Speaking of the ways I like to get high these days, I think I’ve been fascinated with altered states of consciousness since I discovered, aged around three I’d guess, that by spinning around very fast in circles I could make the world tip on its axis. It’s exhilarating, isn’t it? The first time you realize that life can literally be viewed from a different perspective. Running across some lawn somewhere sideways, giggling and all light in the head with legs that no longer belong to you and can’t even keep up anyway. I mean, how cool is that?
Cut to me aged thirteen, teetering on the very brink of becoming a Goddess creatrix of the Universe (the way I saw it anyway), and I am watching an entire generation dance into a Universe of their very own creation, high on a drug they call Ecstasy. It’s the summer of 1989, and the media has decided to call it the Second Summer of Love. Because (a) not since the acid-fueled 1969 Summer of Love has a drug exploded into the mainstream consciousness with quite the same pizzazz. And (b), whatever these kids are taking, they say it makes them feel like they’re in love with the whole world, like the whole world IS love.
And the thing is, they’re my generation too, if I’d only hurry and grow up already.
Everybody at school is smoking, and I’ve been sneaking my mom’s Dunhills to practice on. I can’t go choking to death the first time I do it in front of somebody cool. Meanwhile, my dad also gives me a half glass of wine whenever he and my stepmum have a dinner party, although he’s told me I won’t like the taste of whiskey or beer until I’m older. But these aren’t drugs, these are just things that adults do.
Clearly, Ecstasy is a whole different ball game. It’s not the kind of drug you do because it looks cool; you do it to get happy and dance all night. And for some reason, people are also going to extreme lengths to do it out in nature, chasing down illegal outdoor raves to dance with their feet in the earth and their heads and hands in the cosmos. In all the pictures plastered across all the papers, you can see in their wide open, smiling faces that they think they’ve found nirvana. By the end of the summer, my curiosity about whatever kind of magical, mystical trip they’re on has reached fever pitch.
Talk about peer pressure. Though it’s not like there was any one person, or a crew of older, cooler kids, pressing a pill into my hand and making me swallow it down if I wanted to be part of the gang. If anything, I was one of the first in my friendship group on a mission to join the Ecstasy revolution for myself. It seemed to me like there was a tectonic shift in consciousness occurring, as if everyone of my generation was embarking on a quest to seek a whole new reality. And I was either going to be a part of it, or I was getting left behind.
That same sense of cultural forward motion returned twenty years later, in—of all places—the living room of my brother’s apartment, where I happened to be sitting the night in 2008 that I first heard the phrase “ayahuasca tourism.” We were drinking wine with one of his cool DJ friends, who began telling us about this drug you had to go all the way to the Amazon to do—hence the “tourism” part. A drug that was supposedly a bit like LSD, but not, and which people were saying would completely rewire your life.
Having been working as a magazine journalist for some time by then, my sense for the zeitgeist was a finely tuned instrument, and immediately on that piece of information entering my consciousness the indicators that this ayahuasca was going to be THE NEXT BIG THING began buzzing. The next thought that surfaced was accompanied by the same dual sensation of extreme curiosity spiked with fear that I felt watching the 1989 Ecstasy ravers on TV: Does this mean I’ll have to go to the Amazon to do ayahuasca too?
If every social movement has its drug, then the substance fueling the seekers of the Now Age is “plant medicine,” the catch-all term for ayahuasca, peyote, San Pedro, and ibogaine—a vine, two kinds of cacti, and an African shrub, respectively. Used throughout history by indigenous shamans, these mind-expanding, heart-opening, and often hallucinogenic plants are thought to bring spiritual healing to whoever imbibes of them—being a fast and effective way to access a deep shamanic trance state. Practitioners believe that this is because the plants themselves have wisdom to share with us, that they are messengers of the cosmic, Universal energy that connects all living things. We can also include marijuana and magic mushrooms here, I guess, since they’re also plants, and since you hear about people using them “medicinally” in the Now Age too. Not to mention the medical marijuana lobby gaining more traction year after year. And when considering the overall healing power of plants, it’s also worth remembering that the majority of modern prescription drugs also use chemicals derived from plants.
But back to the very specific varieties that come under the Now Age plant medicine umbrella, which, along with the healing, are also said to offer experiences that could be described as downright magical. Of which ayahuasca has emerged as the star player in the plant meds lineup. Maverick philosopher and author Daniel Pinchbeck is credited with being the first person to open up the conversation about plant medicine, ayahuasca in particular, in the West, with the publication of his 2002 book, Breaking Open the Head: A Psychedelic Journey into the Heart of Contemporary Shamanism. William Burroughs actually wrote about it in his 1953 The Yage Letters (“yage”—pronounced “ya-he”—being another name for ayahuasca), but with the Ecstasy “movement” still in full swing, people’s heads were already sufficiently broken open in the early noughties for Pinchbeck’s book to have real mainstream appeal. It positioned him as a sort of Now Age Timothy Leary (the psychologist who championed the psychotherapeutic use of LSD in the 1960s) and even landed him a job as “Shaman at Large” for Dazed & Confused magazine.
Then there were the memorable scenes of British explorer and documentary maker Bruce Parry taking aya (the slang term) with Peruvian tribespeople for his 2009 series for the BBC, Amazon, an experience he subsequently described as “one of the more humbling nights of my life. Remarkably, it seems, my ego decided to take on Mother Ayahuasca in some sort of a battle. Horrified, I watched the whole thing from the sidelines, feeling very annoyed with my ego for putting up such a relentless attack.”
If my teenage self had felt instinctively drawn to the late 1990s rave revolution, then for a certain breed of fearless seeker, the stage was now set for a mass awakening to the transformational power of these ancient medicines—and the following decade would see swarms of curious hippies, along with equal numbers of burned-out and disillusioned professionals, and even plenty of celebs, flocking to countries like Peru (swiftly established as the hub for ayahuasca tourism) to try it for themselves. It’s a measure of just how mainstream aya has become that even Chelsea Handler took it during an episode of her 2016 Netflix series Chelsea Does (this one titled “Chelsea Does Drugs”)—claiming to have experienced deeply healing revelations about her relationship with her sister. “I had forgotten that I loved (her),” she later told Stephen Colbert in an interview on The Late Show.
For the “plant med curious,” both Bruce’s and Chelsea’s reports provide a fascinating window into what an ayahuasca ceremony looks like—a “ceremony,” because unlike with most recreational drugs, these substances are not to be taken lightly. (Although I would argue the same for most recreational drugs, booze included.)
To give you an overview, the aya—actually a combination of two different plants—is brewed into a tea and administered to participants (a ceremony can be for one person or a group) by the shaman leading the session. This tea contains DMT, a chemical that is actually produced in the human body during childbirth and at the time of death, and which is known as “the God molecule” for its ability to open the doors of everyday perception to an utterly cosmic reality. There follows much purging (yes, puking and diarrhea), and vivid hallucinations, during which many people experience deep realizations about themselves, and their lessons in this lifetime. With the shaman and his helpers watching over proceedings all the while, often playing instruments, burning herbs, and singing, to invite the spirit of the plant to get deep and dirty with her work (aya is a Divinely Feminine “she”). In other words, about as far out and otherworldly a healing experience as you can get.
Why has “plant medicine” become so popular in the Now Age? I think there are three main drivers behind the upswell of interest: first, the “natural, straight from Mother Earth” angle fits nicely with our current “all organic, nothing processed” approach to food. Just as we’ve become well versed in scanning food labels for man-made nasties, why choose lab-manufactured, chemical drugs, for healing or highs, with all the clunky man-made side effects, when there’s a natural alternative?
Second, the element of tradition and sacrament. Most plant medicines are taken in a ceremonial setting, like the one described above, and are based on ancient shamanic teachings, creating an atmosphere of reverence and communion that taps the basic human need to connect—both to each other and to something greater than ourselves. The way society is set up now, opportunities to unite with other human beings in a meaningful, tangible way are becoming fewer and further between, and you can’t get much more analog than coming together for an ancient ceremony based around a psychedelic herbal tea.
And third, on a more mystical level, it feels to me like the plants themselves might just be behind all this. Okay, so bear with me on this one, but what if, in a last-ditch attempt to slow down or even halt altogether the unimaginable damage we’re doing to our planet, the plants have actually gotten together in their own alternate, leafy reality, had a powwow, and decided that the best way forward was to gain direct access to the hearts and minds of the human populace? (Oh, and p.s., is it a coincidence that I keep writing “planet medicine” instead of “plant medicine” as I’m writing this?!)
Because more often than not, what people report after a ceremony is a feeling of deep connection to nature, a tangible sense of their place in the matrix of all life, and, as a result, a desire to make changes in their day-to-day existence that reflect this new understanding of themselves as children of the cosmos. As in, heal their relationship with themselves and with others, and generally accept responsibility for their place in their community—both local and global.
Taking all this into account, have I felt called to drink, smoke, eat, and generally get intimately familiar with these plants? Hell yes. I am a self-proclaimed Now Age adventurer after all, a wannabe pioneer in what I perceive as nothing less than the next phase of an evolutionary shift in global consciousness. Surely it’s my duty to join the troops and make my way into the Amazonian trenches.
But will I go there? Probably not.
This is something I sit with on a regular basis, since barely a month goes by without somebody either inviting me to a plant medicine ceremony, or stirring my curiosity yet again with their stories of profoundly cosmic healing and transformation. I couldn’t be more intrigued, in fact, and yet something is holding me back. And maybe, after reading this or having had conversations with friends who’ve dipped a toe (or more) in the world of plant meds, you’re in a similarly conflicted place. In which case I invite you to read on for the pros and cons, as I see it, of getting involved.
PROS
It’s All About the Healing
I asked Deborah Hanekamp, one of the only Western women to have been initiated to lead plant medicine ceremonies by the Peruvian Shipibo tribe (widely recognized as “the masters of ayahuasca”), to describe her first experience with aya ten years ago. As you’re going to hear a lot from Deborah in this chapter, please keep in mind that she is also drop-dead gorgeous, was raised Baptist, is a mother, a qualified yoga instructor and Reiki master, a gifted intuitive, and married to the hunkiest Dutch male model. In other words, major Numinati girl crush material.
Anyhow, here’s what she told me: “It felt like four or five hours of deep, deep, deep healing. All these different people in my life that I love were coming in one after another, and I was sending healing towards them and receiving healing back. I felt like the whole world had been healed after the ceremony, you know?” And seriously, who wouldn’t want some of that?
All the Best People Are Doing It
There’s a common perception—true in so, so many cases, especially with alcohol—that people take drugs to get “out of it,” to hide from reality, and to run away from their problems. MDMA (and later alcohol and cocaine) definitely became an escape for me. It may have begun with some pretty amazing spiritual epiphanies about the interconnectedness of all beings and our essentially loving nature, but by the time I’d shacked up with the Capricorn and developed an eating disorder, doing Ecstasy was just a way to fake feeling good. Followed by plenty of feeling even worse the morning after.
Conversely, the people I see being drawn to plant medicine are usually in it for exactly the opposite reason—it’s not called “medicine” for nothing. I’ve also heard doing ayahuasca get called “the work,” since Deborah’s experience is by no means the norm, and in fact all the different plant medicines are known for making you face your most-deep-seated issues in lurid Technicolor. See Bruce Parry’s “humbling” nightlong “battle” with his ego mind. For the same reason, aya is known as the “Grandmother” plant, delivering lessons about how to clean up the messes you may have made with your life with an all-loving yet often stern intensity. “She gives you what you need, not what you want,” as Deborah puts it.
All of which suggests it takes a certain strength of character to go there, and a fearless commitment to making the changes in your life, however uncomfortable, that may be necessary as you integrate the teachings of the plants. Far from the dropouts of society, the plant med pioneers I’ve met are often the people making a real difference in their corner of the world, the high-functioning thinkers at the front line of Now Age consciousness.
An Actual Conversation with God
In all the conversations I’ve had with dedicated plant med heads, the plants are actually described as having a consciousness all their own, as “beings” that we can interact with, just as we would with other human or animal beings. And of course, the plants communicate using their very own numinous language, one that defies translation and that we can only decipher via psychedelic (or psychic) visions and sensations, and the feelings they promote.
How deliciously mystical . . . and how much closer to an actual communion with Source energy itself can you get? If our technology-and progress-obsessed society runs largely on left-brain logic, then we have to give our right brain the stage to hear the wisdom of the plants.
All Natural, All Organic
Deborah made a really good point when I tried to compare the plant medicine movement with what happened in the 1960s with LSD, or the 1990s with MDMA: “With those kind of substances, there is always a price to pay.” Meaning that all man-made drugs, whether they are FDA approved or not, come with a long list of adverse side effects. With LSD and MDMA, these may include panic attacks, flashbacks, psychosis, dehydration, insomnia, heart palpitations, nausea and vomiting, teeth grinding, and depression. Nasty.
Not that there aren’t risks involved with taking plant medicines too (see “Cons,” below), but the toll they take mentally and physically appears to be minimal. Many of my friends report feeling physically better than ever after taking them, while reports of actual plant medicine deaths are rare to nonexistent. Meanwhile, Deborah even told me: “Ayahuasca restores serotonin levels permanently in the brain.” This could be one reason plant medicines are said to be particularly effective in treating PTSD and depression, and for healing addictions—as reported by both National Geographic and Scientific American magazines. As for the problems associated with man-made chemical “solutions” to these emotionally rooted malaises? How long have you got?
Spiritual Brownie Points
Hello, ego! Part of me, the part that’s still desperate to be “one of the gang,” feels like a loser, a coward, and a square for not jumping on the plant med bandwagon. This is the same part of me that began smoking weed regularly at age fourteen, despite the fact that it never made me feel good, because I was petrified my perceived lack of sophistication would leave me forever on the outside looking in. A.k.a. feeling the “peer pressure” in the more classical sense of the phrase. You know what I’m talking about, right? It’s the reason you say yes when somebody suggests a round of tequila slammers, despite knowing you really need a good head on your shoulders for the presentation you have to give at work the next morning.
Of course, when I asked my French shaman Manex Ibar about this (whose four-day vision quests always end with an optional plant medicine ceremony), he reminded me that the only person putting “pressure” on me to join in—who thought it was “uncool” not to—was me. I know all this, and yet the question remains: Would people take me more seriously as a spiritual voyager if I did ayahuasca too?
I Am Very, Very Afraid
Yes, this makes the “Pros” list. Because as all the greatest spiritual teachers will tell you: that thing that scares you the most? That’s the thing you need to do.
CONS
Psychedelics Are Not My Friend
The world appears to be divided into two camps here—people who love the unpredictability of a psychedelic trip, and those it scares the living bejesus out of. I fall into the latter camp, and I have actually only taken LSD once in my life. It was just me and the Capricorn, in a hut, up a mountain, on a tiny island in Thailand, circa 1995. The trip lasted probably twelve hours, at least eight of which I spent concentrating very hard on not dying. At least that’s how it felt to me from the depths of the psychic black hole the acid kept trying to spin me down. Anybody with me on this one?
“Set and setting” was a term first coined by psychoanalyst Norman Zinberg to describe the ideal context for any psychedelic experience—“set” referring to the mental state of the person taking the drugs, “setting” the physical and social environment. Admittedly, I couldn’t have gotten these more wrong. I was deep in my anorexia, and allowing myself to be totally mind controlled by my boyfriend (let alone the drug). Looking back, I feel so tenderly toward myself! And so sad that my lack of self-love had left me so darned suggestible. To be clear: I did NOT feel the same pull towards LSD as I had toward Ecstasy, but I did it anyway.
Taking all this into account, you can understand my reluctance to go near anything even remotely resembling an acid trip again. And you can repeat all you like how ayahuasca and the other plant meds are, like, a totally different trip (which is something I also hear all the time). But my LSD experience in Thailand is the closest reference point I’ve got, and that’s close enough for me.
A Ceremony Is Like a Box of Chocolates
As in, you never know what you’ll get. Yes, perhaps Grandmother (or Grandfather, as peyote goes by) will take you in her loving embrace and show you the secrets of the Universe. But equally likely, she’ll pin you to the ground and give you . . . the most humbling experience of your life. This could go back to the “set and setting” thing, I guess, as well as what Deborah said about the medicine delivering not the message or insight you want, but rather what you need.
Call me a control freak (hands up: I am a bit of a control freak), or perhaps I’ve just done my time and had my fill of “bad trips” (on LSD and other drugs), but I’ve reached the conclusion that no drug-induced spiritual epiphany is worth risking however many hours in a mental and physical hell of my psyche’s own creation. Not to mention the week, or longer, spent regrouping emotionally.
Which is not to say I’m not prepared to face my demons. As I hope I’ve demonstrated elsewhere in this book, staring down my most painful truths in the name of healing them has become one of my very favorite pastimes! But on my own time, and within the boundaries of my own lovingly constructed comfort zone, thank you very much.
The Vomit Sitch
They call it “getting well,” and for the vast majority of people, throwing up (or physically purging by other, even more potentially embarrassing means) is an integral part of ayahuasca and most other plant medicine ceremonies. I don’t know about you, but I hate throwing up. Even worse, feeling like I need to throw up, and not being able to throw up. The thought of experiencing any and all of the above in a group setting, under the influence of an extremely strong psychedelic, is pretty much enough to close the door on plant meds for me right there.
Charlatan Shamans
And this is a big one. It might have been that back in the day—2002, say, when Breaking Open the Head first came out—you could trip down to Peru and have a safe and authentic experience with the first medicine man to cross your path. But where there is “tourism,” there follows exploitation, and common wisdom is that plenty of not-so-well-intentioned “shamans” abound these days.
Most disturbingly, plenty of the stories I hear on this subject center around the sexual manipulation of young women while in a vulnerable, psychedelic state. I’ve even heard about cases of “spiritual rape,” where the shaman leading the ceremony somehow coerces a woman’s spirit to leave her body, to be toyed with by him somewhere out in the cosmic realms. Too scary a concept to even contemplate.
According to Deborah, this is partly because it’s not unusual, or even particularly frowned upon, for men in Peru to use black magic to cast “love spells” on women—and she told me about the time this happened to her during a ceremony too. How she was given a different bottle to drink from than the rest of the group (“silly girl,” you may think—but put yourself in her shoes and see how easy you think it would be to speak up), how during the ceremony the shaman pulled out a bunch of her hair, and she felt “an inch away from being raped.” How afterward, she “was in a really bad place for like a month.”
Navigating the numinous realms, I can never really state often enough the importance of working with teachers, guides, and practitioners whose credentials and overall vibe you feel one thousand percent comfortable with. And when it comes to working with plant meds, as I see it this increases tenfold.
I’m Very, Very Afraid
See pretty much all of the above.
As you can probably tell, I’ve really done my research on this one. I’ve spoken to countless friends about their experiences, interviewed the experts, and read all kinds of reports. And there’s something else people always say about plant meds: when you’re ready, the plants will come to you.
And actually, I believe the spirit of ayahuasca did eventually weave its way into my journey. When we first met, Deborah told me she’d reached out after three different people that week had asked if we knew each other . . . because we really must. Having studied with the Shipibo over many years, she proceeded to tell me how she’d actually developed such a strong connection to ayahuasca consciousness, which she described as “pure love consciousness,” she was able to channel this outside the ceremonial setting.
She only led one or two ceremonies a year now, having developed a healing modality she called a “Medicine Reading.” Incorporating singing the traditional “icaros” (medicine songs) with other sound healing instruments, crystal work, Reiki, and flower essences, it was as close as you could get to a ceremony without actually drinking ayahuasca, she said. Did I want to try it? Well, of course I did!
In the event, the session was incredibly healing, taking me into an ocean-deep trance state where some ancient memories related to issues around speaking my truths surfaced from the very depths of my psyche. Getting off her table my body felt leaden, as if I were coming around from surgical-level anesthesia—perhaps related to the level of psychic anesthetic needed to allow me to face the painful “truths” I’d witnessed in my mind’s eye.
Sure, it may not have been the full plant medicine experience—purging, Peruvian shamans, and all. But it was cosmic enough for me.
PLAYING WITH PLANT MEDS: A HEALTH AND SAFETY CHECKLIST
Do your research. Ask around, read up online, watch the docs (there’s plenty on Netflix). But also consult the experts. The International Center for Ethnobotanical Education Research & Service (ICEERS) is an amazing resource for information on all aspects of the plant medicine world and also offers a free e-mail support service. www.iceers.org (N.B. ICEERS does NOT offer sessions or recommend centers/individuals who do.)
Be selective with your shaman. SO IMPORTANT. Ideally, try to get a personal recommendation from somebody you trust, but if this is unavailable, hopefully your own research (see above) will help inform your choice. Some things to consider: Do they provide their own health and safety checklist ahead of the ceremony? How much time have they got for your questions, and how concerned are they with making you feel at ease? Also, if traveling abroad, try to book your ceremony ahead of time. This will give you more time to ask questions, and to investigate the shaman, their ethos, and overall vibe.
Do the prep. Getting the most from your plant medicine experience means being in the right space—mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. As such, most shamans will ask participants to do a physical detox for up to ten days ahead of a ceremony—which usually involves abstaining from alcohol and other substances, animal products, and sex! Adhere to these instructions. It’s all part of the process.
Process it properly. And then there’s the aftercare. Any plant medicine ceremony can and will be a deeply emotional and psychologically moving experience, and a proper shaman will include plenty of time to process what’s come up for you during the session. Beyond this, definitely DO seek additional professional help if you find yourself having a hard time processing any part of the experience. Again, ICEERS is a great resource for free advice about this.
If it’s not a hell yes . . . Since every plant medicine encounter can be a wildly different experience, depending on your state of mind, the location, the medicine itself, and the vibe of the group, above all be ready and willing to expect the unexpected. Only YOU will know if this feels like the right step for you. So let your gut be your guide—and if in doubt, don’t!