Dimanche morning, 8 a.m., Terminal del Norte in Medellín. This terminal never empties. Dozens of buses depart every hour across the country, but above all toward the pueblos of the Antioquia region. Medellín developed in a valley, the Aburrá Valley, and is framed by the central cordillera of the Andes. As soon as you leave the city, you are immersed in lush nature, in the heart of the surrounding mountains. On the bus to the village of Guarne, I see countless cyclists and skaters along the road, taking advantage of the mountain routes to treat themselves to an epic climb or a thrill ride on the way down. As for me, I spend those 45 minutes deep in thought, questioning my intentions for this new hongos ceremony, these magic mushrooms. A month ago, I went through an individual experience, structured and guided like therapy. It was powerful, introspective, with the resurfacing of distant memories. I am still in the integration phase, rereading my notes often and trying to apply, day to day, the changes that seem necessary.
So why am I heading toward a new experience when a process is already underway? I feel a bit like La Fontaine’s ant, wanting to stockpile as many experiences as possible while I am in Latin America, where this practice is widely tolerated, before leaving for the other side of the world, where it will become harder to live out. But also because I like to understand, to learn, to try to improve. A psychedelic experience can be more impactful than reading ten personal development books. Because the lessons are personal and sensory. You live those life lessons, you no longer just read them. But then it is up to us to put those lessons into practice, that is what is called integration. Lost in my thoughts, I realize in the end that my intention for this ceremony is not to have any particular intention, and to stay open to what the medicina will teach me.
9:30 a.m., I arrive at today’s setting, a small cluster of wooden cabins offering a magnificent view of nature and, far away below, the restless Medellín. I am happy to see Natalia and Daniel again, the two facilitators who guided me during my individual therapy. Four other participants and three other staff members are also present. A ceremony in a small group is always pleasant, all the more so when the atmosphere is calm and the energy feels good. A welcome coffee, the signing of the waiver, and explanations come before we are shown the ceremony space, where a fire is lit and an altar is prepared. We begin with an energetic preparation using liquid rapé that is offered to us. Rapé is a preparation made from mapacho tobacco, used in traditional Amazonian ceremonies. Natalia sprays it onto our hands, which we then rub together before bringing them to our nose for a long inhale. The smell is pleasant but powerful, and you feel a tingling sensation, as if you were breathing pepper. Then Natalia continues the energetic cleansing with a smoke cleansing using various herbs.
Each participant is given a small sachet containing two small mushrooms, noticeably bluish. The quantity is not excessive, but this variety is, apparently, quite strong. We are invited to ingest them by chewing them, preferably with the incisors first, before drinking a cup of liquid cacao. The facilitators invite us to walk around the cabins, and each person chooses the spot that feels most appropriate for their experience. Some isolate themselves in a small pocket of nature between two cabins. For my part, I prefer to stay near the fire, which feels useful on this cool morning, but also because I prefer the energy of that place. Sitting on a cloth and a cushion on the ground, I feel surprisingly relaxed, far from the usual apprehension that precedes the effects of the medicina. My neighbor asks Natalia for another dose of mushrooms. She offers it to me as well. I hesitate, but I accept and ingest the larger half of a second sachet, aware of how hard it is for me to connect, of my usual resistance, and above all of my desire to push my limits.
Now comes the waiting. The music is there, and it will accompany us throughout this long morning. The facilitators are, of course, present, and they will keep checking on every participant throughout the ceremony.
After half an hour, the first sensations are physical. As the previous time, it begins with muscle spasms in my right leg, very specifically, then my right arm. I also feel the need to move my fingers, as I did during the ceremony a month ago. But this time, the bodily symphony is not as pronounced. Instead of feeling the need to move my body in time with the music, I feel agitation, physical restlessness. As if my mental concerns from the past few weeks were expressing themselves through my body. I feel the medicina shaking me up. Unlike ayahuasca, known for provoking intense physical effects such as purging or a sensation of poisoning in order to cleanse the body, psilocybin is not known for that kind of effect, even though such effects exist and are often underestimated. At higher doses, the activation of the nervous system can translate into motor agitation, muscle tension, tremors, or nervous sensations. A real discomfort that mirrors my current mental agitation. Information more than purging.
I realize that the amount I took was fairly substantial, and that I now have to own that choice, without regretting it. An additional life lesson: always accept the consequences of your actions. And I think again about the fact that I like to push my limits. I have the unfortunate tendency to generally consume more than the other participants during the various ceremonies I have taken part in. The main reason is that I always have a harder time connecting, that I stay on the defensive despite my experience with medicina, that I struggle to let go and to trust the medicina. But also because I have always loved challenges and pushing my limits. As if I were perpetually in search of meaning, in search of excellence. One of the symptoms of my perfectionism, no doubt.
I try not to suffer it too much, trying to channel the agitation, to sit up in a meditation posture, to breathe deeply. But it is hard not to struggle. I am still far from being able to direct the effects of the medicina, even if I feel that, with practice, it could be possible. Then I surprise myself by sensing a part of me asking questions, very calmly, wondering why I am so agitated. As if an old sage asleep inside me were trying to bring me face to face with my reality, trying to make me analyze my situation. For a few minutes, I feel as if I am talking with a version of myself full of wisdom and experience. He asks me what exactly my concerns are, what I am afraid of. I realize that my current concerns revolve around my inability to control certain elements of my life, certain uncertainties. This old sage makes me see that trying to control events is useless, that what matters is learning to adapt and having faith. Trusting life, accepting that no one can control everything in their own life, that it is an illusion, even if, at the same time, projects and actions are necessary in order to move forward. A beautiful lesson from Stoic philosophy, the thinking of Marcus Aurelius, whom I admire greatly but find difficult to put into practice.
After a span of time that is hard to determine, perhaps two or three hours, my nervous and muscular tensions settle. I feel calm taking hold, and my experience shifts into something else. My mind is still foggy, but sensorially, it becomes clearer, stronger. My hearing feels heightened, and visually I sense that something is happening. I feel capable of seeing what is impossible to perceive in a normal state of consciousness. I look at the thicket in front of me, made up of trees, vines, leaves, ferns. I try to change the way I focus, adjusting my vision the way I would with a camera lens, not to sharpen the focal plane but, on the contrary, to introduce a slight blur. I maintain sustained attention and project the intention of seeing nature differently. And the magic appears within seconds: this ordinary patch of space reveals itself differently before my eyes. I see the whole thing moving gently and beating as a heart would. The ground, too, seems to give way delicately and follow the same rhythm of pulses. Not like each element breathing individually, but more like a shared breath of the whole that I am watching. A magical, beautiful, and also disconcerting moment. Is it a profound change in my perception, induced by increased neural connectivity, or is it a hidden reality perceptible only in an altered state of consciousness? Scientists will find an explanation, others will see a truth on another plane.
At that moment, I realize that the medicina, beyond being a key that opens consciousness and allows deep inner work, can also become a powerful tool for learning and understanding, provided you know how to approach it properly. By the right state of consciousness, I mean a subtle balance between sufficient neural activation without being overwhelming, bodily sensations that are present but manageable, and above all a clear intention supported by genuine concentration. Under those conditions, I feel it is possible to work with this tool, to orient it, rather than be subjected to it. In an altered state of consciousness, I often feel what I would call a clear knowing, a sense of immediate understanding, as if certain answers suddenly become obvious. I sometimes feel I have access to almost all the answers, as long as I ask the right questions. Perhaps because, deep down, the solutions are already within us, but hidden behind mental or emotional barriers. And when those barriers soften under the effect of the medicina, everything seems, for a time, more accessible.
Throughout the ceremony, the music never stopped accompanying us. My initial agitation coincided with moments when the music was heavy, weighty, almost dark. I felt those vibrations especially strongly, and I endured them, hoping they would become softer as quickly as possible. Last month, I experienced the heaviness of the music differently during my experience, it allowed me to sink into memories that were not necessarily pleasant. In my view, those dark musical passages are necessary in a ceremony, in order to work on deeper, more buried aspects.
At that point in the ceremony, after nearly four hours, the music becomes clearly soothing. It allowed me a moment of almost magical synchronization with nature, but now it offers me another score, the score of love. For a few minutes, I feel that emotion with rare intensity, something that happens to me mostly with ayahuasca. My thoughts turn toward someone very close to me, to the point of bringing me to tears. I become aware of a deeply reciprocal love. The magic of that moment lies in the fact that this thought is not the result of a mental intention. It imposes itself on me like an obvious truth, as if something deeper needed to reveal it to me.
I remain lying down for a few more minutes, admiring nature and trying to recall what happened over the past hours. In my head, the fog is still very present. Time passed extremely quickly. I have trouble putting my thoughts back in order, reconstructing the chronology of the stages that punctuated those intense four hours. A brief memory comes back to me of what may have been a vision or a sensation, a moment lasting only a few seconds that made me travel through time, far back, perhaps to a medieval era. There was talk of a meeting around a table, or something similar. But unfortunately, it is as hard for me to remember as a distant dream.
My stomach catches up with me, an epic hunger makes me accept the end of the ceremony. Natalia comes to my side to hear my feedback on the experience. The facilitators have been present and attentive throughout, while still allowing each person the freedom to live their experience without interference. The other participants seem calm and fairly active. Standing up and taking possession of my mind again is somewhat difficult. I have a bit of trouble organizing my thoughts during a captivating conversation with Daniel, the facilitator. Trying to philosophize while mental clarity is still foggy makes the exercise difficult, or perhaps, precisely, more fruitful. Finally, we gather around the table to break the fast, which has lasted an eternity according to my stomach. Rarely is food more enjoyable than after a fast and a medicina ceremony. To conclude the day, each person speaks to share their experience. Everyone will have lived something intense, yet completely different. That is where the beauty of the medicina lies, it works differently depending on each person’s needs. I came without a clear intention, open to whatever would come to me. I am not disappointed by the journey. Once again, the medicina taught me what I needed at that moment in my life. I leave satisfied, with the intention of writing down this particular day, but also of putting the day’s lessons into practice.
My sincere thanks to Natalia and Daniel from Geo Mikelyon for their professionalism and their medicine.
