We’re living through a moment of both collapse and creation. In the wake of global crises—ecological, spiritual, social—a growing number of people are turning to psychedelics not for escape, but for connection. The documentary Neurons to Nirvana captures this shift in stunning depth, blending science, storytelling, and soul.
At the heart of this movement is a question: how do we heal?
The answer, as it turns out, isn’t found in a pill or a policy. It’s found in relationship—how we relate to the plants, to each other, and to ourselves. Rak Razam, one of the central voices in the conversation, puts it plainly:
The most important aspect of whether something will be healing or not is the context and the approach, and the intention within which the substance is being used.
He’s not just talking about set and setting. He’s talking about a shift in consciousness—from consumption to communion. It’s one thing to legalise a substance. It’s another thing entirely to engage with it as a teacher. Rak reminds us that sacred plants are not tools to be used—they’re relationships to be tended. And like all relationships, they require reciprocity, respect, and care.
That distinction is crucial in today’s world, where we’ve seen time and time again how commodification strips meaning. Think tobacco. Alcohol. Even marijuana. All once revered in ritual settings, now reduced to products sold in slick packaging. And as Rak points out, the danger isn’t just in misuse—it’s in unconsciousness.
If it’s a conscious relationship, it’s going to be of great benefit. But if it’s an unconscious relationship… we’ve seen the consequences with tobacco, alcohol, and many other things.
The conversation weaves through science, spirituality, policy, and practice—but always returns to this central thread: intention matters. Healing is not just about what you take—it’s about how you take it, why you take it, and who supports you in the process.
One of the most poignant themes that emerges is the power of community. In a world increasingly fractured by individualism, there’s a quiet revolution happening around the circle.
The circle is unbroken... Coming together in circles around the plant, whether they use the plant or not, there is a profound truth in that.
Ceremony is traditionally held in a circle for a reason—it’s a geometry of equality. No one is above or below. Everyone has a place. In contrast to the pyramid-shaped hierarchies of modern society, where power is concentrated at the top, the circle invites shared leadership, shared healing. As Rak reflects, many of the ills in Western culture—mental illness, addiction, disconnection—stem from our separation from tribe, from nature, and from spirit.
And yet, something ancient is returning. Not just in remote jungle ceremonies or academic papers, but in homes, community centres, Zoom calls. It’s a remembering. A reweaving.
Nicolás Spierings, an integration-focused healer informed by Indigenous wisdom, spoke of this return with reverence:
They have an immediate, direct relationship with plant intelligence... That’s essential as we evolve in the West—bringing the wisdom of integration into the practice.
Integration. It’s a word that gets tossed around a lot in psychedelic circles, but Nicolás brought it back to its roots. It’s not a checklist or a retreat. It’s a lifelong process. A way of being. The ceremony isn’t over when the medicine wears off—it’s just beginning. Integration is how we live the insight, how we embody the vision, how we return to our communities with open hands and open hearts.
That theme of education came through strongly from filmmaker Mitch Schultz, who offered a provocative vision of the future. One where children are taught about psychedelics the way they’re taught to drive: with responsibility, mentorship, and reverence.
There will be guides that teach children what these plants mean... And so then their educational journey would begin.
Mitch wasn’t advocating for early experimentation—he was advocating for early understanding. As he pointed out, young people are already encountering drugs. The question is whether they’ll do so in the dark, or with wisdom lighting the way. He imagines a world where elders, researchers, and traditional healers work together to pass on knowledge—where education includes not just chemistry, but ceremony.
But the conversation didn’t stop at vision—it also faced the realities. Legal grey zones. Government resistance. Social stigma.
That struck a chord. For too long, the psychedelic renaissance has been caught between underground sanctuaries and overground institutions. But the real power lies in the grassroots—in people reclaiming their natural right to explore consciousness, to heal, to grow.
In other words, we can’t expect the system that created the trauma to also deliver the cure. True healing will require new paradigms—new stories, new structures. It’s not just about tweaking the old—it’s about dreaming the new.
Imagine digital fire circles. Secure online ceremonies. Mentorship that spans continents. For Rak, technology isn’t the enemy of spirituality—it’s a tool. Used consciously, it can amplify connection rather than sever it. The key is intention. Always, intention.
And yet, amidst the excitement, the urgency of the moment remained clear. As the conversation wound toward its conclusion, someone asked if it was possible to save the Earth. Rak’s answer was sobering—and freeing.
We’re not separate from the mother. That’s been the whole problem from the beginning... The only reasonable thing that we can do is save ourselves.
It’s a radical truth. The Earth doesn’t need rescuing from us—it needs us to remember that we are her. That when we heal ourselves, we naturally begin to care for all life. That when we shift our consciousness, our systems follow.
Because ultimately, this movement—this psychedelic renaissance—isn’t just about substances. It’s about soul. It’s about coming home to what we’ve forgotten. And as Rak says, the real ceremony is just beginning.
The only solution to the dilemma we find ourselves in is the radical transformation of consciousness.
It’s not always comfortable. It’s rarely convenient. But it’s necessary. And it’s happening—one circle, one conversation, one heart-opening at a time.
