Opening Remarks
On June 28, 2024, I attended a psilocybin retreat in the Netherlands, consuming 30 grams of fresh psilocybin truffles as part of a guided ceremony. My intention was to gain clarity, confidence, and composure while addressing various personal and professional challenges.
While I did gain some insights, the experience was marred by significant challenges, including distrust and poor facilitation. This taught me that the quality of such an experience heavily depends on the professionalism and competency of the facilitators. Thorough preparation is key, as is clearly communicating my expectations and adhering closely to scientific consensus. Most importantly, I gained confidence in my ability to navigate challenging altered states of consciousness and frame a potentially bad trip as a “learning experience.” The impact of a supportive community during and after the experience is as crucial as setting the right intention.
Would I do it again? Yes, but under different circumstances with more trusted and competent facilitators, a comprehensive “trip checklist,” and a “Note from Past Kay” for the altered consciousness Kay to trust when a trip derails.
What follows is my recollection of the events leading up to the experience, the psychedelic retreat itself, and the integration phase afterward. This account is the result of long, detailed conversations, messy journal entries, and an tediously extensive refinement process.
Before the Retreat - Preparation
A book - “How to Change Your Mind”
The journey began long before I booked the retreat or even decided that psychedelics could be a part of my life. It started with a book. Michael Pollan’s “How to Change Your Mind” found its way into my hands almost serendipitously. It was hidden in the corner of a staircase library at my local coworking space and didn’t look like much. At first glance, it appeared to be a self-help book, and I thought, “Oh well, this one is a bit thick for a self-help book; perhaps there’s goodness in here.” If it wasn’t for the fact that I was doing a book buffet and picked up several books, I don’t think I would have bothered opening this one. Once I did, though, I got hooked.
Pollan’s meticulous research and eloquent prose about the transformative potential of psychedelics struck a chord with me. His exploration into the science, history, and personal narratives surrounding substances like LSD, psilocybin, and mescaline planted a seed of curiosity. Pollan’s balanced approach — acknowledging both the profound insights and the inherent risks — made the idea of a psychedelic journey seem both intriguing and plausible.
Finding myself in a dark place
In the months leading up to the retreat, I found myself in a dark place, grappling with a myriad of challenges that piled into an insurmountable mountain of physical and mental stress. My interest in psilocybin began with its medical applications for depression and terminally ill cancer patients. However, I soon wondered if this medicine could help me, an otherwise healthy individual, navigate my own dark night and find daylight.
Professionally, I was grappling with significant uncertainties and doubts about my career path, culminating in a burnout that compelled me to take a week off work and subsequently reduce my working hours for an entire month by 20%. The stagnation in progress at the nonprofit I founded left me feeling unfulfilled and incompetent, constantly questioning whether I was on the right track.
Personally, conflicts among loved ones left me in a constant state of mediation, significantly affecting my well-being. There’s nothing more effective at bringing you down than having two of the most significant people in your life fight, lose trust in each other, and break ties, leaving you as the only hair-thin string holding together the massive, bridgeless raft they created. Additionally, I had recently moved to Krakow and didn’t have many close in-person friends yet. Although it’s easy to make acquaintances, deep friendships take time to develop, and that time simply hadn’t passed yet. I was left with barely anyone to talk to.
On top of these professional and personal challenges, I was dealing with a profound sense of disconnection from my community. Before moving to Krakow, I lived in intellectually stimulating environments like London and Berkeley, surrounded by a network of like-minded rationalists, AI Safety researchers, and Effective Altruists. I felt out of sync with the world around me, unable to find a community in Krakow where I truly belonged. This feeling of alienation left me emotionally raw and vulnerable. My mental models and behaviors that were appreciated in my previous community suddenly turned into weird conversational artifacts that made it difficult to maintain meaningful connections. I was often left feeling isolated and misunderstood.
In addition to these psychological stressors, I had traveled a lot—on average eight days per month for six months—to different time zones and places all the while training for my first marathon. This left me physically challenged, adding additional, self-imposed and certainly positive but draining stressors. On top of that, I found out that I was going to be a father soon. The news hadn’t yet properly sunk in, begging more questions than answers. The weight of these issues felt like a crushing boulder on my chest, making each breath a struggle. I was constantly anxious and unable to find peace even in moments of quiet. My daily gratitude practice felt like a chore, and monitoring my composure became the only practical way to manage my anger outbursts. Every day felt like a battle against an invisible enemy, leaving me desperate for a way out of the darkness. In my search for relief, I began to explore radical solutions. A psychedelic retreat emerged as a beacon of hope, promising the clarity, new perspective, and reconnection with myself and the world that I desperately needed. Attending the retreat represented a glimmer of hope in an otherwise bleak and overwhelming landscape.
Researching Various Retreats
Inspired by Michael Pollan’s detailed accounts of transformative psychedelic experiences, I embarked on a quest to find a retreat that would align with my personal needs and aspirations. The research process was extensive and demanding. I delved into countless online reviews, talked to 16 different retreat representatives, and scrutinized the qualifications of various facilitators.
My primary criteria included cost and the legal status of the retreat’s location. Secondary considerations were the type of psychedelic medicine used, retreat duration, the earliest available start date, and the rapport I felt with the facilitators. Unfortunately, in my eagerness, I overlooked the critical aspect of professionalism and underestimated how much attention I should have paid to the rapport I felt with the facilitators.
I sought a retreat environment conducive to deep psychological exploration, one that offered robust support and expert guidance. After carefully weighing all my options, I chose a retreat in the Netherlands that promised a comprehensive approach: some pre-ceremony preparation, a guided psilocybin journey, and a post-ceremony integration sessions. It was a no-frills retreat that was reasonably priced at 240 Euros, significantly lower than most other retreats, which started at 1800 Euros.
When faced with purchasing decisions for items I’m uncertain about, I typically choose the cheapest option. This approach allows me to test the product and determine if it meets my expectations. I evaluate how frequently I use it and whether it provides the desired value. Often, the inexpensive choice is flawed in some unanticipated ways, quickly revealing if an upgrade is necessary. If I decide to upgrade, I then select the best option available within my budget constraints.
In all sincerity, I was quite stressed about making the right choice, wary of saving on price at the potential expense of retreat quality. Using my General Purchasing Heuristic didn’t seem appropriate for an experience as important as this. What if I would have a bad trip? In addition, I was very nervous about choosing a retreat because I didn’t fully connect with either of the representatives of my final 2 options. Both seemed too “businessy” in their approach, treating me like a customer, which heightened my concerns about their sincerity and professionalism — concerns I should have heeded.
My partner advised that I might not be ready and suggested waiting before making a decision. Ultimately, I think it’s good that I went because postponing it might have led to never going at all. However, she was right about how rushed my final decision felt compared to my research. I spent a few days ruminating before deciding to attend a retreat scheduled for two weeks later. A day after my booking, it turned out that the retreat was already at full capacity, and I was offered a spot one week earlier instead. This left me feeling rushed and robbed of an additional week of mental preparation. These weren’t ideal conditions for retreat preparation, but I went ahead anyway. Soon enough, between booking flights, informing friends and family about my trip, and setting my intentions, the day of the retreat arrived.
The Retreat
Day 1
Preparation and Travel - The 3 C’s
The day began with a sense of anticipation mixed with anxiety. At 03:30, I made my way to the airport for the early morning flight from Krakow to Amsterdam. The airport lobby buzzed with the pre-dawn rush, the smell of coffee and the distant hum of announcements filling the air as I sat, pen in hand, revisiting my intentions for the retreat: Clarity, Confidence, and Composure. These “3 C’s” were meant to guide me through the myriad of challenges in my life. I was mentally preparing for what I hoped would be a profound journey. To solidify my intentions, I wrote out the thoughts swirling in my mind. uestions about my personal life took center stage:
How should I prioritize the many challenges in my life? What do I want to work on? How can I give my child the best life possible? Where do I belong? What do I value? Why am I so obsessed with excellence? What do I really believe when it comes to AGI? How can I retrain friendships and build new strong connections?
As I wrote, I realized I was struggling with clarity in prioritizing my goals, confidence in my decisions and actions, and the composure needed to enjoy life’s simple pleasures without stress. Voilà, the 3 C’s—Clarity, Confidence, and Composure—were synthesized, guiding principles for my journey ahead.
Arrival
The flight was uneventful, and the ensuing train trip from the airport to the retreat location was calm. I managed to buy a small notebook, a “trip journal”, to accompany me on my trip and started journaling right away. After settling into my seat on the train, I took some time to fill out the first of three questionnaires for a research project on the effects of psilocybin conducted by the University of Maastricht. Upon arrival at the retreat, my initial feelings of anticipation quickly gave way to unease. The facilitators could not specify the exact psilocybin content in the truffles we were to consume. Although they assured us that 30 grams of fresh truffles was an appropriate dose, their lack of detailed knowledge about the psilocybin content raised my skepticism. Knowing that mushrooms typically contain between 0.5% - 2.0% psilocybin, and that a moderate dose for a first-time user is around 1.5 grams, I was alarmed. A ‘heroic dose’ of 5 grams, as termed by Terence McKenna, seemed daunting. Yet, we were assured that 30 grams of truffles would be fine. Things didn’t add up.
Terence McKenna (1946-2000) was an American ethnobotanist, mystic, psychonaut, lecturer, and author. He is best known for his advocacy of the use of naturally occurring psychedelic substances, particularly psilocybin mushrooms, DMT, and ayahuasca. McKenna’s work focused on the potential of these substances to catalyze profound personal and cultural transformation.
One of his notable contributions to psychedelic culture is the concept of the “heroic dose” — a high dose of psilocybin mushrooms, typically around 5 grams, taken in a safe and controlled environment. He believed that such a dose could facilitate deep and transformative experiences, allowing individuals to access the far reaches of their consciousness.
“I took 30 grams last week plus an MAO inhibitor and it was fine,” was one of the facilitator’s responses to my concerns. Another added, “Don’t worry. You have to think less. You are way too much in your head. Each trip is different. Gender, height, weight, none of it matters because everyone reacts differently.” Another participant, who would later have a panic attack, and I were the only ones who had read up on dosage amounts and expressed concerns. After the retreat, I learned from a Google search that truffles contain between 0.2% and 0.6% psilocybin. The lower potency meant that a larger dosage is required to achieve similar effects as with normal mushrooms. However, without precise information beforehand, I was left to wonder about the potency and safety of what I was about to ingest. This initial uncertainty set a tone of caution and mistrust.
MAO inhibitors (Monoamine Oxidase Inhibitors) are a class of drugs that prevent the breakdown of monoamine neurotransmitters, thereby increasing their availability. When combined with psilocybin, MAO inhibitors can enhance and prolong the effects by preventing the breakdown of psilocybin into psilocin. This can lead to more intense and longer-lasting trips.
The Ceremony - Intention Setting (Part 1)
With the sharing session complete, we changed into more comfortable clothes and moved into the ceremony room to set our intentions for the psilocybin journey. We sat in front of an altar of candles, each lighting one for ourselves while thanking Mother Earth and expressing our wishes for the journey with the truffles. As each person took their turn, the room filled with a collective sense of purpose. When my turn came, I lit my candle and voiced my hopes for clarity, confidence, and composure - the 3 C’s.
Once we finished, we took our spots on the mattresses that had been prepared for us. In my “trip journal” I wrote down, “Be brave and heal.” This act of intention-setting felt like a ritual, grounding me in the purpose of the journey ahead. I took a last look at the token I brought with me: a Polaroid of my partner and me on Christmas Eve underneath a mistletoe.
The facilitators then made their rounds through the room, approaching each bed individually to wish each participant a good journey and hand them the medicine. They served the truffles in a small translucent bowl, accompanied by a twig of a needle tree, a small pot of honey, and a menthol candy. As they approached my bed, I felt the massive weight of my life challenges looming over me, and I cracked under their weight, tears the size of grapes rolling down my cheeks. I reminded myself, “Be brave and heal.”
The Ceremony - The first Challenge (Part 2)
The ingestion of the 30 grams of truffles marked the beginning of the journey. These initial stages, before the psilocybin took effect, were characterized by a sense of anticipation and openness. I was ready to embrace whatever insights the experience would bring by consistently asking, “What are you trying to teach me?”. As the psilocybin started to take effect, I felt a mixture of physical sensations — trembling, tingling, and waves of laughter.
At first, the trip was positive. However, as the experience deepened, the first challenge emerged. The music, a crucial part of the experience, stopped playing. I took off my eyeshades, curious and concerned about what was happening. Three facilitators were huddling around the sound system, unable to get it to work, disrupting the collective journey with their apparent incompetence.
At the same time, the group leader was absent. Someone went to fetch her, and she soon appeared, acknowledging the problem but trying to downplay it. She realized that the situation wasn’t ideal, but that the others are going to figure it out. In the meantime she played some music on a handpan.
The soft sound of the handpan, a kind of steel drum, was soothing. I decided to resume my journey, putting my eyeshades back on and trying to relax. I told myself: “Fair enough, humans make mistakes”. For a while, I felt one with the soft, wavy sounds from the drums. Eventually, the facilitators managed to get the music working again, and the ceremony continued smoothly for a time.
The Ceremony - Musical Fallout (Part 3)
The music stopped again. Initially, I laughed at the loud sound when the aux cable was removed, but as the silence continued, my irritation grew. This technical glitch, combined with the facilitators’ visible inability to fix it promptly, shattered my sense of safety and trust. Paranoia set in as I thought, “Why don’t these people know what they are doing? They don’t know how to ‘hold space.’”
I’m referring here to the common jargon in psychedelic and other healing practices. Holding space is basically the facilitator’s or shaman’s responsibility while somebody is on a trip, to give them the room necessary, an emotional room, to express anything that they’re feeling, and not to judge them.
I lifted my eyeshade and saw participants in distress — some vomiting, others panicking or crying heavily. What had previously seemed amusing now felt deeply concerning. The atmosphere grew tense, and my distrust intensified. The facilitators were roaming around, looking suspiciously at each other and at me, reflecting my growing paranoia. My heart pounded in my chest, each thump echoing the growing sense of dread as I watched the facilitators fumble with the equipment. I began to suspect something was very wrong. “These people don’t know what they’re doing, or worse, they tricked us,” I thought. My mind raced with thoughts of being drugged and the unprofessionalism of the facilitators. “Why did I trust them? They said it would be fine, but this is a nightmare.”
I wrote in my journal:
How do I know if anything is real? I don’t understand any of this. I should be in nature not in here. Am I having a bad trip?
A tall, muscular, tattooed facilitator, whom I’ll call “Big G,” noticed my distress and tried to calm me. His limited English made it difficult to communicate effectively. His presence wasn’t enough to keep me calm. I looked into his eyes, searching for reassurance. “How can I trust you if we don’t speak the same language?” I uttered in defiance. Somehow, Big G managed to calm me and convince me to “trust and let go”. I assured myself that it’s going to be fine and that I shouldn’t worry. I thought, “Okay, I’m here to trust, be brave and heal.”
The Ceremony - Detergent Drama (Part 4)
And so I lay down, put on my eyeshade again, and eventually, they got the music playing. But the melodies that filled the room were not what I expected. This one had voices and sounded like underground techno. It felt very odd, increasing my feelings of suspicion and paranoia. I didn’t like this at all. At this point, the whole story might sound like a bad trip, but I was convinced I was fine. I was still capable of handling it. The experience wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t scary either. I reminded myself to ask: “What are you trying to teach me?” A few moments later, one of the caregivers moved around me to flavor the air. That’s expected, but the way she did it was really weird. When I still didn’t have my eyeshades on me a few moments earlier, I saw her cleaning the bookshelf with some sort of detergent.
She held a paper towel in the air and sprayed the detergent on it. Then she smelled the tissue, looked at her co-workers with a funny, slightly disgusted look, shrugged, and used the towel to clean the shelf.
To me, this looked absurd. Moments later, she was walking around with the same paper towel, moving it back and forth to spread the scent. It was really bizarre. I was expecting the facilitators to walk around with scented candles or burnt herbs and spices, not cleaning detergent that they themselves thought smelled weird. Again, I was like, “What’s going on here?”
As these ridiculous thoughts roamed my mind I took off my eyeshades and asked the woman with the scented tissue, “What are you doing? You seem like you have no clue what you’re doing.” She just smiled and shrugged.
The evidence of the staff’s incompetence started piling up. It seemed almost like a circus. It felt like they had just read about these journeys and started offering them without being truly inspired or informed by meaningful research.
Another indication was that not everyone had eyeshades. This is supposed to be one of the most important things besides headphones. Yet, they didn’t offer any headphones either and played music from a large sound system for the entire room. At that point, I just thought, “This is weird, this is odd, I’m not feeling it, I think I’m stuck here. That’s bad.” I tried to gauge how bad the situation was by seeing how much control I could exert over my tripping mind and body. “Okay, I have some willpower, I can do stuff, I can talk, I can move. This actually is not too bad. I’m quite present. I’m awake, not drunk. I can move my limbs. Yes, I can’t formulate super tight and bulletproof thoughts, but I know something’s wrong here, and I think I should speak up.”
The Ceremony - “I Have a Voice” (Part 5)
I looked around and saw that everyone was having a bad time. The scene felt like something out of a nightmare, the kind you hear about later in documentaries. “This is how we escaped this drama and nightmare of a psilocybin trip,” I thought. Realizing that someone needed to speak up, I decided it had to be me. “I have a voice,” I started saying, breaking the strict silence of the ceremony. Big G approached, his expression puzzled. “Wow, what the hell are you doing, man?” he asked. Instead of “holding space” and helping me understand the situation, he tried to push me back onto my mattress. I pulled away, feeling my anger rise. “Whoa, don’t touch me. You said you wouldn’t touch us during the ceremony. You’re breaking your own rules. Do you even know what you’re doing?” Feeling justified, I continued, “I have a voice, let me speak.” Big G insisted I remain silent, but I retorted, “Of course I can.” Paranoia surged through me. Were they plotting against us? Did they want to steal our belongings while we were drugged? I demanded to see my stuff. Unable to handle my insistence, Big G called over another facilitator, an older man whose eyes seemed more trustworthy. He tried to calm me, saying I couldn’t speak or see my belongings. “Why not?” I challenged. His vague explanation about the ceremony wasn’t convincing. “You’re not explaining it well. Why can’t I see my stuff?” After multiple requests and watching him go back and forth to consult the ceremony master, who was conspicuously absent, he finally conceded. “You can see your things,” he said, and I felt a small victory amidst the chaos.
The Ceremony - The Nutella White Bread Witch (Part 6)
So I left the ceremony room and entered the kitchen, which was the next room over. The ceremony leader was there, and when she saw me, she said, “Oh, you want to see your belongings? Really? Go ahead, You’re making a fool of yourself.”
I was shocked. Just moments prior, maybe an hour and a half ago, I had been pouring out my heart to these people, sharing my story, explaining everything that had happened to me, where I was in life, and the problems I was facing. I cried and had this cathartic moment where sharing all of this felt wonderful.
And now, here we were, and she hits me right in the face with this attitude change? She dropped her “let’s heal together” mask to replace it with a nutella-whitebread-eating “you are just business for me” mask.
The ceremony master, who was supposed to be the person I trusted most, the one who would help me through this experience and hold space for me, was suddenly dismissive. To me, she looked like the Nutella White Bread Witch.
It made me realize what it truly means to hold space — to give me permission to express any weird thoughts, to cry, laugh, seek nature, love, or feel anxious, stressed, and paranoid.
These people were supposed to help me through this rollercoaster, reassuring me, saying, “Hey, we’ve got you covered. It’s fine. That’s totally normal, Kay. How can we assist you? You want to see your things? That’s okay. Of course, you can see your things. Would you feel better if your stuff was next to you in the ceremony room?”
But no, the ceremony master was very blunt. I called her out, “Wow, you changed 180 degrees. Why are you so stone-faced right now and so direct?” She replied, “Yes, I am direct. You can’t expect us to be there with you all the time.” To which I replied, “You should be in there with us, helping us with this experience, and yet here you are eating a Nutella White Bread sandwich in a place where you’re selling us healing, nutrition, and a healthy lifestyle. What the actual fuck are you doing?”
I was mad and baffled. So I went to get my backpack and came back to the kitchen. She said, “Yeah, go ahead, check your stuff. You’re making a fool of yourself. Look at you.” She made me feel like I was this pathetic person ruining everybody’s experience because I couldn’t keep it to myself.
The Ceremony - It’s all about Decisions (Part 7)
I looked at my stuff and did feel pathetic. I saw my broken water bottle, the scraps, and the worn-out backpack and a black v-neck shirt I didn’t really like. Inside, there was a wet swimsuit because I had gone for a swim the day before the retreat and hadn’t dried it. I thought, “Wow, this is my life, and it’s kind of pathetic.” I looked at her and all this and thought about my decisions.
Panicked, I confronted them with the fact that they made me take 30 grams of truffles to which they responded that I did it myself. They started repeating that I signed a contract, which was totally misplaced. So much for, “holding space”. It didn’t take me long before I agreed, it was my decision. A bad one.
It dawned on me that I had made the wrong decisions. A year ago, I was with the brightest and smartest people on Earth, working on the most important issue of our time - AI Safety. And a year later, I had managed to mess up so massively that I was now stuck in a dirty kitchen in the Netherlands, drugged and about to be robbed.
I was still convinced that I could die there or be stuck forever because they had drugged us and would steal all our stuff, and I wouldn’t get away. I thought, “Wow, I seriously made the wrong decisions here.”
And then, suddenly, I lost touch with reality, not just somewhat, but a lot.
The Ceremony - What is reality? (Part 8)
A thought hit me, “Well, what is real and what isn’t? Am I real?” I wanted to see my body, so I took off my pants. I mustered my slim stilts, “Do I have legs? What are legs anyway?” And I started touching my legs. “Okay, those seem real.” I spoke to the retreat facilitators while doing this, and they were horrified.
They exclaimed, “Oh my God, what are you doing, Kay? Why are you taking off your pants? You’re making a fool of yourself. You can’t do this here.” They didn’t believe that I was genuinely exploring these insights. They said, “We don’t buy it, you’re being rude, Kay!” while I was genuinely questioning the fabric of time and spce. “Oh, wow. Okay. Reality. What is that all about?”
I felt like the moment was infinite, and I was part of this loop where nothing mattered, but not in a bad way—more like an optimistically nihilistic way. I thought, “Oh my gosh, I could die. But really, nothing does matter, right? It’s all about decisions, and anything can happen, and that’s sort of nice. It gives us a lot of freedom, but ultimately it doesn’t matter.”
The Ceremony - Love and Actions (Part 8)
As my thoughts continued to materialize, I captured a few of them. My journal reads:
The importance of fearlessness! Be specific. Accept beauty. I want to remember. I want to embrace love. Give me a language for love. Everything has a price. Trust and let go? Many more questions than answers. What are rules? Why am I not supposed to talk? Decisions seem to be everything. I can shape everything. I am ACTION MAN! This is too hectic.
Despite the paranoia, there were moments of profound insight. I grappled with existential questions and the nature of reality. I felt a strong urge to connect with nature, understand the concept of fearlessness, and embrace love.
My journal offers a few more of the things that I truly felt:
That I like language. I like structure. I want to love my partner. I feel like a failure. My experience should have looked different. I love being sober. Who I spend my time with will determine the quality of my life. I hate rules. I hate people who are incompetent or inactive. Hate is such a strong word. I want to love instead.
I told two of the other facilitators, about a few things that I realized, and honestly, deeply felt. And they told me, in a, what I perceived to be sarcastic, undertone: “Oh wow, how deep, that’s a great insight. Go back to the ceremony room, and have some more insights. Go have a journey, you will see. You’ll have a journey, it’ll be great.” By the time we were done, “Go have a journey!” felt like the most hollow platitude on earth.
Their remarks left me rather irritated, but at one point, I felt a surge of love and thought, “Oh, wow, that’s the answer. That’s important.” I felt ready to go back to the ceremony room again and exclaimed: “If you can open up and show me love, then I will go back to the room and enjoy the experience.”
So I wanted a hug, but when I looked at the facilitators, they were skeptical, saying, “We don’t buy this, Kay.” I responded, “Wow, this is so sad. It’s all about love; you’re supposed to share love with me, but you’re being mean.”
Eventually Big G gave in and offered me a hug, but his face seemed fake and hostile. I tried to analyze his mimicry and tried to grasp his intentions. Upon closer inspection, I couldn’t see any genuineness on his face. I would have gotten back to my bed if I did see a genuine smile but I felt like they trapped me in this goddamn house, trying to rob me of the life I still had ahead of me.
At that point, I thought, “Okay, I shouldn’t be here.” Big G took me by the arm and was a bit forceful, trying to drag me to another room. I told him to stop, saying, “You’re out of your bounds here, and you’re not supposed to do that. If you’re unable to share love, I will call my partner, Julita.”
They told me that I couldn’t call anybody which only fuled my defiance, “You can’t tell me what to do. I need to make the rules. I will and I can.”
They tried to prevent me from calling Julita, but at that moment, I was focused on love. I wanted to spread and share it. The most important person in my life was not there to hear how much I loved her and how dearly I held her in my heart. I insisted that they let me experience and express this.
The Ceremony - A Very Long Conversation (Part 9)
Eventually, I did call her. We ended up having a very long conversation, or how she later recalled “a phone call in which I mostly made weird comments, intersperesed with long moments of silence and her resorting to observing my behavior and the surroundings, trying to keep it cool while she was afraid for my life . She stayed on the phone with me for about two hours. During this time, I obviously behaved rather oddly. I had long moments of just staring at the ceiling with my mouth open, having some sort of insight, and then not making much sense while talking.
To a large extent, I had lost touch with what was real. I didn’t know what reality was anymore. I didn’t know what it meant to be a dad. I was questioning whether anyone could truly be a dad. I thought, “If I’m not with Julita, she won’t give birth to anyone because only the things I participate in actually come to fruition.”
Then, I noticed a car outside and thought, “It must be the greatest experience on earth to drive a car. Has anybody ever driven a car?” I was fascinated, thinking, “That’s what they’re selling us in these music videos, right? But they put up all these barriers, like needing a permit to drive. Who has any of this? Do I have a permit? I don’t think so. I would love to drive a car. There’s a car outside—I could just decide to go out and drive it, right?”
My thoughts continued to spiral. “Flying,” I thought, “Flying must be amazing.”
I tried to reach out to Julita through my phone and materialize on her side of reality. Needless to say, it didn’t work.
Still in the kitchen, I finally asked for some water, drank it, and found it refreshing. But then I just wanted to be outside. It was so beautiful—the sky was nice, the sun was shining. Yet, I was tucked away in a room, which didn’t feel right. It seemed obvious to me that I should be outside now.
The whole building complex was in an industrial setting with small mechanic shops around, not at all like a nice retreat center with plenty of nature, water, and trees like other locations. I just wanted to go out, enjoy a fresh breath of air, and feel healthy.
After making my desires known to the facilitators they told me, “No, you can’t go out. We’re here for your safety.” At that point, I thought, “What do you know about safety? Clearly, you don’t know anything.” This frustration lasted for a while, but when I finally did get outside, it was beautiful.
Post Ceremony - The Afterglow (Part 1)
As the effects of the psilocybin began to wane, the facilitators finally allowed me to go outside. I was still on the phone with Julita, which unsettled the other participants who were also outside. One of the facilitators asked me to end the conversation. I did so reluctantly, believing the participants could and should speak for themselves. It seemed like they were silenced by the facilitators. Eventually, I asked them directly if they wanted me to stop talking. They implied that they did. Everyone received hot soup, a bowl full of fruit, and there was plenty of white bread and cheap, industrially manufactured dips from ALDI on the table. As I tried to process the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts from the trip, I experienced a mix of emotions. I felt both very close to the other people around me, intrigued by their uniqueness and the energy they radiated, and alienated from the group at large. A part of me still believed that we had been drugged and that everyone knew it, but no one seemed to talk about it.
I initiated a few conversations that went nowhere as the other participants kept their distance. Some of them started talking to one another in Dutch, enjoying a good conversation, but it left me feeling excluded and left to my own devices.
As I took the time to “just be,” everything seemed to glitter in the new light. The first breath of air I took felt sumptuous, full, and revitalizing. It was exactly what I needed. Everything was still moving; wonderful shapes kept forming in the leaves, and the world around me was morphing, alive, and breathing. I noticed a bike hidden in the leaf-covered fence and thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. The bike, an integral part of Dutch culture, struck me as significant. Here I was in the Netherlands, a country that allows people to legally experience different states of mind. Suddenly, culture seemed of immense importance, and I felt culturally foreign for the first time in my life—a feeling exacerbated by the proximity of the Netherlands to Germany, where I was born. Coming to terms with what I had just experienced I started to realize that the key driver of my behavior was my ego. Initially, I thought I was simply unable to trust and let go, but I soon realized that I usually extend total trust upfront. The issue is that once lost, it’s hard for people to regain it due to my high standards and requirement for competence, especially from those who haven’t gained my trust by means of being a long-term acquaintance.
Post Ceremony - The Rejected Apology (Part 2)
As I continued to feel alienated, I decided to seek out my mattress. A while later, the ceremony master appeared in the room. Gathering my courage, I asked her for a word. I sought to apologize for my disruptive behavior during the ceremony, hoping to reconcile and understand her perspective. To my surprise, she dismissed me curtly, saying, “Wait until tomorrow.” Her tone was cold, and she barely looked at me. This rejection deepened my feelings of isolation and remorse, making me feel even more adrift. As I lay back on my mattress, I reflected on why I felt the need to apologize. I realized I had experienced a profound loss of reality during the ceremony. I didn’t trust my own paranoia and my own experience. Even after the effects wore off and I was sober again, part of me wondered if my suspicions had been unwarranted. Had I hallucinated aspects of the facilitators behavior? I began to see the facilitators as potentially genuine, which made me feel ashamed for not mustering the courage to trust them during the ceremony. I thought about how my actions might have caused distress to them and the other participants. The memory of the chaos I had caused played on a loop in my mind, making me cringe with regret. I felt a deep sense of sorrow for the trouble I had caused, wishing I could turn back time and handle things differently. I had been brutally honest with my criticism, telling them they didn’t speak proper English and questioning their competence. Who was I to tell them how to do their job? I wanted to apologize for not extending them the trust that others had managed to do. I realized I had robbed myself of much of the experience by my lack of trust and paranoia, but more importantly, I had caused distress to others.
I wanted to make amends and hear their perspective now that I was sober. However, I was blocked from this reconciliation. At that point, I wasn’t sure if my perception of their hostility was accurate or if I had been overly sensitive and overreacted.
To my surprise, Julita had recorded part of our conversation during the ceremony. A few days later, she asked me, “Why were these people so mean to you?” Her question confirmed that it wasn’t just my impression. She described their language as abrasive, even abusive, and their demeanor as nasty. Without a direct opportunity to apologize and gain more insight into others’ perspectives on the situation, I went to bed with unresolved feelings of guilt and confusion.
Day 2
A new day began, promising its own set of challenges, some of which I was still unaware of. As I woke up, I wrote the following:
A new day has started, and I am the same person. I am ultimately responsible for my life. The decisions I make carry impact. Language is important, and I should think more before I speak. I want to use positive language that invites people to share more of themselves with me. I want to invite humor, laughter, love, and trust. Is my ego too strong? I think this trip showed me that I am too afraid to let go, surrender, and trust. My inner child was trembling. As the mushrooms started acting, I felt an earthquake in my jaw. It was shaking, in awe of the experience I was expecting.
Reflecting on these thoughts, I continued to write about what I think I should change next time:
Trust my facilitators more. Use headphones instead of blasting music through speakers. Know the correct dosage. Work with people who are knowledgeable of the science. And get more competent facilitators. Tell people that you don’t like authority and that you need reassurance. Get more personal care.
As I penned these reflections, I felt a mixture of hope and determination. The earthquake in my jaw had been a physical manifestation of my inner turmoil, a sign of the deep-seated fear and anticipation that had gripped me. Now, with the clarity of a new day, I was ready to embrace these lessons and move forward.
A Final Word - The Accusation:
After the sharing session, I approached the ceremony master, and she invited me to a private conversation. I assumed I would be able to apologize and ask her what she thought went wrong. But she began by asking if she could be honest with me. I told her she could be brutally honest, valuing constructive feedback. What ensued, however, was an accusation, much more than feedback. Her words were a harsh blow, delivered without the empathy or professionalism I had expected from a retreat leader. This accusation left me questioning not just my behavior during the trip but my overall character and worth—something I wasn’t expecting to have to deal with.
She started by saying that I was beyond narcissistic and that I might have psychopathic tendencies, adding that my life was “so fucked up.” If you’re wondering whether she used these exact words, yes, she did. She suggested I seek psychological help for the sake of my future child. This behavior was unacceptable from a group leader.
“You’re a Psychopath, Where Were Your Insights? You Owe Your Child. Your Life is So Fucked Up.”
I was in shock. After advising us to avoid negative stimuli because we were impressionable, she gave me this “bad news.” Yes, she asked for permission to share her thoughts honestly, and I told her to be brutally honest. But a brutally honest opinion doesn’t signify truth and is most definitely not helpful in the aftermath of a psilocybin experience. She could have waited to share her thoughts a week later when everything was settled, but she did not.
She and another facilitator she summoned for the conversation tried to reassure me that it was for my best and that they told me this because they cared for me, not because they hated me. Hated? I was baffled that they would even use this word. It seemed like they were trying to deceive themselves along with me. She tried to soften the blow by saying that she wasn’t a psychiatrist and that her opinion was not a diagnosis. Yet she promptly followed up by saying she had worked with many criminals with worse illnesses than mine, confirming that she indeed thought I had psychopathic tendencies and was “ill.” To put this into context, she had told the group on the first day that she had been a criminal psychiatrist working with outlaws for more than 20 years. That sure seemed contradictory.
The two of them tried to muster empathy for me, telling me it must be hard to contain myself in normal life and hide my true face. They were convinced that I used people for my advantage and loved to cross their boundaries. Then, they invited me to share what I thought and asked about any insights I had during the trip because they wanted it to be a safe space.
I shared that I appreciated their feedback but that it all came back to some thoughts I had during and after the trip: “Who helps me make sense of reality? Who helps me interpret reality? Most people defer to some sort of experts. Here, we were supposed to defer to them because they’ve led these ceremonies before. But I want to interpret my reality myself because I don’t trust their expertise and skill level.” From all I’ve seen, clearly, they have read even less than I have on the topic. And I’ve only read a book and a half. This was insufficient. They were operating at a very low-quality level. Their reaction was less favorable than their invitation to share my thoughts would have me believe. They told me, “Yeah, well, those are thoughts, not insights. You didn’t have any insights.” I told them, “Well, here’s an insight: everyone is selling something and you’re not selling it very well.” They replied, “Well, I’m not selling anything.” I didn’t respond, but I thought, “Yes, you are. You’re selling healing, emotional relief, one of the most important experiences of a lifetime, and healthy living, and you’re not doing it well.” A picture of the Nutella White Bread Witch burnt itself into my memory. I left the conversation questioning myself and convinced that what I had experienced was unprofessional. They saw a tiny glimpse of my behavior, influenced by 30 grams of truffles and an unpleasant environment, and they had the audacity to make a judgment about my character the size of Mount Everest.
That was it, I was determined to write about my experience.
After the Retreat - Integration
Day 2-5: Family, Sports, and Journaling
As my last conversation came to an end, I started packing my belongings and waited outside to be picked up by my father. He was my first point of contact after the retreat and helped me put things into perspective, especially the final accusation. He reassured me that I am empathetic and not a psychopath.
I spent the upcoming days with family and friends, sharing my experiences. However, the depth of my turmoil was difficult to convey. For the most part I was unaware of it myself. Despite this, their support was unwavering. Amidst the chaos, there were moments of joy when I shared the news of the pregnancys.
Engaging in physical activities like swimming, biking, and running grounded me and provided a sense of normalcy. I journaled extensively, trying to make sense of the experience and its aftermath. Writing allowed me to process my thoughts and emotions, but it also reminded me of the unresolved questions. This part was crucial because the integration phase after a retreat is just as important, if not more so, than the preparation and actual ceremonhy.
Unfortunately, my environment didn’t have all healthy influences. During these few days, I had a couple of unhealthy meals—pizza, ice cream, etc. In hindsight, I realized that I could have benefitted from more rest and solitude. People around me watching TV and engaging in other distractions prevented me from fully relaxing and processing the experience. I should have spent more time alone or with someone who understood my need for space and introspection. Being constantly surrounded by people, even those who cared for me, sometimes felt overwhelming and counterproductive.
Days 6-12: Post-Ceremony Reflections
Returning home marked the end of the retreat but not the end of its impact. The journey back to Krakow presented another challenge: seeking reconciliation with my partner. The two hours we spent on the phone during the retreat were very stressful for her. She felt powerless and overwhelmed when I called her in an altered state of mind and shared that I didn’t feel welcome where I was. Our first conversation after I returned was tense. Julita’s voice wavered as she expressed her feelings of helplessness and fear. I could see the toll it had taken on her. “I didn’t know what to do,” she admitted, her eyes filled with concern. “You sounded so lost and scared.” Discussing the retreat with my coach, Adam, was a structured and therapeutic process. He helped me break down the experience into manageable parts, reflecting on both the challenges and the insights. His professional approach provided a safe space to explore my emotions and develop strategies for future journeys. He knew how to hold space. His questions and reflections helped me articulate my thoughts more clearly and identify actionable steps for healing and growth. Together, we dissected each moment of the retreat, from the initial anticipation to the final confrontation. Adam’s insights were invaluable, helping me see patterns in my behavior and understand the deeper fears driving my actions. Ultimately, this led to the creation of this report. By breaking down my experience and reflecting on it in a structured way, I was able to find clarity and direction. Adam’s guidance illuminated the path forward, turning a chaotic and painful experience into a source of learning and growth.
What Would I Change?
First and foremost, I would ensure that the person leading the ceremony is someone I trust deeply. They should be more informed about the substance than I am. This entails having extensive knowledge, having read the latest research, and knowing exact dosages and correct norms as proposed by world-class experts like Prof. David Nutt, Prof. Carhart-Harris, or Prof. Griffiths, as well as legendary figures such as Stanislav Grof, James Fadiman, Paul Stamets, Alexander Shulgin, and Albert Hofmann. Additionally, the guide should possess a deep understanding of the cultural and historical context in which the experience is embedded. Competency is key; through competency, I can bypass some of the trust-building that would otherwise require more meetings and personal contact. I imagine how different my experience would have been with a knowledgeable guide. Picture a facilitator who, instead of dismissing my concerns, explains the precise psilocybin content and reassures me with data from recent studies. Their confidence and expertise would ease my anxiety, allowing me to fully immerse in the journey without the cloud of doubt and mistrust. However, in addition to competency, I need more one-on-one sessions with the people facilitating the retreat. Both prior to the session and afterward, I need to be reassured that the integration and preparation are thorough. The gold standard that I found for this is offered by Beckley Retreats as a 13-week program that includes a month of preparation, a five-day ceremony, and several weeks of integration afterward. With such a program, I envision multiple pre-retreat meetings where I could voice my fears and expectations, building a rapport with the facilitators. Post-retreat, these one-on-one sessions would help me process the experience, ensuring that the insights gained are deeply integrated into my daily life. This level of preparation and follow-up would transform the retreat from a disjointed experience into a coherent journey of healing and growth. ### Reflections and Lessons Learned
Set and Setting: The importance of a proper mindset and environment for a psilocybin experience cannot be overstated. I acknowledge that I lost focus and deviated from my intended mindset during the retreat, which contributed to the negative outcome.
Improvements for Future Experiences: I plan to bring better eye shades and use headphones to ensure a consistent and personal music experience. Knowing the exact dosage of psilocybin is crucial, and having a checklist to ensure everything is properly prepared will be essential.
Communication and Trust: For future trips, I intend to communicate my concerns clearly and ensure that facilitators address them adequately. I recognize the need for more one-on-one sessions with facilitators before and after the ceremony to build trust and ensure proper integration.
Self-Trust and Preparedness: Creating a written guide or checklist for myself to follow during the trip can help manage the experience if things go wrong. This includes reassuring myself about reality and reminding myself to trust my own judgment.
Empathy and Normalcy: Conversations with friends and family are as important as conversations with properly trained professionals after an experience like this.
Future Intentions: I plan to use my next psilocybin journey to heal from the first experience and work through any potentially unresolved traumas. On a positive note, I feel more confident in my ability to handle altered states of mind.
Resources
- Michael Pollan’s “How to Change Your Mind” (Book and Netflix Series)
- A comprehensive exploration of the history, science, and potential of psychedelic substances, and a docuseries based on the book that delves into the resurgence of psychedelics as medicines.
- A comprehensive exploration of the history, science, and potential of psychedelic substances, and a docuseries based on the book that delves into the resurgence of psychedelics as medicines.
- James Fadiman’s “The Psychedelic Explorer’s Guide: Safe, Therapeutic, and Sacred Journeys (Book)”
- A practical guide for safe and therapeutic psychedelic use, combining scientific research with practical advice.
- David Nutt’s “Psychedelics: The Revolutionary Drugs That Could Change Your Life—A Guide from the Expert”
- An insightful guide by David Nutt on the transformative potential of psychedelics and how they can be safely used to enhance mental health.
- An insightful guide by David Nutt on the transformative potential of psychedelics and how they can be safely used to enhance mental health.
- Aldous Huxley’s “The Doors of Perception”
- Huxley’s classic account of his mescaline experience and exploration of visionary experiences.
- Huxley’s classic account of his mescaline experience and exploration of visionary experiences.
- MAPS - Multidisciplinary Association for Psychedelic Studies (Website)
- An organization that develops medical, legal, and cultural contexts for people to benefit from the careful uses of psychedelics and marijuana.
- An organization that develops medical, legal, and cultural contexts for people to benefit from the careful uses of psychedelics and marijuana.
- Retreat Guru (Website)
- A website that makes it easy to find legal psychedelic retreats.