When the world went into lockdown and the noise of modern life quietened, something unexpected began to stir. A circle of psychedelic explorers—linked by Zoom, not jungle vines—gathered to reflect on what the global shake-up might be asking of us. Joël Brierre facilitated the conversation with Tom Lane from Portland, Natalie James from London, and Rak Razam, beaming in from San Francisco.
Rather than escaping the moment, they leaned into it. What unfolded was raw, funny, visionary, and deeply human.
I've never actually had a challenging psychedelic experience… I'm a hopeless optimist… Even now, I feel like Gaia's just sent us all to our rooms to think about what we've done.
Tom's cheeky insight kicked things off. His relationship with mushrooms had always been gentle and welcoming. But as he admitted, the real challenge was navigating the cultural uncertainty while maintaining a psychedelic worldview. For others, this moment landed more forcefully.
When my income vanished overnight, my mind panicked. But I was able to observe that panic like in a medicine space—breathe through it, and let it go.
Joël's experience of economic collapse mirrored the mind's natural grasping in a deep journey. And just like in ceremony, he surrendered to the unknown. He compared it to the neuroplastic "afterglow" of a 5-MeO-DMT experience—where identity crumbles and there's a fleeting chance to reshape everything.
Natalie brought in the spiritual dimension with quiet clarity. For her, the lockdown echoed the inner world of ayahuasca: a long, sometimes difficult night that eventually brings its gifts.
It's helped me surrender to the now… to be present like in an ayahuasca night. This is never-ending—but it will end the way it's supposed to.
From surrender, the talk turned naturally to grief. Not just for loved ones lost but for a way of life that, as it turned out, wasn't working for many of us in the first place.
Grief is unexpressed love. It's all the dreams and could-have-beens that are fading… But this is the purge before the purge. It's medicine. And it's transformational.
Rak offered his usual alchemy of poetry and grounded insight. The pandemic wasn't just a crisis—it was a ceremony. A breakdown before a breakthrough. He described the global moment as "a planetary ayahuasca session," where we've only just taken the first cup. "It's going to be a long night," he warned, which could bring deep healing.
The crew didn't shy away from the darker undercurrents, especially the tension between the sacred and the commodified. Medical psychedelics were discussed not as saviors, but as tools—tools that risk being absorbed by the very systems they might help heal.
Tom followed with a critique of Oregon's IP 34 initiative, calling it out for what it is.
It's not legalising psilocybin. It's legalising a monopoly. That's not the medicine way.
Natalie offered a grounded reminder from her own efforts to introduce psychedelics to her London community after the Grenfell Tower tragedy.
So what's the path forward? No one claimed to have all the answers, but the group agreed on one thing: whatever's coming next, it must be rooted in connection. Not just with nature or spirit—but with each other.
These medicines help us remember who we are—not just as individuals, but as a collective. The next Buddha is the community.
That idea rippled throughout the conversation. From growing gardens and swapping veggies to gathering in the woods or on Zoom, the way forward isn't about mass adoption—it's about small circles growing wider, stronger, and more sovereign.
We've found the others. Now, what are we going to do?
A fitting challenge to end on.
The Garden is Being Planted
As the tower of our old world continues to collapse, a new one is quietly taking root. These conversations, like ceremonies, are invitations. They remind us that we don't need to rush to rebuild. We need to listen. We need to grieve. And we need to grow—together.
Like Natalie said so simply:
It's like the tower card in the Tarot. Everything has to come crashing down to be rebuilt well.
And so here we are, in the rubble and the richness. The stories we tell—and the communities we nurture—will shape what grows next.
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