ayahuasca / oct 2019

pulling webs 
out my mouth,
my widow working


Beauty. It was beautiful. It is. Her flowers happy in the morning sun after the rain. The Kookaburras and the Huntsman spiders. My center. My core, my root, convulsing. Rocking in place. Shells from other seas at my feet. He, his wisdom. I smile at him. I love you from the moment you were born. And dad, there is no line marking before and after. I see your cheeky LA days full of grace. I see my twelve-year-old mother. Exposed ribs and backbones, hunched over clenched knees. I cry pearl tears for you and all you’ve felt too. All my loves. She showed me her flirty side, too. Vulvas merging like a zipper. No way out, it’s all in. Ha! I’m an idiot! This will not be solved on the internet. This will not be solved by a product. There will be no words. It will move through. And just before you open your eyes, the light will be brightest. And just past the other side of pain, there is pleasure. I’m not sure where we’ll meet, but I am you and you are me. This / our / its divine intersect. Spared of all the intellect in its own genius. The high, coded in matter. Ingesting elements and tapping the absolute. She knows all of it. She even watches us back from these screens full of eyes. She comprehends beyond our greatest comprehension. She twists and turns. Tilts my skull. Gently taps my head to the wall. Rippling into oblivion. Sitting by her gentle spits. I smile. Crack. Yawn. Shed. Weep. Shift. In awe of all of this. Jaw opens and I leap out. How can I be my self and in the moment? What is my essence? She is in me in this eternal orgy. But how can I feel without some sense? Of a deep time beyond and within all of it. A sigh of relief. I don’t have to know.


we begin 
and end
in migration


Brisbane to Melbourne

we peer out
airplane windows
to walk through streets

she’s sitting 
next to me. Row 2. 
me: window
her: aisle
orange skin
white teeth and shoes 
the book 
“The Power in You”
in her lap
while she watches 
a show on her phone

smiling eyes
serpentine wrap my spine
rinse minerals to spare
pearl tears for Mother
all she gives
all we take
the greed, a seed, rebirth; a tree
how can she be all this
in silence?
concrete-filled mouth
jaguar yawn let it out
may this flight
be a charm
to find home
stillness in scattered bones

Notes from the mycelium

Also published on Medium with a new title from the editor: The Future of Psychedelics is Inclusive: Why we need to have more than one conversation about the potential of psychedelics

Sketches from the audience, by Sam.

Last night I attended the Women and Psychedelics Forum at CIIS, organized by Bia Liabate of Chacruna, with support from MAPS. Topics of conversation included the ethics of psychedelic therapy, sexual assault in ceremonial settings, the current state of crisis/division, and our history in a dominator system. We talked about psychedelic-assisted pattern-seeking, deconditioning, education, and healing. For individuals and societies. We talked a bit about the War on Drugs and how it has been used against black and brown people to benefit a few white people. This has been and still is our reality.

Speakers addressed the fact that these cultural problems of social inequality, sexual violence, and greed also exist in this psychedelic bubble. Surprise! (Well not really.)

But I left overjoyed that this space even exists, and while I’m still processing everything from the seven hour conversation — the many lines of thought to be continued — I am almost certain that last night’s gathering pushed me and other attendees a little further into our own hope/work. For ourselves and this community.

Compared to other conferences I’ve attended in the last few years… this gathering was different. The psychedelic space can be an inviting bunch, but the female psychedelic space provided a uniquely thoughtful, stimulating, and progressive mixing of minds.

I loved when Kathleen Harrison compared women’s work in this space to mycelium: a growing underground network, working from the bottom up. A web of connections highly aware that our current system is not collectively caring and compassionate (like it could be!). A group of voices that have chosen not to succumb to attempted silencing and “be quiet”s. We met here and chose otherwise, just like people before us did during the abolition of slavery, the suffrage movement, and the civil rights movement. Psychedelic medicine can help us carefully gather information, come back, and share.

Continue reading “Notes from the mycelium”