Inward Bound
I promised to share what happened during my psilocybin journey.
Here it is—though calling it a “journey” feels too small. This was not a single night but the beginning of an ongoing quest. It unfolded as a full process: a pre-journey meeting to prepare, the journey itself, post-journey integration, and now microdosing. Every step has been guided by my incredible shaman, who splits her time between Copenhagen and Israel.
Let me tell you, she is stunning—effortlessly radiant in that way you cannot fake. My daughter and I could not stop admiring her, wanting everything she was wearing, as if by wearing her clothes we might absorb some of her magic. And then there was the timing—I lucked out. She just happened to be in Tel Aviv when I needed her most, as if the universe had whispered in her ear.
After listening to me ramble about my fears, hesitations, and endless questions, she recommended starting with a macrodose. It was clear: this wasn’t going to be a gentle dip into the shallow end. It was a leap straight into the depths.
I confessed to her my lifelong hatred of mushrooms—just the smell or sight of them makes me cringe—so she cleverly brought them in chocolate form. On the evening of the journey, she transformed my un-zen bedroom into a sacred space, complete with candles, music, and palo santo, sacred wood that is said to cleanse and purify. We began seated together on the bed.
As she placed the chocolate square in my hand I paused, a moment of hesitation before I took the first bite. It tasted like premium chocolate—smooth, rich, and entirely unassuming. I told her she must have been ripped off. 😉
What happened next is a bit of a blur. There was a lot of purging—crying, peeing, releasing. I remember feeling furious at everyone who had encouraged me to try this without hesitation. This is not some casual self-help experiment. It is intense, raw, and deeply personal. There is no one-size-fits-all experience.
A sense of discomfort washed over me—trapped, frustrated by the lack of control. My mind circled endlessly, fixated on the passage of time. Why wasn’t anyone checking my pulse or monitoring my blood pressure? And why did this song play on an unrelenting loop? Perhaps I needed more psilocybin, as she suggested, to pierce through my stubborn, intellectual ego, but the thought of a full-blown hallucinatory trip filled me with apprehension. What I experienced, however, was something far more subtle—a meditative journey, quiet and gradual, that unfolded into a sublime, enlightening encounter once I finally surrendered. There were about ten minutes (could have been an hour) when my body was was free of worry that every little sensation was a metastatic event. My body thanked me.
When my daughter walked in the apartment, I melted. Finally, I thought, it’s over. What time is it? Take my blood pressure!
By the post-journey meeting the following day, I noticed a shift in how I felt—more positive, though the challenges of the experience were still fresh in my memory. My family kept asking why, if I had been so miserable during the journey, I had not spoken up. I was afraid she would give me more. Curious about others' reactions, I asked her if people ever felt such intense frustration that they wanted to harm her during post-journey meetings. She laughed and replied, "No, they want to marry me."
The next day, she flitted off to Copenhagen, like a carefree bird, blissfully unaware of any flight details. Not a worry in the world. Meanwhile, I flew off to the States.
Now each morning, I place a drop of psilocybin on my tongue, meditate for 20-30 minutes and then drink my tea (Barry’s with honey and milk). Occasionally, I add another drop at night when sleep eludes me. I continue contact with my shaman weekly, unraveling new threads of understanding each time.
Those around me say I seem lighter, brighter, somehow more at ease. Do I feel transformed? Maybe. I only wish I had discovered this sooner in my career as a psychiatrist. I prescribed crap for years that often does not work. I was taught the rigid structures of the DSM. I sweat the small stuff, carrying the weight of others’ worries, tethered to arbitrary schedules and commitments. Like so many of us, I have been confined by an inability to embrace experimentation and change, by a fear of disrupting the status quo. This experience broke the confinement.
Some of you who know me might be thinking, What? You? The rule-breaker, the nonconformist, the one who never followed a conventional path or held a so-called “real” job? And yes, that is true. I have always danced to my own rhythm. But let us not forget—I am still a product of my environment and my DNA. I come from a long line of worriers. Anxiety was woven into the fabric of our family.
This entire journey has been a gift—one so profound I feel an obligation to share it with you. It was, without question, the bravest thing I have ever done. But now is the time to go rogue. This is the moment to step off the beaten path, to explore what lies beyond the familiar. Death no longer terrifies me; suffering does. And if I can ease even a fraction of that suffering—whether through psilocybin, two kiwis a day, Chinese herbs, or simply embracing acceptance—then let me try.
For those not staring down the end of life? I do not know anyone who is not. These practices are not just about surviving; they are about living. They are about finding new ways to experience the world—ways you might not even know exist. Psilocybin might not be for everyone, but that mindset? That is something we all could benefit from.
But the greatest revelation of all? We are never truly alone. We all have angels—not in the celestial or religious sense, but in the form of helpers and guides. My angels have been my family and my closest friends. They have been there all along. The only thing we need to do is open our eyes, recognize them, and ask for their help.
Thanks for sharing this - much love to you and hope this provides peace!
🙏💕☀️🌈