I am fresh from the Spirit Plant Medicine Conference, an annual event held in Vancouver, dedicated to supporting the current psychedelic renaissance. Now in its ninth year, it was another sold-out event. Along with increased attendance there seemed to be a broader mix of people, no doubt due in part to Michael Pollan’s groundbreaking book, How To Change Your Mind.

Like so many other Boomers, I ingested my fair share of psychedelics in the 60s and 70s. It was an experiential time and nothing much was taboo. That all changed as I matured (at least chronologically) and began to take life more seriously. So seriously, in fact, that I lost touch with what brought me alive and much of my joie de vivre got deeply buried.

I’d heard about the correlation between sadness and joy—the idea that without experiencing the depths of sadness we can’t experience the heights of joy either—and was skeptical of its truth. But I knew I needed something to shake things up a little, and after a year of therapy I learned about ayahuasca—a blend of two Amazonian plants boiled up into a foul tasting tea often referred to as the Grandmother.

In 2005 I travelled to Wasiwaska, a retreat center of some acclaim located in Florianopolis, Brazil. The medicine was gentle with me at the outset. No vomiting or frightening experiences. I remember resting in the aftermath of one of those early ceremonies, feeling like a dog who had finally found her long-lost pack.

My work with the sacred brew continued over the next six years. The most transcendent experience of my life was at Machu Picchu, where I attended a pre-dawn ceremony with trusted friends and ayahuasqueros. The medicine lifted me, swiftly and effortlessly, into the heavenly realms for some blissful time-out-of-time, before setting me down just as gently on the edge of this majestic power spot. Opening my eyes, I was awestruck. Everything felt right in the world.

Other experiences were not so heavenly. I’d drifted close to hell a few times, but the last time I drank ayahuasca I was truly caught. I called it “The Panic Attack of the Universe.” There was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Nor would there ever be. This was it. The medicine released its grip eventually but the overwhelming anxiety remained. Over the next week I sought the aid of many healers, including my GP. Anti-anxiety medication became my short-term ally by relieving the fearful symptoms, but over time I came to understand the crucial insights this experience gave me.

Jeff, a psychotherapist friend I got to know during a stay at Wasiwaska, used to say that “the worst has already happened,” meaning that when terrifying experiences occur during these altered states of consciousness they are simply memories coming forward for healing. My encounters with the hell realm were memories—most likely from my earliest childhood, when I relied on my mother for my very existence. Perhaps I’d been left too long unattended, or looked at without connection, but whatever it was, my little soul experienced it as annihilation. Knowing that something of this ilk occurred has helped me understand the deep well of sadness that I’ve defended against for most of my life. An undeniable mother wound, though unintentional on her part I’m sure. Would I have had this insight without the trip to hell? I don’t think so.

I came across this thirteen-minute episode of 60 Minutes recently, reporting on research at the newly established Center for Psychedelic and Consciousness Research at Johns Hopkins University. Clinical trials are currently underway to see if psilocybin (magic mushrooms) can help treat people with addiction and anxiety. Participants are advised in advance that their experiences “may vary from very positive to transcendent and lovely to literally hell realm experiences.” They report that those who do experience what could be described as a ‘bad trip’ often say it was key to the experience.

Einstein said, “we can’t solve problems by using the same kind of thinking we used when we created them.” I pulled a rune when I started writing this piece and love this line: Therefore do not draw back from the passage into darkness: when in deep water, become a diver.

What areas of your life would benefit from a deeper dive?  Let me know, I’d love to hear!