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I was 12 when I swore for the first time of religion. My friends and I strolled in front of a musk wood confessional comparing the penances attributed by our sour-breath priest. A girl stole earrings from Dillard: that meant 10 Hail Marys. A boy drank alcohol under the bleachers of the stadium: 50 Our fathers. In a way, me – an inveterate goody-two-shoe-received the heavier sentence: 100 Hi Marys and 500 Our Fathers.
My sin? I doubted the existence of "God".
This reinforced my identity of pre-teen apostasy. Despite the overwhelming spiritual consensus in my small town of Texas, I knew that "God" did not exist.
This belief shook nothing until I participated in a clinical trial at Johns Hopkins University last year, during which I administered high doses of psilocybin – the psychedelic compound "magic mushrooms" – to treat a major depressive disorder.
A long trip brought me to Johns Hopkins. For 16 years, I struggled with insidious darkness. When my parents took me to the doctor when I was a kid, he assured them: depression is not a crisis, it's an equation. The drugs would balance my unbalanced brain. The combinations were tested, the doses increased. Weekly therapy marked the passage of years. Things have worked so far. Enduring side effects ranging from trouble (excessive sweating) to devastating effects (weight gain), I managed to manage periods of productivity, friendship and even joy. But every good time fell under the weight of a question: when would darkness come down again?
Major depressive disorder is a complex biopsychosocial disease for which we desperately need better treatments. Depression affects more than 16.1 million American adults, or about 6.7% of the population, and is the leading cause of disability in the United States. The most common depression medications, selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs), were developed 30 years ago. Although they are effective for many, they can take weeks or even months to go into action, and many people find the side effects intolerable.
The FDA has recently approved esketamine nasal spray, a promising drug for the rapid relief of short-term depression. Although psilocybin can have long-term effects on depressed people, there is a lot of enthusiasm, more data is needed. Clinical trials using psilocybin to treat depression, addiction, Alzheimer's disease and end-of-life anxiety continue at Johns Hopkins, Imperial College London, New York University and other institutions.
Every good moment of my life has rocked under the weight of a question: when would darkness come down again?
After reading the headlines about the promise of psychedelic research, I did not think too much about my registration when my best friend, a student at Johns Hopkins Medical School, told me that a study on psilocybin had used volunteers. While traveling from my home in Baltimore for several weeks, I had countless interviews, a history of mental health, investigations, cognitive tests, electrocardiogram and physical examination to determine if I was qualified. When I finally brought home a 15-page form detailing the requirements of the study (very structured preparation meetings, tightly monitored psilocybin follow-up sessions and follow-up appointments), my little one friend of the time has read and laughed: "It's the ONLY way you'd ever stumble.
It was true. I was too scared of the risks to try illegal drugs; I did not want to give free rein to a spirit that I would have considered a saboteur and a traitor. The structured test environment minimized the risks: I completed a series of preparation sessions during which I got to know and trust my two experienced "guides" and to establish the intentions for the sessions. The guides would monitor each of my movements and help me cope with difficulties – such as intense fear or anxiety – that may occur during the treatment of psilocybin.
So I felt safe when I folded twice on a large comfortable couch in Baltimore and I ingested high doses of psilocybin synthesized in the lab. What I did not know – I had chosen not to influence my travels by reading books about how psilocybin works – was that the same chemical tested to treat my depression could also subject me to a leaning person. on the religious level could call "God".
In case you missed it, we are in the midst of a psychedelic rebirth, marked in particular by Michael Pollan's book, published in 2018 How to change your mind. Whatever the case may be, the stigmatizing legacy of psychedelics persists, even in the context of clinical trials. Partly for this reason, I do not tell many people what I experienced in the clinical trial. But above all because the journeys were deep, deeply personal and full of ideas that escape the simple description. People who have not done psychedelic do not have it; and often even the people who did it for fun do not have it. The reaction is always the same: "You stumbled for science. So what?"
Like all travel stories, mine seems crazy at worst and cliche at best. But I can tell you this: at the height of my experience, my sense of self was dissolved and I unified with a permanent force that permeates all existence – something that felt conscious, vast, benevolent, eternal , peaceful and furiously important. After sitting six hours later on the couch, covered with snot and tears, I struggled to put words on a meeting that seemed more real than everyday reality – a scathing paradox that characterizes many mystical experiences.
Meeting what I call most comfortable to call "ultimate reality" during an experimental depression trial sometimes gives the impression of being a deep spiritual diversion. Why can not they just treat my illness without emptying my vision of the world? But to explode the worldview is the interest of these treatments; in fact, the test protocol – doses, welcoming environment, guides, preparation, pose with an eye mask while listening to a carefully selected music playlist – is optimized for: increase the probability deep experiences.
At the height of my experience, my sense of self was dissolved and I unified with a lasting force that permeates all existence.
This is not because researchers want to change the spiritual inclinations of volunteers. This is because preliminary studies indicate that the more transcendent the experience, the more people overcome depression, addiction, fear of death and report positive changes in behavior and attitude. No one really knows why, and much more needs to be done to understand these experiences, their neurobiological underpinnings, and the mechanisms by which they enhance the meaning, purpose, and values of people.
And with psilocybin accelerated by the Food and Drug Administration as a possible treatment for depression as early as 2021, more and more people may encounter something that they interpret as "God" or "ultimate reality." In choosing this treatment, I wonder if patients will understand that they could choose an entirely new ontology.
After my meetings, I developed a moderate fascination with the fact that a chemical compound could give rise to a sense of unity sublime enough to reorient my vision of the world. Did my childhood priest feel the same when he met with God? Did St. Theresa experience the same thing in the sixteenth century that I made the scientific challenge in 2018?
Since Timothy Leary lived at Harvard in the 1960s, countless philosophers, neuroscientists, psychonauts and theologians have debated the commensurability of mystical experiences with or without drugs on essentially theoretical bases. A whole new subdomain, neurotheology, has emerged to map spiritual and religious experiences about specific brain functions. Researchers are beginning to apply rigorous methods for analyzing post-experience narratives and are even crowdsourcing reports of self-transcendence in the name of research.
And a new article published in the journal PlosOne is the first large-scale study to systematically compare natral and drug encounters with what respondents refer to as "God."
Johns Hopkins researchers interviewed 4,285 people claiming to have met "God (eg, the God of your understanding), superior power, or ultimate reality") by comparing key aspects of the experience, that she either occurred "naturally" or after taking psychedelic drugs. The researchers found striking similarities between the descriptions and the personal effect of these encounters, whether they occurred spontaneously, for example, when a person was in a church pew or at a ceremony. ayahuasca in the Amazon.
A whole new scientific sub-domain, neurotheology, has emerged to map spiritual and religious experiences about specific brain functions.
While the group of non-addicts was more likely to qualify what they encountered "God" and the psychedelic users "Ultimate Reality", both characterized the experience in many similar ways.
"Really, what both groups call this is just semantics," said lead author Roland Griffiths, a professor in the departments of psychiatry and neuroscience at the Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. "What is amazing is that the participants – whether they call their encounter with God, emissary of God or ultimate reality – use the same descriptors: it is conscious, benevolent, intelligent, sacred, eternal and omniscient."
David Yaden, a researcher at the University of Pennsylvania and not affiliated with the study, said, "If the psychedelically triggered experiments are, in fact, subjectively similar to the [other] religious, spiritual or mystical experiences, psychedelic substances are a means of studying these experiments in controlled laboratories. This is an important step towards the scientific understanding of these deep and often impactful human experiences. "
But some, like Steve Katz, professor of Jewish studies and the Holocaust at Boston University, are not impressed. He fears that the features just seem common because respondents project a culturally-available vocabulary.
"You can eat an ice cream sundae and say" Wow, that's wonderful, "and someone else could have had a drink and call it wonderful.These words are not enough to prove comparability fundamental of these experiences, "he said.
But if we all feel wonderful, how did we get there?
In his book of 1902 Varieties of religious experience, The philosopher William James was the first to assert that the merits of mystical or religious experiences do not derive from their "roots" (origins), but from their "fruits" (lasting effects). And, according to this study, the fruits are quite similar. Both groups ranked experience among the most personally significant and spiritually meaningful experiences of their lives, reporting persistent positive changes in satisfaction with life, purpose and meaning.
Surprisingly, two-thirds of survey respondents who identified themselves as atheists before the meeting no longer did so, which makes me a little less crazy. Similarly, 70% of the drug and drug groups reported what I felt deeply: what was encountered was "more real than real". It may be for this reason that the majority of both groups argued that the problem they faced persisted even after the end of the meeting.
Griffiths is undoubtedly the main researcher of mystical psychedelic experiences. He was motivated to look at "natural" natural encounters, Paul thinks on the road to Damascus, because they have been an integral part of world religions for millennia. After conducting psychedelic tests in which participants reported deeply mystical encounters, his team was eager to understand how the two compared.
If we all feel wonderful, how did we get there?
This study paves the way for a long-standing debate about whether psychedelic experiences are "authentic" compared to those induced by practices such as prayer or meditation.
"True" is a word that people have used to cast skepticism about psychedelic effects, "said Griffiths. "In this study, if we can not measure the difference between them, we must ask ourselves if they are different. If it looks like a duck and walks like a duck, then it's a duck. "
Unsurprisingly, this statement irritates at least some people in the religious community, including Katz, who rejected the basic premise of this exercise.
"Mystical experiences are commitments with an external reality. When you take a pill, your brain is doing fun things and you have a fun brain experience, "he said. "You have not had mystical experience; you had a psychological experience. Psychology is not the same thing as metaphysics. This is not the same thing as Theresa of Avila who says she met Jesus.
But the study does not assert metaphysically the reality of what survey respondents encountered – with or without drugs. Griffiths is quick to point out that science can never definitively answer the question of the existence of "God," a "higher power," or "ultimate reality."
"" We can find God in a pill "is certainly not an appropriate conclusion of this study," he said.
But, at least in my experience, "a meeting that could be interpreted as" God "can be found in a pill".
What does it mean? Experiences that have been a fundamental part of world religions for millennia could, in the future, be a fundamental part of our treatment of depression. If these experiences are truly inseparable from a functional point of view, we need a whole new paradigm of mental health, located at the corner of spirituality and science, theology and therapy.
For example, Francis Guerriero, a spiritually integrated psychotherapist in Cambridge, works with clients who have encountered both sober God and experiences of drug use and treats them with similar tools. "The initial catalysts of divinity encounters have no impact on the methodology I work with to integrate them into a client's daily life," he said. "Whether it's born of a drug-related experience or not, the key factor is ongoing and regular integration work."
But my usual psychiatrist was not interested in the evolution of my vision of the world after the psilocybin trials, and did not understand how this change could be capitalized to preserve mental health. But, thanks to the efforts of groups such as the California Institute for Integral Studies and the Multidisciplinary Association of Psychedelic Studies, an increasing number of them are doing it.
When I interviewed Griffiths about the practical implications of his latest study, he highlighted the therapeutic potential of these experiments to improve well-being and improve mental health. Reducing "divine encounters" to their therapeutic potential resembles a breathtaking transactional approach to the divine. But it is a gesture that corresponds to our time. On the other hand, this suggests that we could begin to take seriously the spiritual dimensions of depression and other mental health issues. And while psychedelics can be an incredibly powerful tool for dealing with certain conditions, they should not be taken lightly. Because even though people like Katz say that drug use experiences are psychological and not metaphysical, this study and my experience suggests that they can imitate something that feels subjectively very metaphysical.
Reducing "divine encounters" to their therapeutic potential resembles a breathtaking transactional approach to the divine.
And maybe nothing less than a metaphysical change – and a serious chemical kick – could disrupt my depression. At worst, I felt exiled by an imagined cosmic arbitrator who decides who is worthless (me) and who deserves to live on Earth (all the others). The psilocybin has sent me back into conversation with the ultimate sense of reality, which – to my surprise – has welcomed me to my proper place in the scheme of things.
That is perhaps why, a few months after the trial, I went through life on a cloud of equanimity and joy intensely present. Every day when I woke up, the soft morning light seemed like a sweet drink that I had never tasted, but that I suddenly knew I deserved. I told everyone that I loved that I loved them twice. Walking to work, I was content to exist in such radiance of all things, I felt like a useful part of existence, a legitimate creature among creatures. My colleagues asked me if I had joined a cult. "You are so Zen," they marveled. "What happened to you?" I wrote in my journal, twice on a page, without realizing it: "I do not feel prisoner of my own existence anymore."
One day while my boyfriend was driving me to downtown Silver Spring, Maryland, downtown, everything was remarkable. Surprising myself, I put my hand on his and said, "I'm so happy to be alive." And I saw his face turn into a real confusion and deep gratitude.
A few months after the trial, I went through life on a cloud of serenity and joy intensely present.
Severe refractory depression is complex and requires ongoing maintenance. Even after the reoccurrence of my depressive symptoms – and they did – the significance of my encounters continued. It's not that my despair has diminished; the frame around her has widened. And in this vast empty space blessed, I find divine well. The feeling of being held by a great, beyond ineffable, allows me to bear more easily my sufferings and those of others.
To study co-author Bob Jesse, founder of the Council on Spiritual Practices, the most promising discovery concerns not the therapeutic potential of God's encounters, but their surprising effect on religious tolerance: a high proportion of both groups reported an increased understanding of religion or religion. spiritual traditions other than their own.
I admit it: I was surprised to find that after my experience, I no longer looked at the places of worship with disdain. I guess I became sympathetic to the universal human impulse to self-transcend. Formerly meditating "secular" and inconsistent, I sit now every day. I joined a weekly sangha and devoted myself to reading Buddhist texts, looking for a tradition to build my changed world.
During a follow-up session of the clinical trial, a researcher asked if I still identified being atheist, but the question did not surprise me as much as my inability to answer. Suddenly, the label looked like a shirt that had shrunk into the dryer: something that served me for a while, but that did not fit me anymore. How do you call someone who believes that things are probably better than they seem and think that in light of this fact, we should just be kind to each other? Someone who suspects that things are more mysterious than it seems, and more connected than we'll ever know? Someone who has the constant belief, born of a direct encounter, that there are things of paramount importance that transcend the ordinary awakened consciousness?
I became sympathetic to the universal human impulse to surpass myself.
I hardly dare to label these things for fear of becoming idolaters. All I know is that the feeling that reigns in them keeps me company even when I'm alone.
No doubt the debate on the authenticity of psychedelic encounters will rage, fundamentally insoluble. I keep coming back to Wallace Stevens' quote: "God and the imagination are one." It does not matter if my encounters were "authentic" or simply the product of an imagination full of chemical compounds. They felt real – more real than real – and did interesting and useful things in my life and, hopefully, in the lives of those with whom I interacted.
I bet my childhood priest would be delighted to hear that I no longer doubted the possibility of a higher power. But I would not like to see the penance he would inflict for taking psychedelic drugs.
Psychedelic drugs are currently illegal in most countries and can affect your mental health if they are not addressed in the right state of mind or in the right context, or if they are not well integrated after the 39; experience. If you have had a difficult psychedelic experience and are looking for support, please visit https://www.zendoproject.org/resources/.
Rachael Petersen is a writer and researcher.
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