed with me that night, creating a cocoon of safety and belonging.

The ceremony marked the beginning of a profound transformation. In the days that followed, clarity rose that my relationship at the time wasn’t sustainable and when it ended, I let him go with ease. That departure opened another threshold: my sexuality. A sacred realm I had longed to reclaim. Jahan supported my choice to explore a local sex-positive community. Through continued psychedelic work, I stepped into deeper erotic embodiment. I discovered a dominant part of me sitting proudly on my private throne - the sovereign seat of my soul.

Over two years, in eight ceremonies, I crossed liminal space after liminal space. From grief to resilience. From fear to empowerment. From fragmentation to wholeness. My father’s spirit connected with me. My grief for him, and for my mother, became gentler. Less jagged. More breathable and spacious.

Even now, when health challenges prevent me from using medicine, the work lives within me. It has become a woven part of my nervous system, sustaining me through ongoing physical limitations and disability. It taught me how to live in the in-between—not with panic, but with faith. Where I once lived armored, I now carry the truth the medicine gave me: a soft heart with boundaries. I welcome people into my life with openness and warmth, without losing myself.

Three years ago, I met my current partner —the love of my life. Meeting him felt like stepping onto solid ground after years of drifting. We are deeply compatible, steady, attuned. I introduced him to Jahan as a way of saying: This is the life your guidance helped me reclaim. I remain profoundly thankful for Jahan—his attunement, steadiness, and validating presence. Psychedelic-assisted therapy helped me reconnect with my life and my soul. It helped me find my ground in self and it taught me how to trust life again, especially in uncertain times.

My hope is that one day, when my health allows, I will return to the medicine. Not to escape, but to release the fatigue that clings to my body. To rest again in the arms of that vast, loving intelligence. Until then, I carry what the work gave me: softness, sovereignty, trust, and a heart mended forever by the thresholds I have crossed.”

We again see in Ramilya’s testimony that what one goes through in the beginning can often involve catharsis and a sense of dying. The emotions we are holding onto must be felt, processed, and integrated before wholeness can be achieved. Her writing also shows the importance of a facilitator—a minister, guide, therapist, shaman, or sitter. The medicine does the heavy lifting, and having a calm, steady, safe, and attuned connection can be invaluable. Most of out traumas are relational—and they generally heal in safe and present connection.

Sometimes the fear can be too overwhelming to move through alone, and the experience can then become traumatic instead of healing. Someone bringing a deeper sense of safety than one can access on one’s own also strengthens the container that holds the experience. If someone moves beyond what the container can hold—such as encountering an immense amount of fear without feeling safe—then that fear can remain amplified in the body moving forward.

I do believe these medicines are our birthright—and that includes the possibility of healthy solo experiences. Terence McKenna is often recalled as saying to take five dried grams of psilocybin mushrooms alone in silent darkness. This can indeed be amazing. Yet I have also seen in my own life, in the lives of clients and colleagues, and even with McKenna himself toward the end of his life, that high-dose unfacilitated ceremonies can sometimes lead to long-term trauma.

As we can see in her writing, sometimes someone bringing the right support at the right time can take us from unfathomable ache to profound awe.

The next person sharing is Patrick, who also came to work with me in his forties. Pat is taller than me—and I am six feet tall—and had spent much of his life bodybuilding. Externally, things looked amazing. He had a beautiful family and was a devoted father to two children. Internally, however, he was wrestling deeply and drinking every night in order to sleep. He shares:

“My existence prior to my first ceremony was a landscape of unrecognized agony and self-loathing. Though I saw surface symptoms; a short temper, bouts of clinical depression, self-medication with alcohol. But I lacked any true gauge of my internal suffering. My own skewed perception was my only standard, and from the outside, my life seemed functional and fairly decent.

That first experience changed everything. It brought me face-to-face with a childhood trauma I had meticulously buried. Simultaneously, I was immersed in a profound, fundamental love I had either forgotten or never known. It felt as if my soul was awakened, providing a new framework for living my life, and a fundamentally richer understanding of the world.

Since then, I have actively adopted numerous tools to find peace, overcome self-hatred, and strengthen my love for my family and friends. I’ve rediscovered a pure, childlike joy. My goals have shifted to achieving better health, growing my community, and securing inner peace which is manifesting daily. I have shifted from passively existing to being reborn, viewing life as a series of endless adventures shared with loved ones. I now appreciate the world’s wonders rather than chasing an unreachable climax. I cherish every moment and feel immense gratitude for the gift of life, having let go of the need for material accumulation. I remain eternally thankful for the role psychedelics and these ceremonies have played in my continued personal evolution. I have stripped myself of hate and filled it with love. It’s been an extraordinary journey.”

After his first ceremony, Pat’s habit of drinking at night to self-medicate vanished. I do not want to set that as an expectation for the reader, but I have seen several examples where someone comes in struggling with an addiction—such as alcohol—and, when we address the underlying pain beneath it, often rooted in childhood trauma, the overwhelming desire to self-medicate that often unconscious pain begins to disappear.

There have also been people who came in for alcohol addiction and did not have this kind of breakthrough in a single ceremony. But in Pat’s case, and in others, it was as if a balloon filled with pain suddenly burst. The person experiences deep agony during the ceremony—the pain that was medicated by the addiction—and when the pain is processed their desire to self-medicate subsides. This is often followed by a profound sense of lightness and relief.

I have now worked with Pat for years. He has made immense strides in deepening into self-love, quieting the self-judgment in his mind, and leading with curiosity and excitement about self-growth and intellectual expansion. He came in as an atheist and, like me, developed a deeply felt sense of spirituality and consistent intellectual passion for learning about consciousness and the world because of his medicinal experiences.

Next we have Yeshua. Yeshua is an American veteran who lives with PTSD from his time in military service. Of our work together, he writes:

“I came to this work at the end of myself.

When I met you, I was struggling to transition from military to civilian life. I had just come through a divorce. I was homeless. I had no internal or external foundation. My marriage had collapsed under the weight of my inner struggle. I carried severe and untreated complex PTSD along with treatment-resistant depression, born from years as a USMC combat veteran and later working abroad in the realm of diplomatic service and intelligence.

Hyper-vigilance controlled my life. I believed someone was trying to kill me at all times. I trusted no one. My nervous system never rested. My sense of self was shattered. I lived with deep shame from childhood, war, and the impossibility of reconciling what I had seen with any coherent idea of purpose.

I felt contaminated by my past.
Spiritually numb.
Emotionally fragmented.
Disconnected from any sense of belonging.

Before meeting you, I had a very intense psychedelic experience at Burning Man. I took substances offered by a stranger, without preparation or guidance, and the experience opened immense inner worlds that I was not equipped to understand. As the Man burned, I felt drawn toward the fire in a symbolic, almost trance-like way, as though something inside me wanted to release everything that was not love. I moved toward the flames and ended up physically burning myself.

It was not an attempt to harm myself. Although suicidal thoughts had passed through my life during that period, I never acted on them. This moment was not driven by a desire to disappear. It was an expression of an inner call toward purification and transformation. It was a powerful, meaningful experience, and it showed me that there was something profound moving inside me. It also made clear that if I continued along this path, I needed guidance and long-term support.

That realization is what ultimately brought me to you.

From the beginning, your presence offered steadiness and safety. You met me without judgment. You listened not just to what I said, but to the silent terrain of my inner world. Something in me could breathe near you. You helped me recognize that what I had encountered did not mean I was broken. You helped me understand that beneath the intensity was meaning.

Almost a decade has passed since our first meeting. The work we have done together has rebuilt my life from the inside out.

Our first deep psilocybin journey together remains unforgettable. When the medicine opened, the armor I had carried for decades dissolved. I entered a realm that felt both ancient and immediate. A space between worlds. A bardo.

At first it was overwhelming. Images of death and ruin filled my awareness. Faces. Limbs. Blood. Decay. Sex. They mirrored the inner catastrophe that had lived inside me for so long. It felt like I was being shown every unprocessed memory, every wound, every part of myself I had abandoned in order to survive. I thought I would not return.

Yet beneath the terror was an unmistakable presence of love.

Slowly the horror softened. The terror revealed itself as grief. The grief revealed itself as tenderness. The images were not punishment. They were wounded parts of myself returning to be seen. When I stayed with them instead of turning away, they transformed. They had never been evil. They had only been waiting for compassion.

Warmth began to move through my body. I felt held by something infinite. It felt like touching the face of God. Not a figure, but an all-pervading love beyond form. It showed me that nothing in me had ever been broken. Beneath every wound there had always been wholeness.

I wept.
It was the first time in my adult life I felt whole.

This was only the beginning.

Across many ceremonies with psilocybin and MDMA, you guided me to reclaim parts of myself I thought were lost forever. Some journeys were luminous and expansive. Others brought me again to the very edges of existence. But each time, you sat with me. You helped me understand the archetypal magnitude of what I was experiencing. You helped me find meaning instead of fear. You taught me how to integrate the mystical into the ordinary.

Through this work I learned to face shame directly.
I learned to hold grief with tenderness.
I learned that the deepest wounds can become portals into greater love.

My nervous system softened.
My confidence returned.
I began to trust life again.

I found joy.
I discovered peace.
I uncovered a resilience that did not depend on circumstance.

The experiences of oneness revealed a profound interconnection that has never left me. Life began to feel intimate again. I once resisted the world. Now I embrace it, with all its complexity and wildness.

Over time, life began to rebuild itself.
Relationships healed.
I found love again.
I rebuilt a home.
I rediscovered purpose.

Healing did not erase the past. It integrated it.

And still, the past rippled. The consequences of old wounds touched people I cared for deeply. Some relationships became strained. The suffering that arose in later years felt like life inviting me to embody what I had learned.

There came a time when I had to stand before systems much larger than myself and speak truth from the depth of my being. It felt as though I lost what was most precious to me. Yet even in that grief, something unshakable remained.

I learned that resilience is not the absence of catastrophe.
It is the ability to remain steady in its midst.

Today, I still walk with complexity.
Some relationships are still mending.
Some stories are still unfolding.

But I can meet difficulty with openness.
I can accept life as it is.
I can trust that walking my truth is its own form of grace.

What once nearly consumed me now gives warmth.
It lights my way.

Through all of this, our relationship evolved.

What began as guide and client grew into a true friendship. As I stepped into my own calling as a guide and mentor, our relationship became one of colleagueship and shared devotion to this path. I hold you with deep respect and care.

Ultimately, this work led me into service.
I now guide others through their own inner transformations. I support those facing trauma, grief, spiritual crisis, and profound awakening. I accompany them through ceremony and integration with the same steadiness, patience, and reverence that you offered me. My practice is deeply rooted in the integrity, presence, and love I learned in our time together.

It may not be fair to say, but I believe you may have been the most important person in helping me find peace, happiness, and health in my life. When systems and even those closest to me did not know how to help, you did. You saw me when I could not see myself. You helped me rebuild a life worth living when all seemed lost.

I am forever grateful.”

Over the years, I have been honored to witness Yeshua’s transformation. He carried a deep yearning to find a sense of embodied purpose. It was beautiful to see his flowering into working with many clients and organizations in the psychedelic field, alongside his desire to help veterans understand that healing is possible.

Like any human being, I have also seen Yeshua move through deeply difficult periods since we began our work together. Many times, I have been impressed by his ability to remain steady and grounded, not losing his sense of faith even in profoundly challenging moments.

I have often used the metaphor of a caterpillar turning into a butterfly in reference to transformation. Often, it is one’s very sense of self that transforms. There have been many ceremonies where, in a particular moment, it feels like lightning strikes, and I get chills knowing this person’s life will never be the same after that exact minute—when the butterfly finally emerges from the cocoon. Sean’s first ceremony holds one of those moments:

“For most of my life I’ve lived with an inner critic telling me I’m not enough. It pushed me through design school, where I graduated with honors, and into an eighteen-year corporate career where no promotion or success ever brought peace of mind. By the first winter of Covid I was exhausted from holding it together at work, sitting through one video meeting after another while a voice in my head replayed each one, cataloging what I’d said wrong and why I didn’t measure up. One December weekend it finally became too much. Desperate for some way out, I scrolled through podcasts and came across a story about two wolves battling inside us, one fear and rage, the other love and hope. Something in that story clicked. For the first time I could see how much of my life had been framed by fear and shame, and in that moment it felt like maybe I had a choice.

The following week I ran into a friend and colleague and began sharing what was going on with me. That conversation led me to Jahan. In our intake I spoke honestly about the anxiety, the self-loathing, the years of therapy that showed me what was going wrong, and I still felt powerless to make a different choice. I kept circling the question of what I really wanted from this work until I landed on a single intention underneath all of it: self-love. In that carefully held ceremony, something in me finally softened. The critic fell away and my mind became quiet. A question rose that did not feel like my own, “What’s not to love?” I had no words and then a sense that I was love. All of me. Then the knowing poured into me, filling me up. It did not feel like repair. It felt like my whole life quietly shifting around a different center. As my journey came to a close, I rolled to one side facing a mirror. Jahan asked me what I saw in the mirror. Tears streamed down my face and I was struck by my appearance, by how beautiful I was. Glowing. I saw a whole person in that mirror. It felt like meeting myself for the first time.

In the months that followed, everything in my life began to reorient around that shift. Instead of policing myself, I started asking what would be most loving for me now, and my relationship with myself became unexpectedly tender. There was a morning at home when I caught my reflection and, instead of a list of flaws, saw the loving presence behind my eyes and broke down in tears of gratitude. That major shift began showing up in small, meaningful ways: going on a date asking not “Do they like me?” but “Do I actually like them?” and letting myself leave when the answer was no; forgiving my mother and rebuilding a real relationship with her; and eventually recognizing that the job I had clung to out of fear was no longer aligned with who I was becoming. Since then my life has been slowly reorganizing around service, especially holding space in plant medicine work and coaching. I am still very human and still learning, but I know who I am in a way I didn’t before, and more of my life feels available to me. I finally found the love that was there all along, and it has helped me become the person I knew myself to be: soulful, caring, and loving.”

I have had the pleasure of working with Sean for several years now. After that first journey, his life changed. I remember the moment in that session looking at him—when his egoic self-image of inadequacy cracked and he was able to step into his soul, made of love and light itself. I knew he was forever changed—that the caterpillar turned into a butterfly—and that transformation persists. Over the years we continued to work as he moved from nearly two decades in a corporate job to really owning his life. Sean now looks for depth and meaning in every interaction.

People feeling stuck in their lives is one of the main reasons they initially come to see me. They often return because of the transformation and growth that follows. I would say that 90% of the time, it is pain that first brings them in—typically depression, anxiety, or some form of PTSD. Many clients come because of relationships or marriages that were abusive, or that they could not move beyond, even after years of therapy.

In most cases, a single session—supported by preparation, integration, and ongoing guidance—can help them move past the block. Servane was such a case. She writes:

“For several years, my life felt like a long battle shaped by painful human and romantic relationships—betrayal, manipulation, and lies. The collapse of a love story that had brought and kept me to a foreign country, the weight of discovering that my ex-husband—the father of my child—was a sex addict and the emotional struggles of my son during the first years of his life, slowly forced me to take radical and sad decisions to “save me” from what I consider a disastrous life.

For a long time, the love for my son was the energy that kept me moving; it gave me strength, as did my extraordinary community. But over the past year or two—also influenced by my ex-husband’s remarriage—I began losing my ability to cope. My anxiety expanded to a point where, in October 2025, I finally burned out.

Months before that happened, I had already decided to explore a different path toward healing. Over the last decade I had experimented with alternative therapeutic methods—family constellations, EMDR, hypnotherapy—with varying results. Still, I could feel an unconscious block inside me, something that kept me from moving forward peacefully or rebuilding myself. I longed to live fully again, to reflect the passionate woman I know I am. But after the end of my last relationship five years ago, survival instincts held me back. I sabotaged myself, choosing fleeting encounters instead of risking deeper connection.

All along though, I was held and uplifted by an extraordinary community of friends and my family—here in the United States and back in Europe. Their presence, love, and loyalty have always been a blessing in my life. After this journey, I feel even more grateful and aware of how precious that support has been.

When I first spoke with Jahan about the idea of a guided psychedelic session, I knew immediately that I wanted the experience to be therapeutic. I carried fears—fear of becoming “hooked,” fear of losing control, fear of a bad trip. But something stronger than fear pushed me toward trust. Ironically, once we set the date—three months later—I went through a burnout, medication changes, a small surgery, and finally a bad cold. I wondered if these were signs I shouldn’t go through with it.

Yet on the day of the session—a cold November morning, the day before Thanksgiving—I felt an unexpected confidence despite my lingering cold. I sensed early on that this day would become a turning point, a moment when I might reclaim hope and inner quiet.

When I arrived, my first impressions were visual: garden gnomes on the stairs, a dim room filled with optical illusions, and many eyes staring from the artwork. Despite the eccentricity and the cold outside, a comforting warmth settled in. Jahan seemed young, yet his experience and serene presence made me feel safe. His calm explanation of the process played a huge role in shaping what came next, and throughout the session he asked the right questions at the right moments, guiding me gently and keeping me in a deep sensation of safety and trust.

Wrapped in a weighted blanket, I took MDMA as we talked through my intentions. Then came the mushrooms. At first, my body resisted—I struggled to let go. The sensations were unfamiliar, colors I had never seen, movement in objects whether my eyes were open or closed. But slowly, I remembered to trust the process.

I felt a deep connection to the women in my family, to a lineage, their strength. Tears came in rivers—painful yet strangely beautiful. I could feel sorrow without suffering from it, as if witnessing the natural order of things. I didn’t “see” people I know, but I sensed them—my father, friends, the universe itself. Music became a powerful guide, and I even suggested certain tracks as I journeyed: my childhood, the womb, hearing and feeling my mother’s heartbeat. The paintings in the room transformed into symbols of connection, roots leading toward others, and I couldn’t believe these amazing colors!

I had the sensation of opening a door in myself—toward peace, toward a kind of acceptance. A clearer understanding that things are where they belong. I started a reconciliation with men, and with my own feminine side that I left behind to survive these last years. Something spiritual widened inside me—a small but meaningful step toward accepting death and suffering, including the profound grief of losing my father, one of the pillars of my life, and all the friends along the way.

Weeks later, despite the physical fatigue that followed, I can say this: it was a unique experience, one that left me with a quiet satisfaction, a sense that I had made the right choice. It feels as though a new, gentler path has opened—one that is perhaps more authentic to the life I want to live. And through it all, I feel more grateful than ever for the community of love and friendship that has carried me this far.

I am looking forward to experiencing this again and going deeper into my personal journey.
Thank you, Jahan.”

I have seen many instances where someone is unable to let a prior relationship “die,” leaving them emotionally unavailable, or where the trauma of a prior relationship deeply impacts their sense of self. Sometimes a partner may have been verbally or physically abusive, leaving self-esteem, self-trust, or a sense of safety shattered. In several cases, I have seen people gain clarity over what happened, release what no longer serves them, and reestablish trust and wholeness within themselves.

Next is Eric. Eric is a medical doctor who first approached me to work with his wife and then ended up coming into ceremonies himself. His then-wife was experiencing immense childhood trauma coming to the surface as her own children were beginning to grow. My heart still breaks when I think of the pain she went through and what they were navigating as a family at that time. Eric writes:

Where does one begin? How does something so small make such a profound effect on one’s life? I remember it like it was yesterday. I had reached my limits and I couldn’t handle any more. I needed answers and was willing to do anything… anything… to find them. That afternoon I asked for answers from a place of complete desperation and immense pain… and what I was given ended up being so much more.

For the past 18 months I had watched the woman I loved, my wife at the time, fall deeper and deeper into a dark hole with no signs of her returning. The farther she fell, the more I tried to control the situation, as I feared for her life. I had tried everything a Western-trained physician knows how to do—everything money could buy—except letting go.

I hoped mushrooms would bring relief and salvation from the darkness that had consumed her and our family. Unfortunately, they did not bring her what I had wanted or hoped for. Instead, they bestowed their blessings on me.

“Holy shit Elon Musk! We do not need to go to Mars!” were my first words as I came crashing back into my body and mind after a 10-hour life-changing experience. My abdominal muscles were aching and I was breathing with an openness and intensity I had never experienced before. I had so many questions for Jahan as I began to process the day’s events.

I remember as the mushrooms were coming on, realizing the human experience happens in layers, and that I had been approaching the perfect storm my life had become in a linear way. I experienced myself becoming a shimmering golden Indian goddess as my body moved through different yoga postures. A six-hour labor as I birthed my wife’s and my new love. And finally, a journey through the major chakras concluding with darkness and light.

I had read that these experiences were life-changing, but I did not yet understand the depth of power and beauty psilocybin holds.

My life was forever changed, and I was beginning anew with a completely different perspective. I had learned more in those 10 hours than I had in over nine years of medical training. And now I had to learn what to do with the knowledge I had just received…

Psilocybin isn’t a silver bullet. It doesn’t always give you the outcome you desire. Healing isn’t always clean, nor does it always look the way one hopes. Eric and his wife separated—and ultimately began healing individually. She is a therapist who was able to grow through this dark night and eventually stabilize. Eric deepened his sense of empowerment, spirituality, and built a new life.

Another client who came in seeking peace with a prior relationship is JB. JB is an author of several books and has had a successful career in sales and marketing. He arrived broken-hearted. Unlike cases of abuse or relational trauma, his loss came from profound love: his wife, a woman he deeply adored, died of cancer. He walked with her through the illness and the dying process. It was one of the most difficult experiences of his life, and understandably, he fell into deep depression after her passing. JB writes:

“I didn’t come to psychedelics because I wanted to “expand my consciousness” or “connect to the universe.” I came to them because my wife died, and I was wrecked.

She passed away in 2017, and two years later I was still marinating in grief. When I finally got sober, a year after she died, I was left with a simple, awful question: now what?

I wasn’t drinking, but I also wasn’t really living. I’d heard about people using psilocybin—magic mushrooms—to work through trauma, and part of me thought, maybe this could help me find some peace. Another part thought, great, I’m a recovering alcoholic about to take drugs again—what could possibly go wrong?

So in 2019, after a year of sobriety, I did my first psilocybin journey. I was terrified. I didn’t want to spiral into some weird drug trip or relapse into old habits. What I really wanted—what I needed—was to know that it was okay to be happy again and not so afraid of the future.

At the time, I had been in a new relationship for two years (I’m still with her today), but guilt clung to me like static. I wanted to believe that my late wife was at peace, and maybe, just maybe, happy for me too. That was the intention I carried in with me: permission to live again.

The experience itself was a lot. It was beautiful and brutal, chaotic and calm, all at once. I cried, I laughed, I saw things that defy description, and I felt things I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in years. If “ego death” sounds dramatic, that’s because it is—but it’s also accurate.

The part of me that needed to control everything, to please everyone, to stay small and safe, just kind of shattered. And what came through the cracks was something softer and truer. Not some psychedelic superhero—just a guy finally willing to face his fear and stop running from life.

After that, things didn’t magically become perfect (sorry, no rainbow unicorn epiphanies here). What changed was me.

I began to see that every day, even the lousy ones, was a gift. My late wife doesn’t get any more days. I do. So if I really want to honor her—and myself—I have to show up, sober and present, for this messy, beautiful life.

Since that first journey, I’ve made it a yearly practice. Once a year, I check in with myself through ceremony, look at what’s still broken, and see what I’m ready to let go of and to work on. The mushrooms don’t “fix” anything. They just hand you the map – it’s up to you to follow it and more importantly, do the daily work required to get better.

The real work is walking the road—every day, with humility, patience, and, ideally, a sense of humor. I still get angry. I still screw up. But I’m more compassionate, more open, and a lot less afraid.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that psychedelics aren’t a shortcut—they’re an invitation. They can unstick what’s stuck, crack open what’s closed, and remind you that healing isn’t about escaping your pain—it’s about learning to live with it, and even love through it, on your path to being a better person.”

Like all the clients I have mentioned here, JB’s session was deeply memorable. I saw him, in those 6.5 hours, finally touch the peace he had been longing for. Many people report profound or seemingly supernatural experiences in psychedelic states, which I will explore further later in this book. This was one such ceremony. JB described being able to see and speak with his late wife for hours. I, too, was moved to tears. It was profoundly beautiful.

A council of women—women from his life who had passed, including his late wife, her mother, and his own mother—appeared in his experience. They encouraged him to continue coming to see me once a year. For over five years now, JB has returned annually, and he continues to meet this same council of women in his inner visions. They guide him in his life, encourage him to be a good man, build his confidence, and give him permission to be happy again—helping him soften into his current relationship. 

It’s fairly common, when a traumatic event occurs, to fall into an addictive cycle with substances to soothe the pain. The substance one takes can help modulate the pain—and then also becomes a crutch that carries its own consequences. JB shared that he fell into alcohol after his wife’s death. He is far from alone. Following is Brien’s account of falling into a cocaine addiction after a significant separation. Brien owns a well-known local business in Southern California. After work, as many people do when they fall into addiction, he used the substance to deal with heartache and loneliness. He writes:

I reached out to Jahan because I was caught in a cycle of cocaine addiction and wanted to try alternative treatment methods. I laid out the specifics of what was going on and he let me know that although he couldn’t guarantee that the treatment would solve the problem, he was certain that he would be able to help me. His confidence in this treatment, compassion, and our easy rapport inspired me to sign up for the package he offered. I was grateful that a cancellation had created an availability just a couple weeks from then, and we were able to get started right away.

We held our first talking session via Zoom, where we went over the particulars of the cycle I was stuck in, and my personal history and traumas. He was easy to talk to and relate with, and I felt very comfortable with the process. The second talking session was in person, since the medicine treatment was planned for the next day. We discussed my personal history with psychedelics so he could determine the right dosages for the treatment, and went over our goals for the process. He made some suggestions of things for me to do before our treatment, one being a lovely walking path in the area. The next morning I took his advice and went on the short outdoor nature stroll and had an epiphany that I was truly ready for a new chapter, and started a shift in my consciousness. When we sat down to do the psychedelic medicine treatment we were both thrilled that my mindset was so open and ready for change.

The treatment experience was, pardon the pun, truly mind-blowing. Jahan created a safe environment for me to trust the process and the medicine’s effects. He guided me through the process, touching on the things we had discussed and allowing me to digest and process them for real healing. I was fully prepared for an intense emotional breakdown if that was what was needed, but my experience was one of complete joy and the unconditional love of cosmic connectedness. As we cycled through the medicines, I could feel them healing my brain, breaking it free from the harmful cycle I had been caught in. The experience was very intense but I never once felt scared or out of control. As the session wound down I felt truly free for the first time in a year.

The two subsequent follow-up reintegration sessions helped solidify the dramatic shift that the medicine treatment had facilitated for me. I am now more myself than I had been in a long time. I have renewed drive and passion for life. My intuition is on fire and the feeling of cosmic connectedness is a part of my daily life. I’ve prioritized taking actions to show care for myself and continue my healing. I’m truly grateful that I chose this path of healing and was ready and willing for the changes it helped me make.

At the time of writing, Brien has been free from cocaine for a year. He went from heavy use for a year straight to stopping overnight, getting back to working out, and feeling more alive than ever. About one-third of my clients fly in for treatment—and that sometimes allow for the preparation and integration sessions to be in person if the arrive a day early or are able to have a rest day after the ceremony—which I strongly recommend. Brien had was one of those experiences where he seemed so confident that he broke free—and over the weeks he would check in and share that he hasn’t gone back and that his life has only continued to improve.

These medicines have been deeply therapeutic and transformative for people across the age spectrum and with different developmental backgrounds. I have also held personal ceremonies for people with varied professional lives—from ministers and therapists to CEOs of multimillion-dollar companies and several professional poker players. I have worked with people in leadership positions across some of the world’s most well-known companies. I have supported individuals in their 20s struggling with suicidal ideation, and others in their 70s who have spent decades committed to growth and healing. The next couple of people fall into the latter category.

The following account is from Maryellen, age 72 at the time of writing. Over the course of her life, she has worked as a psychotherapist, executive coach, and trainer/mentor of executive coaches, helping others navigate growth, leadership, and personal transformation. She brings to this experience not only decades of professional expertise but also a deep commitment to inner work, including a longstanding Buddhist practice, many years of personal therapy, and more than forty years of Aikido training. These disciplines have shaped a perspective rooted in self-awareness, curiosity, and the capacity to remain present with both challenge and discovery. She writes:

I came to psychedelics with an inquiry:  Is there more interpersonal, intrapersonal work for me to complete? Will psychedelics help me discover what could be holding me back?  Have I fully worked through life trauma, is there more for me to uncover?  Challenges I carried before the ceremony: habit of doing, achieving, pushing myself to some imagined version of success. Not knowing how to slow down without feeling guilt. These habits caused anxiety, insomnia, and somatic stress. I felt separated me from my true nature.  I impressed others as being pushy, bossy, intense, “too big”, abrupt-this felt confusing to me, because it did not fit into how I saw myself.  I found myself often misunderstood, yet trapped by a lifetime of protecting my heart. In retrospect, I became an expert at armoring up-and I didn’t know that.

The psychedelic experience has been life changing. My ceremonies were filled with a range of emotions, from joy, peace, fear, confusion and love. I was warmly ushered into ceremony by a beloved and trusted muse, this encounter gave me courage to keep saying “yes” to whatever opened up during the ceremony. My ancient protective shield melted and I dissolved into something much bigger than myself.

Today, those who know me have offered this feedback: “you are calmer, softer, the points/edginess are smoother”. I see a deeper trust in my intuition, fuller connection to my Zen practice, and appreciation for others. I have been able to move through past difficulties, receive more joy and love in my life, but most importantly able to express love and appreciation effortlessly. I believe I am living a more deliberate life.

Richard, our next author, is in a similar place. He is in his 70s, was a priest for decades, earned a doctorate in religious studies, and remains an ongoing activist fighting for social rights. He writes:

I came into my 70s realizing, as many do, that much of my life had been lived for others—measuring up to the expectations of parents and other authorities in childhood; later, supervisors in my various jobs; being a good spouse and, later, a good dad; and taking my place in the public forum as a priest and advocate for marginalized people. I am grateful and proud to have spent all those years as I did; I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

But when I reached my 70s, these paths—while challenging, satisfying, and often joyful—were no longer enough. I had more to do. There were other parts of myself I had not fully acknowledged, and some I had altogether betrayed, and their voices now demanded to be heard.

 The people I had loved and cared for would, of course, remain central to my story, but now they would take their places alongside one other person I had neglected along the way: myself.

It was time to listen to the unique rhythms of my own body and my own heart—what one theologian once called “a long, loving look at the real.” This meant revisiting my past, gathering the known facts and experiences as fully and honestly as I could, but seeing them now with love and compassion rather than the harsh self-criticism that had become my default. I have been learning to tell my story in an entirely new way.

Psychedelics have helped me do this, helping me become a true friend to myself.Sometimes a psychedelic session would bring tears and profound sadness. In one session, a seemingly endless stream of images I had scrolled past on social media washed over me in waves: children in Gaza with limbs missing, bellies swollen from starvation, crying for parents and siblings who had been killed in the genocide. Other moments brought forward traumas from my own childhood—moments I had tried to forget. And while the overwhelming grief and tears I experienced in these moments were truly my own, I knew they were also more than just mine. It was as if my own sobs were, in some mysterious way, those of God—vast and infinite, far transcending my small self.

My journeys also brought moments of great lightness, bliss, and playfulness. In one experience, I felt suspended in midair, freed from my body and from all the identities and roles that, in everyday life, require such effort to nurture and maintain—simply the lightness of being.

In another, I found myself in a magical playland, feeling like a wide-eyed child dazzled by an endless array of beautiful colored lights blinking and twinkling all around me. In yet another, I was so at one with the music that I couldn’t help but dance, feeling every note resonating blissfully through my body.

Throughout these experiences, I was fortunate to work with two professional therapists who provided physical settings that were calm, safe, and beautiful. They listened deeply, helping me find words for what was happening inside. Along the way, we had occasional conversations, and these helped me shape a narrative that was clearer and more authentic than I could have articulated on my own.

With ceremonial doses people can enter the collective shadow, as experienced by Richard in this statement. Often, the horrors encountered are balanced by the beauty and majesty of life. As someone who, like Richard, once took responsibility and mission in life very seriously, psychedelics also taught me to play, just as these elements of play arose for him. Without lightheartedness, the heaviness of life can become overwhelming. Both dimensions need balance to support a sustainable and meaningful life.

This work as a medicine practitioner is both deeply rewarding and deeply heartbreaking. There are few things more rewarding in life than watching someone transform—it is part of why people have children and plant gardens. Witnessing growth can be mesmerizing, even enough to move one to tears.

The heartbreaking part is encountering some of the darkest aspects of human experience. Among the most difficult are histories of severe childhood abuse—from ritualized rape to extreme neglect. We often have no idea what someone carries beneath the surface. There is frequently so much shame that people do not share these experiences with others, and in many cases they have even suppressed them from themselves. Other times, the person can become so high-functioning and successful that no one imagines the trauma they are carrying underneath. Some of the most severe cases I have seen involve early sexual violation, often at the hands of a family member. This is more widespread than is publicly acknowledged. It can profoundly affect a child’s sense of self and trust in others for life, as sexuality is such an intimate part of who we are. In many cases, it can lead to addiction, over-productivity, or even suicide. I am often moved by my clients’ courage in facing what they carry inside—and in doing so, finding a sense of power that may have been taken or stripped from them.

The following is from Honey, a family nurse practitioner and midwife who runs a clinic and has devoted her life to serving others. She writes:

Before working with psychedelic-assisted therapy, my knowledge of these medicines was largely academic. I understood the research, the neurobiological theories, the therapeutic models — but I had no lived experience. There was a part of me that felt apprehensive, even intimidated, about entering such unfamiliar emotional territory. My rational mind acknowledged the facts of my childhood hardships, but they remained disconnected — cognitive artifacts without emotional resonance. I believed I was functioning well: managing a thriving medical practice, raising a bustling household, performing, striving, achieving. My narrative was: “I’m fine. I’ve moved on.” Walking into the therapeutic circle with Dr. Jahan Khamsehzadeh Ph.D., however, I felt something I didn’t anticipate: a sense of warmth and safety that allowed me to soften. He told me that “the medicine always gives you what you need,” and although I nodded, I don’t think I understood what that truly meant until I was in it.

During my first journey, so much of what I had repressed came flooding to the surface — pain, grief, memory — like stones breaking loose from the dam. I was shown the fortress I had built around my vulnerable self, thick walls protecting a little girl I barely remembered knowing.

And that was when I first saw the tiger.

She was massive — powerful, fierce, untamed — and she stood between the little girl and the world. But the child was afraid of her. To that little version of me, the tiger seemed like another threat, another dominating presence. I didn’t yet understand that her teeth and roar were weapons for me, not against me.

Even in that overwhelm — even while I felt like the ground had fallen away beneath me — I was not lost. I could move through the pain rather than drown in it. With Jahan’s presence and guidance, I was able to witness rather than collapse. Afterward, I remember telling him through tears: “I didn’t want this to be my story.” He understood, gently and silently. And I think he knew then that the work was only just beginning.

Months later, in the second journey, I was shown every wound and violation of my early life — abuse, abandonment, starvation, rape — all gathered in a grotesque, reeking mass. I recoiled. I wanted to look away. But the little brothers (the mushrooms) said: “Look closer.” And as I did, I noticed tendrils working through the decay, new life weaving through death. Tiny roots, then green shoots, then flowering vines — until the entire heap burst into a riot of growth. The message was unmistakable: Our pain is the compost from which our medicine grows. It becomes empathy, connection, awareness, and eventually — healing. And this time, when I looked for the tiger, she was there again — not looming, not frightening — but waiting. The little girl understood now that this tiger was not a danger. She was devotion. She was protection. She was instinct. She was personal sovereignty given form. The child walked toward her — climbed onto her back — and together, we rode forward. It was not the tiger who grew smaller — it was I who grew braver. In that moment I knew: I do not need an external protector. The protector is within me. The tiger is me.

These experiences transformed something fundamental in me. I entered this work as a clinician curious about an emerging therapeutic modality. I emerged having reunited with an exiled part of myself. I now understand that healing is not the erasure of suffering — it is its transmutation. It is the reclamation of our own inner guardians. It is the recognition that the stories we didn’t want are still ours — and that they can become our strength.

Today, I stand fully present — not as the little girl hiding behind the walls, not as the overachieving adult outrunning her past — but as the woman riding the tiger, awake and alive and whole.

I remember Honey’s sessions being both torturous and unbearable. I have had many such ceremonies myself. There is something deeply alchemical about sitting with pain and fear in a safe container. It can force one to find their power. In fear we often feel powerless; as we turn toward it and metabolize it, we can reclaim the power that was given away—or taken—from us in childhood. In many cases, this leads to a more integrated, resilient, and grounded sense of self.

I’ll end the testimonials with one more excerpt from a client. I could write an entire book from my clients’ transformations. I have chosen only a thirteen examples in order to give the reader a varied range of experiences, in their own voices, from people I have directly witnessed and can verify. This next excerpt is from Ron—who is married, has two children, and is devoted to supporting his family. In his late teens and early twenties, he was a missionary and also focused his studies in ecology. Ron found me after reading my prior book, The Psilocybin Connection, and is now moving toward becoming a trained psychedelic minister and facilitating transformative wilderness retreats for men to reclaim a healthy masculinity. Ron writes:

“Damn! I’ve been lied to my whole life about this! These substances are not the devil that religion, society, and the D.A.R.E. program made them out to be!” This was my thought as I read Michael Pollan’s book How to Change Your Mind for the first time in early 2019. Little did I know that my journey toward a life of greater spiritual depth and healing for myself and my family was just beginning.

I experienced a fairly privileged middle-class childhood with both parents in my life and no serious abuse. Naturally, I still suffered many of the usual childhood wounds and inherited traumas from my parents. Nevertheless, aside from a life-threatening heart condition as a young child, I was fortunate to have no serious trauma to deal with. At 35 years old I was just starting down the path of a mid-life awakening when psychedelics made their appearance. I was moving away from being a devout adherent to a rigid Christian sect and exploring other spiritual paths. In my heart, I have always been more of a seeker. Psychedelics appealed to me as a way to discover and heal from hidden wounds, find more emotional depth in my relationship with self and others, connect more deeply to the natural world and earth, and achieve a greater degree of spiritual satisfaction.

The nature of my personality is one of slow, steady, intentional action. Incorporating psychedelics into my life would follow the same pattern. I read many books and researched various psychedelic medicines—their effects, safety profiles, legality, access, risks, and more—for two years before I felt ready to experience the medicine firsthand. Based on my research, I landed on psilocybin mushrooms due to their physiological safety, the reported nature of the experience, their apparent earthy quality, and the relative ease with which I could grow my own supply (thus ensuring safety, quality, and building a relationship with the medicine before partaking). In May 2021, I retreated to a remote, forested canyon in the wilderness of southern Arizona with a trusted friend and had a profound experience.

Many stories are told of psychedelic journeys that include grand revelations, the curing of addictions, complete life changes, experiences of the divine, and more in just one session. This was not my experience. I wouldn’t say I was underwhelmed or disappointed. I received exactly what I needed (a common theme in all my journeys). As has been the case in my life generally, my psychedelic experiences have offered slow, steady, intentional support, insight, and healing with each session. Through these encounters I have died multiple times, experienced my truest eternal identity, been to hell and back, felt the bliss of eternal love, been shown my shortcomings and strengths, and received teachings on flow, containment, intention, love, levity, enjoyment, and the polar principles of masculine and feminine, among many other things. I have not been disappointed in the least.

Despite my wife’s initial misgivings about the psychedelic path, she witnessed the intention and care I brought to integrating this medicine into my life and the slow, steady positive changes in me. She has since received much healing and personal growth from these medicines. Together, we are breaking generational chains that have bound our families for too long and which we refuse to pass down to our children and future generations. Unfortunately, as a full Native American, the trauma in my wife’s family history is prodigious and poignant. She is the first we are aware of in her family line to explicitly decide to interrupt the continuation of that pain. I marvel at her courage, resolve, and fortitude. Psychedelics have been a key revealer and healer for her. We are eternally grateful for these medicines from the earth.

My journey thus far has revealed to me that healthy men are needed now more than ever, and that wounded and immature men are more prevalent in the world now than at any other time. I have learned that masculinity is not inherently toxic, evil, or domineering. As with all things, masculinity has both shadow and gold aspects. The shadow side is often labeled “toxic.” The gold side provides structure, order, containment, provision, healthy assertiveness, and boundaries. Healthy masculinity creates a safe and sacred container and acts as a witness for the feminine and for children. While men generally express masculine aspects more readily, a measure of the feminine is, and ought to be, present within them as well, and vice versa. I believe a radical shift toward healthy masculinity is a necessary step in the raising of collective consciousness and the healing of the earth.

I am now on a path toward carrying this medicine and serving as a vehicle to help men face their struggles, heal, step into their power, and engage with the world as more effective and present fathers, husbands, brothers, sons, friends, and all the other roles men inhabit in this realm of existence. I believe we are all here to do important consciousness-raising work, in whatever way we are called. Psychedelics have helped me more fully realize and enact my life’s mission. I very much look forward to the continued journey and the support of the earth’s medicines as I walk this path.

I do believe each of our souls is born with a mission. Most humans act with intention—we eat, work, and move through life with some sense of purpose. I also hold a view, informed by my experience and reflection, that consciousness extends beyond birth. If intention and meaning are qualities of mind and emotion that we experience in consciousness now, then I believe they are also inherent expressions and qualities of the soul—our individual, eternal consciousness that precedes birth and exists after death. I believe that our soul intentionally chose the biography we now experience, including our family, place of birth, and even some of the trauma we encounter. I believe each soul has an intentions for this life—missions it desires to carry out. After much reflection, I believe the threads to discovering our purpose lie in both our pain and our bliss. Often, pain alerts our system that something needs to be addressed, and there is frequently a corresponding desire to help others who have undergone similar experiences. In many ways, I feel our individual soul’s work is hidden within our wounds, and that through healing we come more into contact with our soul’s purpose. As we free ourselves from suffering, we feel more connected to others, and desire to also alleviate their suffering

Following Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, it is often the case that we must first meet our foundational needs of feeling safe, connected, and worthy before we can access a deeper sense of identity and purpose. As our sense of deficiency is resolved—including the feeling that we are not enough or worthy—we can more fully embody our deeper sense of divinity and have the strength to carry out our soul’s vision. Much of my work is centered on helping people discover that sense of meaning in both identity and purpose—the backbone of a life—and I have repeatedly seen how psychedelic ceremonies can help restore safety, connection, and self-trust, so that individuals feel more capable of pursuing their life’s work with clarity and conviction.