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By Michael Tracey / Substack
Last week, I went to one of the first legal psilocybin mushroom clinics in the United States. In 2020, the wise people of Oregon voted to permit the establishment of such clinics, wherein this mysterious, naturally-occurring psychoactive compound can be safely administered to adults in a controlled, regulated environment. That this has suddenly become possible still feels like something of a miracle. Ten or fifteen years ago, the idea that one could just walk into a normal building on Main Street USA — as opposed to voyaging to an underground shamanistic lair — and consume the compound lawfully, under professional supervision, seemed like a laughably far-off fantasy. Something to vaguely hope for in the abstract, perhaps, but still so distant as to be a virtual impossibility. But then the impossible happened, as is frequently the case, and beginning in 2023, an initial round of state-sanctioned clinics opened to the general public.
Entering into the experience purposefully and with intention is highly advisable. Though I wouldn’t presume to tell anyone whether, or how, to take these substances, I do think there’s value in treating the experience with reverence and solemnity — not as some frivolous excursion, and definitely not as a way to merely “have fun,” especially if you’ve been undergoing any psychological distress of late, and are seeking this out as a salve. The intention I visualized ahead of time was to introspect, and ideally to transcend recursive thought-patterns that had been burbling around in my head, which I had determined were ill-suited to flourishing, fulfillment, and productivity.
It’s now been about six days since I ingested the curious compound (March 27 to be exact) and my mind is so much sturdier and quieter. A liberating stillness has washed over me. In general, I am walking around with a far greater sense of equanimity than had been attainable pre-ingestion. One distinct sensation I had during the height of the experience was a huge, long-awaited relief from the constant over-stimulation of regular waking life. Unwelcome thoughts don’t intrude into my headspace with the maddening frequency of before, although this new mental habit does need to be conscientiously maintained and cultivated after the intoxicant has worn off. Helpfully, I’ve found it much easier to meditate, which is something I’ve intermittently attempted to do in the past, even going to a 10-day silent meditation retreat some years ago. Now, it comes much easier and freer, without the same strain and internal resistance.
Though one’s sense of time all but vanishes, I can roughly demarcate the first half of the experience as having been difficult — as distinct from “bad” — and then the second half as having been an immersion into glorious serenity. The “difficulty” arose from the excavation of myriad stresses, anxieties, and disturbances that inevitably accumulate in the subconscious. We really do absorb all kinds of stimuli that our normal sentient brains have extremely limited awareness of, which get stored in our physical bodily carriages — subtly dictating our behavior and cognition, without us having regular access to the storage center. Taking the mushroom is like being taken on a guided tour of your own psyche. It’s like being given a brief window into the inner-workings of your (alleged) self. Or put another way: it’s like ten years of therapy crammed into a few hours — except it actually works.
There can be a temptation after such an experience to go around proselytizing like a madman about the rejuvenating wonders of this particular fungi. (The clinic provided a finely-ground mushroom concentrate that was mixed with lemon extract and hot water.) While it’s hard not to conclude that most people could derive major benefits from psilocybin, it’s also prudent to not get too overzealous: some people may not have the steadiness of mind to profitably undergo what can indeed be a very laborious “trip.” I know there were times in the midst of it when I second-guessed myself, or wondered whether I’d made a mistake. But when such thoughts fluttered, I was able to ground myself in the confidence that I’d made a rational and well-informed choice, and that all I could do at that point was “turn off my mind, relax, and float down stream.”
Hence, there eventually did emerge an overflowing of gratitude and compassion, for myself and others. In the days afterward, I took some time to reflect and “integrate,” as the psychedelic lexicon goes. The experience of such a major alteration of consciousness can otherwise quickly fade into distant memory, which one cannot easily resurface.
I knew that whatever I allegedly am was being reassembled when I cracked my first morbid joke to the facilitator, who stays in the room with you the entire time, and is licensed by the state of Oregon. (You are encouraged to simply lie down with your eyes closed, or with eye shades affixed.) I had asked the facilitator what people tend to do for the rest of the day after their “trip” has ended, as the ingestion takes place relatively early in the morning. She replied that some people like to watch cartoons for light entertainment. “What about watching gruesome murders?” I asked. Obviously, the psilocybin had not extinguished my fundamental sardonic self. Whatever I allegedly am was back, for better or worse.
At times over the past year or so, I’d found it frustratingly difficult to focus and write. This can be a recurring cycle for me. Psilocybin, it seems, breaks the cycle — today I feel lighter and more mentally agile. The burdens I carry are relatively mundane and inconsequential; people who carry around substantially heavier burdens likely stand to gain even more from the experience. One thing that occurred to me during the peak of intoxication was how those with far more severe “trauma,” a term which I acknowledge can often be vastly and sometimes cynically overused, would benefit enormously from this brief flash of objectivity and detachment afforded by the psilocybin. Especially military veterans with PTSD, who have been the object of much recent scientific research into the effects of psychedelics.
Again without imposing my peculiar perspective on anyone else, I do have a strong sense that this whole endeavor should be treated as a kind of sacrament, or a rite. It should not be treated frivolously or carelessly. Nearly a week later, I still maintain a feeling of reverence for the tranquility of mind I have been granted. My brain feels like it’s functioning properly again — like a long-unexercised muscle finally got an arduous, restorative workout.
There’s an unavoidable public policy dimension here as well. It was only through concerted citizen action in Oregon (and two years ago, Colorado, which has yet to set up the requisite regulatory framework) that this incredible treatment finally became available to the general public — eliminating any extraneous fear of state punishment for mere consumption of the substance. The criminalization of altered states of consciousness really is a foul abomination, particularly when it has such powerful therapeutic potential.
Cost can be onerous. All told, I paid around $1,500 for the service, which included the room, the facilitator, and the substance itself — although I ended up consuming less than the maximum amount of mushroom concentrate, so was amusingly handed $50 in cash at the conclusion of the session as a “refund.” This seemed outlandishly incongruous with the whole tenor of the experience. Still, it was a totally worthwhile expense, if only for the peace of mind brought by not needing to worry about the physiological integrity of what I was ingesting, or if the quantity was quite right, or any number of other ancillary concerns that could logistically complicate or even impair the experience. Instead, I could just relax.
I wouldn’t be so arrogant as to presume that anyone should or shouldn’t do this, but I can confidently say that everyone should at least have the opportunity to make an informed choice about whether to do it. Almost immediately afterwards, I could feel the regeneration of neural pathways that had been seemingly dormant — consistent with research showing an increase of neuroplasticity from psilocybin consumption. I also took a relatively moderate dose, opting to treat myself as a total newcomer to the psychedelic enterprise. I’d taken psychedelics a handful of times in the past, but it was long enough ago (over 10 years) that the value of those experiences had become almost inaccessible in the recesses of my mind, even though they were very formative at the time.
I’ve spent the last several days reflecting on the “trip,” with the rough aim of narrativizing it into something I can draw on during my ordinary modes of consciousness. This is definitely not a substance that I have any inclination to rush back and ingest again, but there’s comfort in knowing that it’s available — maybe in a year, maybe in five, maybe in ten, or maybe never. If I ever have the creeping intuition that my brain is being bogged down by the unwitting absorption of excess stimuli, it’s there. At least in Oregon. And soon Colorado. And maybe next to a Main Street near you?
My entire (alleged) self feels re-enlivened. Amazingly, I am even eating better, and in more moderation. Or more “mindfully,” to use the popular jargon — which is only dismissible as “jargon” when you are unable to fully appreciate the true meaning of the term. I’ve been able to enjoy nature, thanks to the soaring coastal vistas of southern Oregon and far northern California, which add to the tranquility that has been mercifully re-established in my own head. My attention span has also noticeably improved.
Here is the clinic I went to in Ashland, Oregon. The founder and owner, Andreas, picked up the phone the first time I cold-called and spoke to me for something like an hour. Those involved with this early-stage provision of psilocybin therapy are genuine pioneers in the alleviation of human suffering. Whatever small contribution I can make to furthering that noble project, I will do.
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Over the years Tracey has contributed to a wide range of publications across the political spectrum, from The Nation to The American Conservative, the New York Daily News to the New York Post, and many more. A substantial portion of his recent columns can be found at the website Unherd. From 2017 to 2018, he was a correspondent for The Young Turks, prior to that he was a columnist for VICE.
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I Just Went To One of the First Legal Psilocybin Mushroom Clinics In the United States – Scheerpost.com
