Scanning the squares of our first Zoom call brought back memories of The Brady Bunch. While we might not be forming a family, I had a hunch our shared adventure was about to bring us all closer together. Twelve traumatized misfits, each with our own unique origin story, sharing one common purpose: to break free from the patterns, behaviors, and stories that had once protected us, but now enslave us.
The key to any successful adventure is preparation. You don’t wake up one morning, jump on a flight to Kathmandu, and hitchhike to Mt. Everest. Climbing the world’s tallest mountain takes months of physical conditioning, detailed logistical planning, and choosing an experienced guide to assist your ascent. Taking a heroic dose of psilocybin to explore the depths of your subconscious is no different. The objective of this virtual psychedelic boot camp was to prepare us for just such an expedition.
Our cosmic drill instructors had three short weeks to whip us into shape. We would meet as a group a few hours each week to discuss all sorts of topics and answer any questions that may have come up while doing our homework from the previous sessions. The program even included a few private calls with our assigned licensed therapist, so they could get to know us better. But the majority of our time was focused on preparing our mind, body, and spirit for our journey into the mystery.
We started with simple daily meditation techniques to ground us in the present moment and help regulate our nervous system. We also discussed the proven benefits of journaling. Studies have shown that writing down your deepest (and darkest) thoughts and feelings can dramatically reduce depression and anxiety. Seeing the words on the page allows your brian to counter the Ego’s negative bias, giving you an opportunity to challenge those narratives rather than blindly accepting them.
Next on the syllabus was preparing our bodies for the experience by eating healthy and drinking lots of water – neither of which I am accustomed to. They also suggested avoiding nicotine, alcohol, weed, and even sex (including self-gratification) for the next 21 days. I have never smoked a cigarette and rarely drank, so those were easy, but the Devil’s Lettuce and jerking off had become my primary coping mechanisms. This was going to be a depressing few weeks.
With the mind and body taken care of, we shifted focus to our spirit. Carl Jung said “Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” The power of these sacred plants lies in their extraordinary ability to connect the visible and invisible parts of ourselves, shining a light on our shadows so we can accept those parts we hate instead of repressing them.
Our guides stressed that one of the most important things we could do to facilitate this connection was to set a clear “Intention” for our journey. An Intention is a concise goal, theme, or question that brings purpose to your journey – a magical compass that orients you without trying to control the exact outcome.
Without one, you risk getting lost in the trippy visuals of a 1970s avant-garde surrealist arthouse Jodorowsky flick, where you wake up six hours later asking… “What the fuck was that, and why so many dicks?”
But if your Intention is too specific you risk being disappointed when the journey doesn’t turn out exactly like you wanted. The medicine is intuitive; she will often re-route your trip to deliver exactly what you need, and she won’t explain why. If you are attached to a specific outcome, you might miss the lesson hidden in the detour.
Creating my own mini-mission statement seemed like an easy assignment. I had recently been fired, so I had plenty of time to sit around and ponder what a better version of Hank might look like. I read a few articles, watched some videos, and I even created an impressive vision board with pictures I found on the Interwebs. After days of methodical journaling, I had finally figured out the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. I called it: “The 3C’s”
I just needed to be more Courageous, Connected, and Creative. I spent the next few days writing pages of notes fleshing out all the pertinent details and various components of each “C”. I was confident I had concocted the perfect snake-oil recipe to cure my decades of debilitating depression, a masterpiece of inspiration sure to impress even the most seasoned of shamans.
I didn’t know it on a conscious level, but I had intellectualized my way into a complicated jumble of bullshit that I would literally end up throwing in the trash just seconds before my big journey (more about that later). It would take several more trips and years of practice before I would get any good at setting intentions. But looking back, my gut knew the 3C’s was garbage. It felt fabricated and inauthentic. Of course it did—because all the parts of me I hated had written it.
The only thing I knew for sure was I didn’t want to be Hank anymore. I didn’t have any friends, I hated my career, my family didn’t like me, and I couldn’t remember the last time I had experienced joy. I tried for 47 years to be Hank, and the suit didn’t fit anymore. I didn’t care if the 3C’s was a good intention, I just needed to be someone else. I already knew I didn’t have the courage to kill myself, but maybe experiencing ego death was the spiritual suicide I needed for a fresh start.
Each night before drifting off to sleep I fantasized about the mushrooms performing cosmic surgery, cutting out all the parts of me I despised. I wanted to hit the reset button and try again with a totally new persona. Just like Greg Brady when he was coerced into becoming the rock sensation Johnny Bravo, I knew that if I had a fresh perm, some cool shades, a righteous new personality, and a bitchin purple sequence matador costume with gold tasseled shoulder pads, I could be a superstar. I just hope the new suit fits.
The last journal entry I made before jumping on the plane to Amsterdam was…
Goodbye, Hank Hughes. It’s time to die!
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